Flowers in a Dumpster

by Mark Allan Gunnells

Cautiously removing his weight from the door, steeling himself against the possibility of the man bursting out, Jason stepped back, unsure. Finally, half an hour after closing the man inside the closet, Jason gripped the doorknob in his hand, his sweaty palm almost sliding off the cold metal, and slowly opened the door. “Hello,” he said lamely as he peered inside.

  The closet appeared to be empty. Of course, it was so dark in there he couldn’t be entirely sure. The man could have been standing in the back, behind the shirts, the shadows concealing him. Jason shuffled quickly to the switch and turned on the overhead light, enough brightness to illuminate the inside of the closet. The empty closet.

  Jason stepped into the cramped space, unable to believe it. The man had disappeared like a magic trick. No trace of him left whatsoever. Of course, that was what Andros had told him would happen, but he’d expected something. A shred of clothing, a few hairs, or hangers knocked askew. But there was no evidence to suggest anything unusual happened here. It had been so quick and so quiet.

  Jason stepped back into the bedroom, closing the closet door and leaving his fingers lingering on the wood for a few moments. He’d expected to feel guilt or shame for what he had done, but he was surprised to find he felt neither. It had been so easy. All he’d done was close the door behind the man. It was hard to feel guilty when he’d done so little. Still, the deed was done, and he was on his way to getting what he desired.

  One down.

  ***

  The second sacrifice wasn’t quite so simple.

  Jason returned to Liaisons the following evening and found it nearly deserted on a Sunday night. Apparently homosexuals, like God, rested on the seventh day. Besides himself and the bartender, there were only five other men in the bar, two of them together. Jason took a seat at the bar, the same stool he’d occupied last night, and waited for one of the other men in the club to approach him.

  None of them did.

  The two that were together left shortly after Jason arrived and two of the others hooked up soon after, groping each other on the deserted dance floor. That left one other man standing over by the pool tables. Several times Jason caught the man staring at him in a way that suggested he was interested, but for whatever reason he did not approach Jason.

  Maybe he’s waiting on me to make the first move, Jason thought after forty-five minutes of waiting.

  The only problem was that Jason didn’t know how to make the first move. Hell, he didn’t know how to make any move. In the movies, men in singles bars always offered to buy young ladies a drink. Would that work with two men? Or were there different rules that governed gay society?

  After the couple from the dance floor staggered out of the club together, Jason figured he had to make his move. He stood up and strolled as nonchalantly as possible to the pool tables. When he stepped up to the man, Jason had a sudden inspiration and said, indicating the nearest pool table, “Wanna shoot a game?”

  The man smiled in a way that was remarkably reminiscent of the man last night. “You wouldn’t be trying to get a look at my stick and balls, would you?”

  “As a matter of fact . . . ” Jason said with a sigh, relieved to be back on familiar ground. He figured the rest of the encounter would follow much the same script as the previous evening.

  “I’m just teasing,” the man said, reaching around for one of the pool cues. “I’d love a game.”

  Jason stood frozen for a moment. He’d only been looking for an opening; he didn’t actually know how to play pool.

  “You wanna set ‘em up?” the man asked.

  Jason decided his best course of action would be to use the line with which he’d already had proven success. “I’d rather just go back to my place and fuck.”

  “You certainly cut right to the chase, don’t you?” the man said, which was similar to what the man last night had said, although this one used a completely different tone.

  “I just know what I want,” Jason replied, trying to appear confident.

  “Yeah, me too.” The man returned the cue to the rack. “Have a good night.”

  “What? You’re leaving?”

  The man just nodded and pushed past.

  “Wait a minute,” Jason said, reaching out and grabbing the man’s arm. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t come here looking for sex? I saw the way you were watching me.”

  “Yeah, I thought you were hot, and maybe I was even hoping I would get laid tonight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want a little conversation first. At least an exchange of names. A guy that opens with ‘Let’s fuck’ is too nasty for me. Who knows what kind of STDs you got floating around in your bloodstream?”

