King of the Perverts

by Steve Lowe

  Peter Oh’Tool turned and motioned off stage and another woman wearing just a thong and pasties covering her nipples entered pushing a clear plastic box on wheels. The box was filled with cash. “The winner,” Peter Oh’Tool continued, “gets a million dollars!”

  I doubted the box actually contained all of the million dollars, but it was still impressive to see. The crowd of dorks whistled and shouted the name of the girl, apparently another recognizable porn star. I didn’t pay much mind to Ivana Stroikya, though. My attention was all on that cash.

  Peter Oh’Tool thanked Ivana and turned back to the crowd. He said, “Before we start to play the game, let’s meet the contestants, shall we?”

  I barely paid attention to the other contestants. They really didn’t matter. As far as I was concerned, this was not a head-to-head competition. It was all about competing against oneself. It was about overcoming the fear of being on camera, of getting naked when you knew thousands of eyes would see you in all your awkward glory, of having sex with strangers that would be broadcast to more strangers. This was what consumed my thoughts. This was my focus and my main concern. One thought kept rolling through my head, even as the spotlight glared on me and words fell out of my mouth:

  Can I do this?

  Am I man enough to do this?

  Once they finished the introductions, and I stumbled pretty badly through mine, it was time to reveal the first challenge.

  “This is the only time our contestants will be in the same room together until the final coronation ceremony,” Peter Oh’Tool said. “That’s because, as soon as we reveal the first challenge, they’ll be whisked back home and the game will begin!”

  The crowd cheered on cue and Peter Oh’Tool smiled through it. Once they quieted down, he said, “And just what will that first test be?”

  A marquee with flashing strobes along its edges dropped down from the ceiling on cables and everyone watched its dark display, waiting with great anticipation. Just when the crowd was starting to get restless, shouting out garbled guesses I couldn’t make out, the marquee lit up with the answer, in large, yellow letters:

  GOLDEN SHOWER

  The crowd went wild.

  The Abe Lincoln

  That first challenge seems like a distant memory, even though it just happened two days ago. Reflecting on it now, it really wasn’t that bad, especially considering how well Challenge No. 2 went. Did I mention how great the standing fuckhouse was? Well, I’ll say it again. Danielle and I were asleep within minutes, both of us completely spent. I was still a little lightheaded from the pain in my ribs and under my eye, but it was totally worth it. I’m lying on the side that doesn’t hurt and she has a long, muscular arm wrapped around me in a very tight but tender cuddle. I feel like a teddy bear.

  I drift off to a happy place. I think it’s a meadow. Danielle and I are there together. She’s skipping through the tall grasses and wheat stalks. I’m riding on her back, nibbling on her neck and making her laugh. She kicks at the wheat and sends chaff into the air and it swirls around us in slow motion through the amber light. This would make a perfect douche commercial.

  But the sun moves behind a cloud. The warmth drains out of the air and we’re standing there in the middle of the meadow, both beginning to shiver. The golden wheat stalks are gray and dying now, their stems breaking off. The sound of merry, chirping birds disappears, all the tiny forest animals enjoying our presence were now gone.

  But we’re not alone.

  I slide off Danielle’s back and turn and I’m face-to-face with a massive bear. It’s right behind us, looming, casting a black shadow over us as it raises its huge paws. I’m a statue of fear. The bear places its terrible paw on my shoulder and bends over, huffing awful, rotted meat breath into my face as it opens its mouth.

  “Dennis! Wake the fuck up!”

  I open my eyes and see Mongo. His head is turned sideways so it’s parallel with mine and he’s shaking my shoulder with his huge paw and whisper-yelling at me, “Hey! Wake up homo! Have golden opportunity!”

  I freak a little. I jump up and think I scream again. I’ll have to wait for this episode to air later to find out for sure. It won’t be the first time I screamed this evening. I’m guessing this will be the “Dennis Screams then Creams” episode. Maybe I can get an endorsement deal from a primal therapy salon after this is over.

