Heartbalm
Page 10
BEATTIE’S VOICE:
Let’s get this party going.
BEATTIE starts her stream. Torrents of urine spray into the drain and splash in a widening pattern on the floor, even spattering her shoes.
BEATTIE’S VOICE:
Told ya I had to pee real bad.
After a seemingly interminable interlude, BEATTIE’S stream subsides. She continues to rub her clit.
BEATTIE’S VOICE:
(a whisper that crescendos to a scream)
Oh, baby, fuck me! Fuck my tight
hot cunt! Fuck me hard!
Make me cum with your hard cock!
A vertiginous camera swing and we see an OLDER MAN wearing sport clothes. A fishing hat is tilted on his head at a rakish angle. He is standing inside the door and observing the action with calm amusement. He is in his late sixties.
BEATTIE:
(interrupted schoolteacher voice)
Hello, Sir.
MAN:
(jovial good-time Charlie tone)
The wife sent me over. Said there was
trouble. For once I’m damn glad she did.
BEATTIE:
(brightly)
We’re making a porno movie.
MAN:
Go right on ahead; don’t let me stop you.
OC MALE VOICE:
(overbalanced volume)
Wanna join in, Pops? Have some fun?
I’m betting you wouldn’t say no to an
early morning blow job from this
cocksucker, would you, Pops?
MAN:
Wouldn’t turn it down now’t
you mention it. Long as it’s bein’
offered, and that.
BEATTIE looks directly into the camera. A desperate, pleading expression flits across her face for no more than three frames before being replaced by her former pasted-on smile.
Sometimes the bad acting mask drops to reveal something genuine. What I saw enter Beattie’s eyes and contort her features in that one second was the instantly recognizable look of abject fear, a prehuman jungle grin. Fear like that comes out only in the imminence of agony, dismemberment, or death.
I paused the video, rewound it and replayed those few frames over and over again. No mistaking that look on her face.
There was more to the video.
MAN:
Floor’s kinda wet from her going
to the bathroom all over it and that.
OC MALE VOICE:
You got a point, Pops. Don’t want a lawsuit
from you slipping and falling in that big piss
puddle, now do we?
MAN:
Floor’s plum dry over there, though.
OC MALE VOICE:
(sniggering)
You hear that, Beattie? Pops here wants to be
the AD in our movie. Over there’s fine, Pops.
Yeah, right there.
The MAN complies
OC MALE VOICE:
Now unzip for the camera. Show us
what you got. Whoa! Awesome!
MAN:
(sheepish but excited)
I’d be in the doghouse for sure, the
old lady was to catch me a’doin’ this.
OC MALE VOICE:
Only one be doing the catching is
Beattie here.
(suddenly laced with menace)
Get your lazy ass on over and run
the man some head like he wants.
Swaying her ass defiantly for the camera, BEATTIE walks slowly to where the MAN is standing, his pants unzipped and cock fully exposed, waiting. She kneels.
CLOSE SHOT: BEATTIE’S FACE INCHES FROM THE MAN’S COCK
BEATTIE cups the MAN’S balls in her hand and teases the end of his cock with the tip of her tongue.
OC MALE VOICE:
How you like it so far, Pops?
MAN:
Well, sir, that feels pretty damn good,
what she’s doin’. I believe it’s prid near the best I’ve had.
OC MALE VOICE:
(menacing again)
Quit screwing around and suck his
cock for real.
BEATTIE blinks at the words as though a gunshot had gone off inches from her head. She begins frankly fellating the MAN, continuing for minutes.
OC MALE VOICE:
You’re using your goddamn hands too much.
Suck it! That’s what he wants. Can’t you even
suck cock decent? Slap her face for her, Pops.
MAN:
(grandfatherly tone)
Aw, leave her alone, she’s doin’ fine.
OC MALE VOICE:
(distorted from yelling)
Slap her in the goddamn face I said!
Slap the piss out of her!
MAN:
Kinda late for that, ain’t it?
The MAN reluctantly slaps BEATTIE’S face like spanking a baby. She continues to suck.
OC MALE VOICE:
Harder! I want her fucking cheeks red from it!
The MAN reluctantly complies.
MAN:
You folks’re weirder’n I had it figured.
OC MALE VOICE:
You ain’t lyin’ Pops. Weirdest motherfuckers
you’ll ever come across. But here’s my
question: you gonna be ready to cum for me
anytime soon, or what?
MAN:
Prid near.
OC MALE VOICE:
Prid near, huh? Well when that
magic moment comes, Pops, what I want
is for you to pull out and cum on her face.
MAN:
Boy oh boy! Right in her face
and that? Boy oh boy oh boy!