  The man jerked his arm loose of Jason’s hold and left the club. Jason was too stunned to follow. He had assumed that one approach would work with most guys, but obviously he’d been wrong. And as he was the only one remaining in the club, that left him with no one to take back to Andros tonight.

  As he headed for the exit, Jason reminded himself that he had a month to get twelve more men. It wasn’t like he had to get one every single night. This would give him time to strategize, mull over tonight’s failure and figure out how not to repeat it in the future. He would just have to–

  “Hey, wait a minute sexy.”

  Jason stopped and turned toward the bar. He had thought himself alone in the place, but of course that wasn’t true; there was the bartender. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, a tight T-shirt showing off his muscular chest and arms, blonde hair a mess of curls atop his head. He was deeply tanned, which made the brightness of his smile stand out.

  “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” Jason asked, thinking he sounded like a sad imitation of Robert De Niro in that Taxi Driver movie.

  The bartender leaned across the bar, beckoning Jason closer. “I wasn’t exactly eavesdropping or anything, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. I just wanted to tell you that guy is a fool. If a hot little thing like you had asked me to fuck, I’d have been all over it in about two seconds.”

  Jason was suddenly excited. Not in a sexual way . . . well, not only in a sexual way. Maybe his luck wasn’t out tonight, after all. “Would you like to go back to my place with me?”

  “I’d love to, but I really have to close up the bar. I’m the only one working tonight.”

  “I can wait. Really, I don’t mind.”

  “Why wait?” the bartender said and came out from behind the bar. He passed Jason and went to the door, turning the lock and flipping a switch which Jason assumed turned off the neon-sign outside. He returned to Jason and kissed him roughly, practically raping Jason’s mouth with his insistent tongue.

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if we went to my place?” Jason asked weakly, even as the bartender undid his pants.

  The bartender put a finger to Jason’s lips. “Shhh, don’t say another word.”

  And Jason didn’t. Not even when the bartender bent him over one of the pool tables.

  ***

  Jason got no sleep that night. He sat up in the bed remembering what he’d allowed to be done to him at the club earlier, tears streaking his cheeks. The acts that had been perpetrated on his body had been vile, disgusting, sinful . . . and he’d liked it. All those nasty things the bartender had done to him, they’d felt so good. Jason had ended up urging his violator on: faster, harder, deeper, rougher. By the time the bartender was done with him, Jason had been sore all over, but the aches were pleasurable in a way he was certain was damning.

  He now knew this sickness went deeper than he had dreamed, had sunk roots into his very soul. It was more imperative than ever that he rid himself of this affliction. He had to get twelve more men for Andros. Then the demon would grant Jason’s wish.

  Twelve more men. No matter what.

  ***

  Since he figured that Liaisons would be as deserted on a Monday night as it had been on Sunday, Jason decided to change his tactics. It was for the best, he figured. It’s probably
not a good idea to collect all twelve men from the same place. But that left the question, where to go? There were no other gay clubs in town and he doubted that if he went to another city he could convince anyone to come all the way back to his place. So what options did that leave?

  Barnes & Noble.

  Jason had never been much of a reader, but he had heard rumors that the B&N was quite a pick up joint for the gay crowd. Apparently there had even been a glory hole in between the two men’s room stalls before they had replaced the plaster wall with a metal one.

  He went that night around nine, an hour before closing, figuring anyone left would be getting desperate and he wouldn’t have to work as hard. Even at that hour, the place was full of people sipping flavored coffees in the café, lounging in the deep chairs, and flipping through newspapers they had no intention of buying.

  There were several single men about, but Jason found himself at a loss. At the bar, at least he knew most everyone there was gay and looking for the same thing. Here, how was he to differentiate between gay men on the prowl and straight men looking for caffeine and reading material? It wasn’t like anyone here wore a T-shirt with the logo LOOKING 4 COCK!

