“She was in one of her moods. She sent me out to do an errand.”
“What’s the errand?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“Rather not. It’d sound weird.”
“Yeah. We wouldn’t want that.”
“So you was goin to work?”
“Yeah.”
“You work for Billups?”
“Yep.”
“He’s good friends with Daddy.”
“Then maybe he can help me get my job back when I get fired.”
“Billups ain’t never fired nobody.”
“Doesn’t really matter. I’m not going to get paid if I don’t go to work.”
“Don’t worry about it. Me and Dawn’ll take care of you.”
I rolled my eyes. The thought of two mentally defective teenage girls supporting me seemed ludicrous. And emasculating.
Barcie slid her right hand into her underwear and began slowly masturbating.
“You don’t mind me doin this, do ya?”
“It makes me a little uncomfortable but I guess I can just look away.”
“Or you can watch.”
“Is it okay if I don’t?”
“Better yet, you could record it. That might cheer Dawn up.”
She pulled her hand out of her underwear and grabbed her phone from the console. She tapped the screen a couple of times and said, “There. It’s ready.”
She handed the phone to me.
“My pussy don’t stink today. Sometimes it smells real bad.”
I thought about this girl, so stupid she was probably wandering around with about ten undiagnosed STDs.
“Well, sometimes you have to wash it.” I didn’t know what else to say.
She continued to drive through suburban Gethsemane while playing with herself. I held the phone up, occasionally glancing to make sure she was still in frame but mostly just looking at the town as we drove around. No one was outside and it had the feeling of being slightly abandoned even though it wasn’t. The houses were well maintained and the lawns were kept up. Mostly because of Billups. It was like everyone stayed locked up in the air conditioning of their houses, amusing themselves to death or waiting for the apocalypse that, if they’d been paying attention, had been happening for a while.
I kept waiting for Barcie to moan with a climax or something but she never did. She drove around and around in a random pattern. A fairly small orange cat ran across the road and under a car on the curb.
Barcie stopped the car and got out.
“I’m going to stop recording,” I said.
“No. Keep goin.”
I trained the phone back on her. Standing, the dress did actually cover her underwear. Barely. She must have just had it hiked up for my benefit.
She crouched down beside the truck and called for the cat. The cat cautiously crawled out from under the truck and Barcie began scratching it between the ears.
Who stops the car to pet a cat?
Maybe she really was brain damaged.
She ran her hand along the cat’s head and back, pressing harder and harder until the cat was flattened against the road. Then she wrapped her hand around the cat’s neck and I watched the muscles in her forearm flex as she squeezed.
“Don’t do that!” I called from the car. There wasn’t a lot of passion in my request. I felt like I had to say something. I knew what she was about to do was wrong but I didn’t really have any feelings one way or the other. Was it possible to feel bad for not feeling bad? The more I tried to get her to stop, the more she would enjoy doing it. And if I tried to get her to stop, I felt like the chain would be in my future. My back throbbed with a reminder of yesterday. That was how I justified not doing anything about it. If you were going to have a loathsome lack of empathy, it was good to have an excuse for it, at least.
“Get out of the car. Get up close on this.”
I did what she asked without even thinking about it.
The cat spasmodically jerked against her. The arm holding the cat had a few bloody scratches on it and I thought, Good.
I continued holding the phone, trying not to watch even though when I did occasionally glance up I had no sense of anger or repulsion.
She tossed the spent cat into the back floorboard and hopped into the driver’s seat.
She snatched the phone out of my hand and scrolled back through the video I’d just shot.
“Were you even fucking watchin? You didn’t even get half of it.”
“I did my best.”
“Sometimes it’s not enough to just do what we ask you to do. You gotta at least try. Pull down your pants.”
“What?”
“Pull down your fucking pants.”
“No.”
She punched me on the leg. Hard.
“Do it. Underwear too.”
I unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down to my knees.
Barcie began driving. She handed her phone back to me and said, “Record it. Remember what I said about doin a good job.”
I pointed the phone at my limp dick.
She reached her bloody hand over and began massaging my cock. It was like the more I didn’t want to get hard, the quicker it happened. Barcie was as skilled with her hand as she had been with her mouth. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat, thinking about Dawn. Barcie’s hand squeezed and massaged, moving faster and faster. We were stopped at a red light when I finally came. She continued rubbing my cock, using my semen as lubrication. Since I had clearly finished I thought she would stop but she kept going. It felt pleasant at first, as she milked every drop of come out of me, then it started to feel overly sensitive and slightly painful. My leg throbbed from where she had hit me.
We reached the quarry and drove around the gravel pit. She drove back to her house and farther back to the bank of storage sheds.
She took her hand off my cock and said, “You can pull your pants up now. And give me back my phone.”
I handed the phone back to her.
She stopped the car. One of the shed’s doors was already open.
Barcie got out of the car and grabbed the dead cat off the floorboard.
“Come on,” she said.
I followed her to the shed.