OC MALE VOICE:
Just like in the movies, Pops. Leave a
big mess all over them fucking
glasses. Think you can handle that?
MAN:
Try my best. Don’t know as my
aim’s all that accurate, though.
OC MALE VOICE:
You’re a hoot, Pops.
BEATTIE sucks furiously. The camera pans upward to reveal the MAN’S face, now florid with excitement. He gasps for breath. His chest heaves.
OC MALE VOICE:
(solicitous, addressing the MAN half-joking)
You ain’t gonna have a heart attack on us,
are you, Pops? Cause we ain’t insured for
any a that kind a shit. Pops? You all right?
There is noise and confusion. The MAN collapses to the floor in a heap. The camera is hurriedly placed on the floor and lingers over the sight of him lying there inert. BEATTIE screams OC. We hear a hard slap.
OC MALE VOICE:
Shut the fuck up!
BEATTIE’S VOICE OC:
(desperate)
We have to call somebody, Russ! Nine
one one or something.
OC MALE VOICE:
And tell them what? You sucked some asshole
to death in a public john? Try hanging on to
your teaching gig once they get wind of that.
No, this is what I do best: cinéma vérité
The camera focuses in on the MAN’S face twitching, lips turning blue.
OC MALE VOICE:
Think I’ll call it Death of an Asshole.
Whaddaya think, Beattie? How’s it feel
to literally suck the life out of another
human being?
The camera angle shifts to focus on BEATTIE, distraught, crouching over the dying MAN like Kent State. A string of semen drools out of her mouth gaping open in horror.
OC MALE VOICE:
(laughs malevolently)
Assholes beware! This woman’s blow jobs
are a lethal weapon. Hey, I got an idea: do
that Lady Macbeth thing. You know the one.
BEATTIE:
The fuck are you talking about, Russ?
OC MALE VOICE:
Do a ta
ke-off on that line from Macbeth,
ham it up, screw up your face and go,
“Who would have thought the old
man to have had so much cum in him?”
BEATTIE:
You’re a sick fuck, you know that, Russ?
OC MALE VOICE:
Yeah, I’m a sick fuck and you’re a cocksucker.
I got you in closeup. Go on, do it while the
cum’s still fresh on your face.
BEATTIE:
(tense, trying for melodrama)
“Who would have thought the old
man to have had so much cum in him?”
EXTREME CLOSE SHOT: FACE OF THE MAN SLOWLY DYING
OC MALE VOICE:
Hold for applause…hold for applause…
and…out!
FADE OUT
It is difficult to know how to react upon viewing a spectacle as dark and shocking as the one I had just witnessed. Everyone is an individual; different people respond in varied and idiosyncratic ways. Myself, I took a little blue pill to steady my nerves. Then another.
Properly fortified, I opened the HSS icon, clicked on the “record” button and hastened to the john to star in my own movie. Ready for my close-up, as it were.
INT. UNISEX REST ROOM AT RICKY GALEER LAW OFFICE. DAY
RICKY GALEER, visible from the waist down, unfastens his belt, drops his pants, slides down his Fruit of the Looms and sits on the toilet lid, his legs spread facing the camera.
RICKY:
(a cappella to the tune of Oh Susannah)
Oh I come from Old Kentucky
With my pants down ‘round my knees,
When I wanna fucky sucky
All the gals say purty please.
RICKY masturbates for precisely four minutes, thirty-nine seconds.
RICKY:
This is for you, Heart.
RICKY cums.
FADE OUT
Afterward, seated at my desk once more, I replayed my four-minute video over and over again before saving it to hard drive. The fluorescent lighting lent a greenish tinge to my semen. Maybe the bathroom could use an incandescent bulb or two, to warm the image. I thought my cock looked impressive and my moans toward the end sure sounded like the real thing. But it was what I said at the moment of climax that personalized the video and made it real: “This is for you, Heart.” That was all I uttered, in a strained whisper that left no doubt I clearly meant it.
On Webcam Show and Tell I selected the ironically labeled category Men’s Tributes to Women as a likely gallery home for my effort. First I reviewed a few of the more recent postings, which mainly featured extreme close-ups of men masturbating onto women’s pictures accompanied by heavy breathing and/or running commentary addressed rhetorically to the subject of the photograph. Most of the selections ran no more than thirty seconds including the big gasping money shot and the camera’s lingering and obsessing over the pearly translucent decoration, generally targeting the mouths or breasts.
There were women who openly posted photos of themselves and invited such “tributes” in personal appeals on the site, although, cynic that I am, I suspected that frustrated husbands were the ones actually doing the postings. There were also a slew of husbands who were less inhibited, frankly soliciting other men to, as the saying goes, “cum on my wife’s pics.”