  I know I’m screaming for sure now, because the bear has me. His paw is clamped over my mouth and he’s hauling me across the room, and doing so without much trouble, I note. He carries me out of the room, whispering in my ear to shut the fuck up before I wake up tall, gangly whore. The bear says we still need gangly whore to complete next challenge.

  He lets me go when we get outside the room and gently shuts the door. He presses a fat finger to his lips and points to room 27, our base of operations. I’m still trying to make certain he really isn’t a bear. In this light, I still can’t tell.

  Mongo gets impatient and grabs me behind the neck and guides me into the room.

  “Ow, OK, OK, OK, I’m going.”

  He lets go and points to the laptop on the dresser opposite the room’s two beds.

  “Watch video,” he says.

  “Already? Jesus, don’t you think we can wait until tomorrow for the next challenge? I’m tired, I’m sore, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve still got a girl in the room. You expect me to just wake her up, shove her out the door and go –”

  “Shut mouth. Watch video.”

  Mongo looms over me just like the bear in my dream. I’m scared. I do my best not to make pee-pee and turn my attention to the laptop. The video player is cued up so I mouse over and click play.

  Peter Oh’Tool’s smiling face appears and he says, “Congratulations on completing the alligator fuckhouse! Nice going, champ! Now that you’ve taken care of that one, you’re ready to move on to the next challenge. Like the previous one, this test will require stealth and the element of surprise, but also something more. You’ll be required to move in silence and attempt daring feats without being caught to pull off one of the greatest sexual pranks in history…”

  He pauses for dramatic effect and poorly rendered graphics spin onto the screen at the same time as Peter Oh’Tool shouts out the next challenge: “The Abe Lincoln!”

  I say, “What the fuck is an Abe Lincoln?”

  Mongo says, “Shut up and watch.”

  I do what Mongo says.

  I watch as Peter Oh’Tool explains the procedures involved with the Abe Lincoln. There’s also a short video recap, just like the previous challenges. Once it’s over, I stand there staring at the quiet screen, pondering this latest trial.

  “I don’t know if I can do this one.”

  Mongo says, “Why the hell not?”

  I shrug and back away from him a bit. “I don’t know. It just seems… mean.”

  Mongo laughs and closes the computer lid. “What kind of contest you think this is? This is not ‘Mr. Nice Man’ contest. This is conquest contest! This is King of Perverts! And these just bitches. What is to worry?”

  “Well, you can start by not calling them bitches. I have yet to meet a single woman whom I truly wish to do any of this to, especially this thing to this girl in particular. She’s nice, she doesn’t deserve to have me do this to her.”

  “I am still not seeing problem. Is no harm done to her. You go in, you snip-snip, you jerk-jerk, and then is like putting on makeup. No harms come to her.”

  He’s right, but that still doesn’t make me feel better. “I know, but it’s just so mean-spirited.”

  Mongo’s getting pissed now. “Enough with mean. Is not mean, you are just pussy. When contest is over, you can return to being homosexual have butt sex with other man. For now, you do this and we win contest.”

  I was poking the bear too much here, but something suddenly dawns on me. “Wait, you said ‘we win contest’. Are you saying that if I win, you get a prize, too?”

  That creepy, child-eating gri
n swarms Mongo’s face. “Is something like that, yes.”

  We stand there in silence, him grinning, me fretting. Finally, he reaches out a paw and yanks me toward the door. “Time to get moving before gangly whore wakes up.”

  “Right, OK, let’s do this.” There’s not much conviction in my voice. I guess I’m doing it whether I want to or not.

  The lights are still out, so Mongo must have some kind of night vision cameras in here. Danielle is snoring, clearly wiped out from her monumental orgasm. All I want to do is climb back into bed with her and return to our warm little meadow, maybe ride piggyback on her again. That was nice.

  This is not.

  I pull back the covers very slowly, exposing her bare skin a few inches at a time. If she wakes up, we’re sunk, and at this point, I just want to get this stupid challenge over with. And then I’ll pray I never see Danielle again because she’ll probably beat the snot out of me.