  Jason perused the magazine rack until he found a stash of gay publications. Advocate, Out, XY. He picked up an Advocate and flipped through it without really paying any attention to the articles. He positioned his body so that the cover was facing out toward the store, hoping it would act as a beacon to draw someone in.

  After only a few minutes, his approach seemed to have done its job. Jason became aware of a middle-aged man watching him at the other end of the magazine rack, short and stocky with a mischievous glint in his eye. Jason couldn’t be certain the man was gay, but the way he stared so intently at Jason without looking away certainly seemed telling. Deciding to take a risk, Jason reached down and squeezed his package, making it seem like he was scratching his balls. That was all it took. The stocky man abandoned whatever magazine he’d been reading and headed Jason’s way.

  “Hey there,” the man said, his eyes not on Jason’s face but below the belt.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “Good magazine?”

  “Not bad.”

  The man nodded, glanced briefly at Jason’s eyes, let his own wander downward again. “Boring night, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’m just looking for something fun to do.”

  “I hear that. I’m Eric, by the way.”

  “Ja . . . mie.” He wasn’t sure why he didn’t give his real name since the guy wouldn’t have the chance to share it with anyone. He just didn’t want this man knowing.

  “Nice to meet you, Jamie. So what are a couple of fellas like us to do for fun on a boring night like this?”

  Jason reached down and cupped his balls again. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  “You do, do you? I’m all ears.”

  ***

  They were lying on the bed, making out and rubbing one another through their clothes, while Jason tried to figure out how to get Eric into the closet. Although Eric was shorter than Jason, he had a good hundred pounds on him, mostly muscle. It didn’t seem likely Jason would be able to physically overpower and force him into the closet. He could always try the ploy that had worked last time, saying there were sex toys in the closet, but so far he’d been gagged by Eric’s tongue the entire time and had been unable to speak.

  Luck being with Jason tonight, Eric suddenly pulled back—Jason denying the disappointment he felt when the man’s tongue was removed from his mouth—and said, “Sorry, think I had too much coffee back at the bookstore. Can I use your bathroom before we go any further?”

  Jason raised his hand to point toward the closed bathroom door but hesitated, instead moving his finger until it pointed directly at the closed closet door. The two doors were nearly indistinguishable, no reason Eric should suspect Jason was lying to him.

  Jason propped himself up on his elbows and watched the man cross the room. He found he was still hard, as if the anticipation of what was to come was a major turn on. As Eric approached the door, Jason got to his feet and followed quietly.

  Eric opened the door and stood there at the threshold for a moment, frowning into the dark closet. He started to turn, saying, “This isn’t the bath—”, then Jason shoved him roughly from behind, sending the man tripping into the closet. Without a pause, Jason slammed the door shut, backing away as if fearing it would explode back open.

  It didn’t. It remained closed, and there was only silence from inside. After a few moments had passed, Jason opened the door and found the closet empty, like last time. He remained there, staring in at the nothing there was to see and a smile slowly spread across his face.

  He started to believe that he could really do this, deliver all thirteen men to Andros.

  After all, it was easy.

  ***

  Having built a certain momentum, Jason delivered the next four men all within a week. Numbers three and four—that’s how Jason had come to think of them, as mere numbers—came from Liaisons, one in his fifties, the other barely in his twenties. They’d come back to his apartment willingly enough and had disappeared into his closet, almost as if they had ceased to exist altogether. Number five was another pick-up from the Barnes & Noble, a nervous married man who kept fiddling with his wedding band as if it were some magical talisman. Number six was actually the bartender from Liaisons that Jason had fucked after closing one night. During one of Jason’s fishing trips to the club, they’d arranged a date. Instead of cooking the bartender dinner, though, Jason had shoved him into the closet, but only after repaying the earlier favor and drilling the bartender’s ass for almost an hour.