Dawn was already in there. She stood behind the camera, trained on a red X on the floor. Ten men formed a half-circle on the other side of the X. They were all naked save for masks of political figures and famous people and cartoons. Most of them were white. A couple of them were black. Some of them were super ripped and a couple were chubby, but most of them were average. They were all very well endowed, some of them actively stroking their huge cocks.
Barcie held the cat up by the tail and Dawn squealed with delight.
“Let’s get this party started!” Barcie yelled.
She tossed off her huge hat, unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor.
Loud electronic music began blaring from no easily discernible source.
Dawn slammed the door of the storage shed down, moved close to me, and said, “I’m going to be watching you. I want to know you’re watching. Don’t think about leaving. If you fuck up, I’m sending all the photos to White Power Larry. And that’s not even the least of it.”
I had dropped my head to stare at the floor while she spoke. I heard her spit and felt it spray the top of my head. I raised my hand to wipe it away and she smacked it down. She grabbed the back of my head with her hand and pointed it toward Barcie. I liked it when Dawn touched me. It sent some sort of calming current through me. I took a deep breath of her scent, something airy, like the wind before a storm.
Barcie wasn’t wearing a bra, probably because she didn’t need to. Her dark nipples dotted her chest. Her torso was streaked with welts and scars and I wondered what had happened to her. She wasn’t born looking like that and I again wondered if Dawn had beaten her with the chain or possibly watched while she had someone else do it. Barc
ie peeled her white underwear down her legs. She dropped to the concrete floor and the half-circle of men moved in.
Barcie spread her legs and Dawn dropped the cat between them.
The men were down on their knees, a couple of them pinching Barcie’s nipples and sucking on them. One man in a Mickey Mouse mask was forcing his huge cock into her mouth. Dawn was now between Barcie’s legs, grabbing the dead cat by the head and pressing it against Barcie’s cunt.
I watched.
Dawn, true to her word, periodically glanced back at me.
I watched without really watching. I rationalized it by telling myself I hated everyone in the room. They were all there by choice, and they all seemed to be loving it. Even Barcie, who just seemed to be undergoing one degradation after another. Who was I to judge?
Once the entire cat was inserted into Barcie, her abdomen was noticeably distended.
Dawn rolled her over, crouching down with her back to Barcie’s head. Dawn spread Barcie’s ass cheeks.
The guy who had his cock in Barcie’s mouth circled around her and struggled to put his cock in her ass. The next guy sat in front of Barcie and she began sucking him off. He wore a Hillary Clinton mask.
One of the men, in a nearly frenzied moment of passion, wearing a Richard Nixon mask, stood in front of Dawn.
I almost expected her to take him in her mouth—maybe even wanted to see that—but she slapped him away.
The first man who had fucked Barcie in the ass grabbed the man and dragged him outside. Once they disappeared, the only thing I could really think was that somewhere, there were two naked men wearing Mickey Mouse and Richard Nixon masks and fighting.
Dawn eventually stood back up and took her place behind the camera, taking it off the tripod and moving it in for various close-ups. Sometimes she focused it on me. It made me uncomfortable but I was afraid to look away. The remaining men continued to use Barcie like a battered, skinny toy, positioning her however they wanted in order to accommodate every sexual penetration. She moaned and said everything she was supposed to say but her eyes looked completely dead. I wondered who these men were. Had they been like me at one point? Were they getting paid for this or was it something they were doing because they enjoyed it? I imagined them having no faces beneath the masks. And when they finished here I imagined them disappearing into dark rooms and sitting on the floor until they were called to participate in something else. Was this what Dawn and Barcie were grooming me for? It didn’t seem likely. I was way too old and my cock wasn’t nearly big enough.
Dawn didn’t offer any instruction. It was almost mechanical the way the men switched positions, rammed Barcie as hard as they could, before once again swapping. Eventually Barcie was covered in sweat and gag juice, blood trickling from her cunt. I didn’t know if that was from being stretched too far or if it was from the cat inside her.
By the time the last man, wearing a Jack Nicholson mask, had shot his load onto Barcie I felt tense, a little bored, and relieved that I hadn’t been forced to take part.
The men continued to awkwardly stand around.
Dawn shut off the camera and the music.
A few of the men were engaged in muffled conversations.
Barcie stood up. She seemed shaken and even paler than usual. Her hipbones were bloodied from where she’d been driven into the floor over the last hour or so. Her knees and elbows were red.
She pulled her underwear and dress back on.
Dawn opened the storage shed door and the men filed out, some of them lifting up their masks, producing cigarettes and lighters from their clothes that I now noticed were piled up beside the door.
The man who’d been escorted out earlier lay in a bloody heap on the gravel drive. There was no sign of the other man.
Spotting the fallen man, Dawn said, “Will one of you guys check to make sure he’s still alive?”
One of the nude men who was not smoking but still wearing a Bart Simpson mask walked over to the downed man and crouched beside him. He nudged him. He felt for a pulse at the neck and wrist. Nudged him again. Gave him a few rough shakes.