  I get the blanket pulled down to just above her knees, far enough for the small amount of moonlight coming through the window to give me light to work. Danielle rolls onto her back and I freeze, terrified, hovering over her with a pair of scissors in my hand. I don’t move again for several very long beats, not until her mouth falls open and she starts to snore again. It’s a loud, rattling noise like a machine gun firing in short bursts.

  I remember why this challenge with this girl might be a problem. She’s bald downstairs. Perfectly shorn. Handsomely landscaped. My Abe Lincoln has quickly turned into a Telly Savalas. I must have been so focused on performing the fuckhouse correctly I didn’t even notice.

  I do the only thing I can think of — I turn tail and run out of the room. Mongo’s waiting for me on the balcony outside.

  “Get back in there,” he says.

  “Uh, we have a problem, meathead. She’s got no pubes.”

  Mongo doesn’t even hesitate, like he had this already figured out. “You already put dick in slit. How you not know this? No matter. Is not problem. You have pubes, yes? Use them.”

  I think about it for a second. “I guess that could work. But is it legal? Peter Oh’Tool specifically demonstrated cutting off the girl’s pubes.”

  “Yes, yes, is fine. Pubes is pubes. Go back in now and finish. I want to go for pancakes soon. Getting very hungry. You will not like me when I am hungry.”

  Oh, well, I’m sorry my moral ambiguity is putting a dent in your breakfast plans. I think that, but I don’t say it. He’s right, of course. I don’t like him much now, I can only imagine how he’ll be when he’s grumpy. Fuck it. Let’s do this.

  I take a few quick breaths and place my hand on the doorknob. Gotta psych myself up for this.

  I go back in, quietly shutting the door behind me. Danielle hasn’t moved and is still snoring. I sneak over to the room’s tiny bathroom and shut the door behind me. I pull down my boxers and stand in front of the mirror, staring at my pale form. Another deep breath before I start to cut, trimming away as much of my reddish-brown man growth as possible. The more hair the better to make this as effective as possible.

  Once I have a sufficient mound sitting on the sink, I set aside the scissors and grab my dick. This is going to take some coaxing. I am most definitely not in the mood to masturbate right now, which for me is saying something. But as Peter Oh’Tool said, “You can’t apply the disguise without first applying the foundation.”

  I push Peter from my mind and try to think of other things. I think of earlier in the evening. I close my eyes and try to find the same rhythm Danielle and I had before.

  That doesn’t work too well. All I can think of is the pain in my ribs, the burning in my lungs, trying not to pass out. I dig deeper, trying hard to conjure up an image that will provide sufficient rigidity down south. After a while, a face pops into my head. She’s familiar, but I can’t place her at first. Not until I imagine kneeling in front of her. She’s wearing nothing but those tiny panties, dark hair swirling around her head as she looks down at me. The girl from the first challenge. Shit, what was her name? Chris? Swish? Dish? It was some kind of –ish name.

  Tricia! That was it, Tricia. Man, what a babe. And just like that, I’m in the game. It takes a minute to get up to speed, but once I’m in the zone, we’re ready. I’m getting fairly close and remember I’m not doing this for my own pleasure, that I actually have a job to do here. I gather up my trimmings and head for the bedroom, weapon still in hand, still priming, nearing blast off.

  Danielle is rolled onto her other side now, facing the window. This is actually perfect. I move around the bed and bend my knees, adjusting my aim. I again feel the twinge of guilt, of how wrong what I’m about to do really is, but I push it from my mind. Can’t deal with that now. Must soldier forward. I can’t afford to miss this opportunity. I’m behind in the game and I’ve got a huge Russian animal with as much (probably more at this point) desire as me to win this thing.

  I try to expel the mental image of Mongo and focus on the mental image of Tricia while I line up the shot.

  We’re getting closer. Almost time.

  Danielle lets out a little snort-snore. She’s stirring. I’m still coaxing. I realize how loud my stroking sounds in the quiet room. I cinch my eyes closed and concentrate. Can’t lose it now. We’re so close.