As it happened, I had a number of pictures of Diane saved to my hard drive.
The uploading instructions were not complex. All the while I was doing it, a shuddering thrill, something like fear yet almost unbearably pleasurable, coursed through me. Panic is first cousin to orgasm. Was this what poor pathetic little Stan felt, ducking into a curtained alcove no larger than a confessional, kneeling and facing a black hole drilled into the unknown, imagining…what?
Many of the “cum on my wife’s pics” crowd had thoughtfully provided a bridal photo as well as a revealing nude study to be garlanded. The best I could do by comparison were a picture of Diane on the day of our wedding, in her gown that showed some cleavage through white lace, and a much-later swimsuit photo of her posing at Carlyle Lake. These I added to the tribute gallery. But what to put in the labels? Some gallery posters provided names, but there was no way of knowing whether the names were real or pseudonymous. Debating whether to use Diane’s actual name, I finally gave in to the driving drumbeat thrill inside me, that risk of discovery that impelled me. I labeled the first pic Diane G: Here Cums the Bride, and the second, Diane G: Bathe this Bathing Beauty in your Hot Cum. Positively giddy with excitement, I could scarcely wait to see the very first responsive postings, the opening tributes to my wife. I knew in that moment that I would return often to this site.
After those two pics had been successfully uploaded, labeled and confirmed, the prompt asked me, “Do you have any other photos to upload?”
Did I indeed. Dare I post Heart’s Big Tits on Public Display?
Why not; I’d come this far already. There was a point of no return in all this, an irresistible musical pitch of arousal that, once sounded in a man’s soul, impels him onward, or in my case, downward. I uploaded the photo of Heart at Sturgis, impetuously labeling it Heart Holstein Needs Your Cum. Finally I uploaded the video movie of yours truly beating off in the john, entitling it One Man’s Tribute to Heart Holstein. Even with the broadband, it took a long time, but finally the screen prompt said, Video Successfully Uploaded.
Nothing to do now but wait. As I waited, the questions crept in and began to haunt me. What if somebody recognizes Diane and shows these to her? A curious girlfriend cruising the dark side of the net, perhaps, or one of Diane’s customers at Remembrance of Things Past, her thriving in-home antique shop? Or somebody from the courthouse? A judge with time on his hands—now there’s a redundant statement. And what if I ever changed my mind and wanted to remove these postings? Would the site let me? Or would they claim an irrevocably locked-in property right in all photos and videos placed on their site, to be exhibited ad infinitum? And what if I could and did remove them? What was to stop anyone in the meantime from jumping the gun, downloading them and saving them before I had the chance? And then creating and sharing copies of those copies? Those damning photos and video would take on lives of their own, replicating endlessly in cyberspace. In no time my marriage and my law practice would be over; I might even be prosecuted for indecent exposure and sued for privacy invasion. Marriage, career, freedom, all lost forever.
All at once I realized: the dread of ruin afforded much the same electric thrill as the stimulating arousal that had energized me while posting pics and video; it was only my attitude that had changed. Kevin had been right all along. His sage advice applied to me as well as poor Stan. We both craved degradation and disgrace.
I don’t know how long I waited, tormented by second thoughts, before a ringtone in the headphones alerted me I had received a personal message. By the time I figured out how to retrieve my messages from the site there were three in my inbox. Two were mash notes from gay men admiring my video. I deleted both. The third was a PM from someone calling himself Dum da dum dum, thanking me for the pleasure and inviting me to view his personal tribute to Diane G: Here Cums the Bride.
To keep from hyperventilating, I breathed in from the diaphragm and held it for a count of twenty. The little blue pills were giving me a headache. My temples pounded the way they had not done since the last time I had snorted crank three years ago. Soon Webcam Show and Tell’s legions of online members would freely and repetitively scrutinize one stranger after another ejaculating onto my Diane’s wedding portrait and honeymoon swimsuit pic. And I wanted to see it most of all: to see other men’s semen rain down on my Diane’s proud virgin face.
The actual result was anything but anticlimactic. The point man had even added a title page.
TITLE PAGE: To Diane from Tim: May I Giss the Bride?
INSERT
CLOSE SHOT: DIANE GALEER’S WEDDING PHOTO
DIANE’S picture fresh from the inkjet printer,
in a circle of dim light. The very edge of a computer keyboard can be seen in the extreme right-hand portion of the frame.
TIM OC:
(excitedly)
Now there’s a lovely woman on her
wedding day: Di-ANE G. Wish I could
see her BIG TITS out of that dress.
May I DISGRACE your FACE, Di-ANE?