  Almost halfway to his goal, Jason discovered the Man Web, a gay exclusive website for personal ads. Answering an ad from a couple who were looking for a threesome, Jason was ecstatic to get numbers seven and eight in one go. He didn’t get them in the closet right away, first he got on all fours and let one pound him from behind while the other filled his mouth. Number nine also came from the Man Web, an older man with far too much hair on his back. He had introduced Jason to the joys of being rimmed before Jason introduced him to the inside of his closet.

  He’d gone back to Liaisons for number ten, a twenty-something so drunk he’d passed out seconds after getting to Jason’s apartment. Jason actually fucked the man while he was unconscious before dragging him into the closet and closing him inside.

  Number eleven was from the Man Web, a self-proclaimed virgin who looked no older than seventeen, eager for his first sexual experience. Jason, who was not without heart, fulfilled all the boy’s fantasies before knocking him upside the head and tossing him into the closet.

  Number twelve was a man named Robbie, who Jason knew from work, a flamboyant man who’d always made Jason uncomfortable with his openness. He invited Robbie over on the pretense of needing help moving an armoire and gave Robbie a thrill by letting him suck on Jason’s cock for a while before pushing him into the closet.

  Afterward, Jason reclined on his bed, smiling up at the ceiling. Only one more to deliver and he still had three days before the next full moon. He should be able to get that last one with no trouble then he’d have what he wanted. Heterosexuality. A normal life. No more giving in to these wicked urges that caused him to partake in the vile, nasty, decadent acts he'd indulged in since he’d first met Andros. He tried not to think of those things right now, as it was getting him hard again.

  Hell, if he was about to get the cure, Jason figured he might as well enjoy the sickness while it lasted. He had just slipped his hand into his underwear when the closet door creaked open and Andros stepped out, a playful smile curling his lips.

  “What?” Jason exclaimed, jumping up from the bed and pulling his hand back out of his underwear.

  “Not happy to see me, mortal?”

  “What are you doing here? I haven’t delivered all thirteen souls to you yet.”

  “Ah, but you have.” Andros paused, closed
his eyes and inhaled deeply, a soft moan issuing from deep in his throat. “I can just smell the sex in this room. All that man sweat, testosterone, drying semen. Why would anyone want to give this up?”

  “What do you mean? I have delivered all thirteen souls? I know how to count and I’ve only delivered twelve men to you.”

  “Yes, twelve . . . plus you.”

  Jason felt his skin go cold and his erection deflated like a punctured balloon. “What are you talking about?”

  Andros stepped close to him, reaching out and running his fingers down his cheek. “You were always to be the thirteenth soul.”

  Jason batted the demon’s hand away and sidestepped him, inching his way to the door. “I’m not part of the bargain. The deal was that I provide you with the souls of thirteen homosexual men and you grant me my wish to be straight. That’s the deal, we shook on it.”

  “Silly mortal,” Andros said with a laugh. “You think demons know anything of honor or fairness? You think that handshake sealed a promise of some kind? You should know better than to take a demon at his word. We are liars by our very nature.”

  Jason had almost reached the door when Andros made his move. The demon was so fast that he registered only as a blur. Andros was there by Jason’s side, seizing his arm in a vise-like grip and jerking him toward the closet.

  “This can’t be,” Jason whined, trying to resist but being dragged along nonetheless. “What about the reformed lesbian that sold me the copy of Transformations? You healed her.”

  “She isn’t reformed; she’s still a pussy-licker extraordinaire. No, she’s merely one of my faithful servants, offering her services to help me perform my sacred duty.”

  “What duty?”

  Andros grabbed Jason roughly by the hair and brought his face close. Jason could smell sulfur on the demon’s breath. “To punish pansy-ass homosexuals like yourself who don’t have the balls to accept who they are.”

  “Where are you taking me?” Jason said, renewing his efforts to pull loose of Andros’s grasp, all to no avail.

  “I’m taking you to hell, of course. But don’t worry, there’s no fire, no brimstone, no souls crying out in agony. Hell is a more personal affair.”