  Danielle clears her throat. She moves a bit. She’s waking up. Fuck.

  Almost there. COME ON. HOLD! HOLD!

  “Dennis?”

  Danielle starts to sit up, propping on her elbow. All is about to be lost.

  But at the last moment, it happens. We have lift off.

  My aim isn’t great considering this is the first time I’ve done something like this. I’ve never used a woman’s face as a target for firing my spooge. The first stream is a little high and hits her in the nose. I quickly adjust and aim lower, shooting a rope of semen across her chin. That’s all I get. She puts her hands up and splutters, gagging. Some must have gotten in her nostrils. I feel really bad about that.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Danielle.”

  She pushes her feet over the side of the bed and coughs. She drops her hands down for a second and I can see it, glistening in the moonlight on her upper lip and chin: the glue for my fake beard. I look down at the mound of hair in my hand. So much for stealth and the element of surprise. Might as well go for broke now.

  “I really, truly am sorry,” I say, and I mean it.

  She opens her mouth just as I toss the handful of pubic hair into her face. Some of it sticks. It clings to her lip and nose. A large tuft affixes to her chin. A lot of it gets in her mouth. If you want to be technical about it, she looks nothing like Abraham Lincoln. But the point of the challenge is not about mimicry, it’s more the spirit of the thing, I guess. She’s got a beard of crotch hair held in place by my baby batter, and that’s all that matters.

  It also appears that quite a bit of my pubic hair is now coating her tongue. Shit, I definitely did not mean to do that.

  Danielle gags and spits and stands. She’s even tall like Abe Lincoln and I wonder if we’ll get bonus points for that. She meets my gaze and I can see the fury in her face. The vengeance burning in her pupils, balls of fiery hatred glowing through the darkness, glittering in the moonlight. She’s transformed in that moment into a towering personification of danger. A spouting volcano of death.

  She roars.

  I run for my life.

  We’re in the parking lot. I’m clutching my pants, trying to pull them on. She’s stark naked. Tall and languid, muscular and athletic. And fast. Somewhere behind us, I hear the loud clomps of another set of feet. I chance a look back over my shoulder and see Mongo behind us, camera in hand. He’s laughing, struggling to keep up with us. Danielle is closing fast.

  We cover six blocks before I can finally shake her.

  Interlude 4

  Jack Mehoff

  I wait a long time before I return to the motel. I’m walking around in my bare feet, without a shirt on, praying I don’t get mugged or picked up by
the cops. Maybe Danielle has already called them and they’re out looking for a shirtless, shoeless guy right now. I’m guessing she could very easily have me arrested for assault. Be easy to pin the crime on me, too, considering all the DNA evidence on her face.

  I feel awful for her. And more than that, I’m disgusted with myself. I can’t believe I did that to someone. I also realize I’m not cut out for this. I like sex as much as the next guy, don’t mind getting a little kinky at all, but not if it’s one-sided. I just crossed a line.

  Part of me wants to be picked up by the cops. I certainly deserve it.

  Eventually, I make it back to the room, very careful to be quiet as I pass the adjoining room Danielle and I had been in. I don’t hear anything and assume she’s probably gotten her things and cleared out by now. Still, I very gently tap on the door to room 27.

  Mongo opens the door a crack and I’m greeted by his scary rape smile. “Hello, lover boy.”

  “Hilarious. Please open the door now. I would like to go to sleep.”

  It’s nearly four in the morning and I’ve been walking the streets of Muncie for the past two hours. I’m dead on my feet.

  Mongo opens the door and says, “Am proud of you, little trooper. Did not think you had guts to complete challengean.”

  “Whatever. I wouldn’t call it guts. More like stupidity.”

  “Is only getting harder from here. Becoming King is not simple task. Sooner you understand this, easier it will be rest of the way.”

  I plop down on my bed and crawl under the covers. “If there is a rest of the way. I’m not comfortable with what I just did tonight, Mongo. Asking a chick to pee on me or rolling her on her back while we’re fucking is one thing, but this shit tonight crosses the line.”