The man on the ground flinched into consciousness and craned his head around to look up at everyone staring down at him. His mask had been split down the middle and the man who’d helped him pulled it off. The downed man stood up and began dancing exuberantly to music that wasn’t there, his flaccid penis bouncing from thigh to thigh.
Dawn turned to a large black man wearing a Prince mask and said, “You need to get him out of here.”
The black guy approached the dancing man. He made a grab for the dancing man but couldn’t get hold before he started half-running, half-dancing away. The black man continued trying to catch him but it looked like the gravel driveway was rough on his feet so he was a couple of steps behind at all times. The black man bent and scooped up some rocks from the driveway. He began chucking them at the dancing man before he disappeared around a bend in the driveway.
“We ready to go back to the house?” Dawn said.
“Yeah. I think the DJs are setting up,” Barcie said.
“How’d you get those guys?”
“Paid a lot of money.”
“This is gonna be so cool.”
I followed them up to Barcie’s house. The sun was going down and the large pine trees around the house cast long shadows over the grounds. The remaining naked men followed along behind us.
There was a huge pool in the backyard. I briefly wondered if this was where we had been last night but didn’t think it felt the same. Similar, definitely. I imagined there were very slight differences in the abodes of rich people with no taste. They were all still buying the same shit from the same places.
A small stage was set up near the house. There were four guys who looked about the same except for the colors of their shoes and ties. Otherwise they wore all black. At the back of the stage was a rainbow lighted sign announcing them as Team Klaus. I’d never heard of them.
The smell of food made my stomach grumble.
There were banks of food to the left of the stage. People who were dressed really well, couples mostly, began coming through the large French doors leading to the backyard. Some of them came from around the house. I began feeling really self-conscious about my jeans and work shirt. All the naked men seemed to have vanished.
Most of the people arriving seemed older than Dawn and Barcie. Most of them looked old enough to be my parents.
How had I been witnessing what I’d seen only a short time ago and was now at some party that seemed like it was for the cultural elite?
“What is this?” I said.
“It’s a Democratic fundraiser,” Dawn said.
“And these people are . . .?”
“Backers, I guess. Contributors. It’s kind of Barcie’s thing. Or her dad’s. One of them paid for what you just watched back there.”
People mingled with drinks, engaging in bright-eyed conversations.
Team Klaus began playing, the music soft and low. They had no instruments. Just four laptops. I imagined it would get louder as the night wore on.
“Why am I here?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Dawn said. “You can leave if you want.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“Walk then. Or go grab a drink or something. I’ll take one too. It’s all free.”
I went to the bar area and got a couple of beers. I noticed an already overflowing tip jar but didn’t have any cash so I feigned ignorance of the jar and offered a quick smile instead.
I found Dawn sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet hidden in the water. I handed her the beer and pulled a wooden deck chair up next to her.
“Why are you here?” I said.
“I’m providing the entertainment . . . for later. I have really good organizational skills.”
“Entertainment?”
“If you want to find out, you’re more than welcome to take part. But you’ve been pretty resistant to things so far.�
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“Is it like . . . a sex club or something?”
“Not always sex. These are people who can afford to indulge their fantasies. Let’s just say that. Like I said, if you’re interested in taking part, I’m sure I can find something for you to do. See, these people need some incentive to be here. They’re never going to show up to eat free shitty food with people they spend their daily lives dealing with.”
“Is that Dr. Weishaupt?” His was the only face I recognized.
“It is. You don’t recognize anyone else? This is the Gethsemane elite.”
“I don’t really pay much attention to what’s happening in town.”
“Well, that’s apparent.”
“So do people work for you by choice or are you blackmailing all of them?”
She pulled her feet out of the water and stood up. “You’re boring me,” she said.
I watched her join a group of older men and begin talking to them. I found myself slightly jealous. I saw no sign of Barcie. I became overly conscious of the well-dressed people passing me and either looking at me for too long or quickly looking away.
I pulled my chair to a somewhat darkened area on the perimeter of the pool patio. I kept going back to the bar for more beer. The music settled into a tight groove and I locked into it. Once it was fully dark I noticed there was a massive movie screen above the stage and images began flickering across it. I wasn’t overly surprised when I appeared on it. It was the scene of me vomiting out of the car, looped continuously and hilariously, syncing perfectly to the music. There were a number of other loops similar in theme and with similar men.
I also couldn’t say I was incredibly surprised to see Travis in one of them. He looked sloppy and passed out and was getting urinated on by several dogs at the same time. Of course he’d never told me that happened but it reaffirmed my suspicion his connection with Dawn was maybe not a completely random thing.
Deeper into the night, deeper into the beer, there seemed to be a lot fewer people milling around. If this were a Democratic fundraiser, and I still wasn’t really sure it was, maybe everyone was off listening to political speeches or something while the bored people they had brought with them were out here watching humiliation reels of poor people. But I thought Democrats liked poor people.
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