Abnormal Lives (16 page)

“Harder,” Chris muttered, with Marvin's organ still in his mouth.

Simone began to stroke Chris harder but he continued to demand her to use more force.

“You've got to do it harder,” Chris said, removing his hand from Marvin's dick and grabbing the vibrator, forcing it harshly into his anus. “You've got to do it like this.”

Chris focused his attention back on Marvin and Simone forced the vibrator into Chris's anus like he'd requested, nauseated by the impact.

“Oooh, I'm about to cum,” Marvin squealed.

“Give it all here,” Chris said and then held his tongue under Marvin's dick, stroking it rapidly.

Marvin closed his eyes and grunted as he covered Chris's tongue with cum. Marvin then leaned back on Stefan, panting heavily. Chris rose up on his knees, wrapped his arms around Marvin's neck, and kissed him.

“Woo!” Chris exclaimed, falling down on the bed and pulling Marvin on top of him. “Okay, now it's y'all turn.”

Simone looked at Stefan and frowned. She wasn't eager to engage in any activity with Chris or Marvin that didn't involve one of
them shutting the door behind her as she made her way out of the front door. She decided to let Stefan initiate the action and follow his lead. Stefan leaned over to kiss Chris on his lips.

“Uh uh,” Chris said, tilting his index finger from side to side. Chris got up from the bed with his dick standing erect from his frail, pink body. “My friend and I put on a show for you; now it's y'all turn.”

Stefan looked dumbfounded. “Our turn?”

“Yes,” Marvin said. “It's time for you two to entertain us.”

“Oh hell naw,” Simone snapped.

“We're family; we don't perform on each other,” Stefan explained.

“I know, you told me that last week,” Chris said. “But tonight you said you aim to please and one of my fondest fantasies is watching two sisters go at it up close and personal, but a drag and his cousin will do.”

“You sick sonofabitch. I don't know what type of shit you're into but that shit ain't hopping off,” Simone snapped with spit flying from her mouth.

“Hell naw; we're not doing that,” Stefan said.

“Come on; let's roll,” Simone said, nodding her head toward the door.

“Don't worry; we're leaving,” Stefan said. “But first, where's our money?”

Chris chuckled. “Money, what money? As far as I'm concerned, you ain't do nothing worth a damn, so I ain't giving you shit. As a matter of fact, I still haven't gotten my money's worth out of you two from last time.”

“I don't give a fuck about your concerns,” Stefan said, pounding his fist in his hand. “I ain't leaving 'til I get my money.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Chris said, reaching underneath
the bed and pulling out a shotgun. Chris walked toward Stefan and placed the shotgun against his forehead. “You're leaving here, one way or another. Pick one; either way, you ain't getting no money.”

Simone's heart raced and she became dizzy. Her fear numbed her body.

The room became silent. Chris stood there with a smirk on his face, confidently holding the gun to Stefan's head and Marvin stood at Simone's side like he was preparing to attack.

“So what's it going to be?” Chris asked.

Stefan smirked. “You can give me my money and live or I can step over your cold dead body and take whatever I want.”

Chris put his hand on the trigger. “You're one arrogant bastard, that's for sure, but arrogance never saved anyone's life.”

Stefan quickly grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and snatched it from Chris's hand. Stefan smacked Chris across the face with the butt of the shotgun.

Marvin rushed toward Stefan and Simone pounced on his unyielding body. Marvin backhanded Simone and shoved her on the floor. Simone grabbed a handful of Marvin's hair, bringing him down to the floor with her. Marvin clutched Simone's face with his hand and banged her head against the floor. Simone dug her nails into Marvin's face until the blows to her head started to disorient her. Simone could hear Chris screaming, begging for his life, as Stefan continued to wallop him with the shotgun. Simone reached for the ice pick hidden away in her bra. She could feel her consciousness slipping away. If she didn't do something soon, she'd be out cold and the chances of her regaining consciousness were slim. Simone bit down on the palm of Marvin's hand, piercing his skin.

“Bitch,” Marvin spat, holding Simone's head stable with one
hand as he tried to pry the other hand from between her teeth.

Simone pulled her ice pick from beneath her bra and shoved it into Marvin's side. Marvin immediately removed his hand from Simone's head and grabbed his side. Simone raised her hand back up and shoved the ice pick into Marvin's throat. Marvin made a gurgling sound and collapsed on top of Simone. Blood trickled down Marvin's neck onto Simone's chest and she began to panic.

“Stefan!” Simone screamed.

Stefan didn't answer.

“And to think, for a minute, I actually thought I would be leaving empty-handed.” Stefan gloated before firing the gun.

Fragments of Chris's head flew across the room.

“Stefan!” Simone screamed louder. “Get this dead man off of me!”

Stefan searched Chris's pants pockets and pulled a knot of cash out of each one. “Damn, I hit the lottery.”

Simone screamed louder, kicking and struggling to get from underneath Marvin's body.

Stefan kicked Marvin off of Simone and pulled her to her feet. Simone became weak, her knees buckled, and she fell back down to the floor.

Stefan grabbed Simone by her waist, holding her up. “Don't do this, Simone. Don't be a pussy. Get on your feet so we can get the fuck out of here.”

14

P
aris knocked at his parents' door. He took a deep breath and straightened up his dress. He debated with himself about turning around and going home.

His mother seemed to be on a mission to get their family back together but it wasn't going to happen. It was a lost cause. His father not only hated his lifestyle, he hated him also. Paris didn't think it was a progressive thing. Paris believed his father had hated him the moment he was born. And frankly, Paris didn't care for him either.

His mother was fickle. She didn't know whether she wanted to side with him, his father, or some article she'd read about raising gay children. But Paris loved her. He believed if it weren't for his father and his ignorant, judgmental, low-life ways, he and his mother could have a better relationship. But he wasn't bitter about it. It was the hand that life had dealt him and he played it well. He went with the flow of things and didn't stress shit. To him, life was a sick tale of loss, struggle, and disappointment. Its sole purpose was to break you so that you could realize how helpless you truly are. When he was born, the doctor might as well had slapped him on the ass and said “lights, camera, action” because the camera had been on him ever since and he performed as well as Josephine Baker had in her banana skirt. He made sure he did whatever he could to make life more interesting.

Paris's mother, Berniece, answered the door and gave Paris a
hug. “Oh, it's so nice to see you, Paul, or should I say Paris? I know that's what you like to be called.”

Paris smiled. “Hey, Mom; what you been up to?”

“Not much; taking care of your father. He can't get around like he used to.”

Paris figured what the hell was the harm in telling one little white lie to please his mother. He had done worse things. “Oh... I'm sorry to hear that.”

Paris walked over to the dining room table where his father, Glen, was seated. He looked down at his father's hands as he took his seat. His fingers were curled over and his hands were pink and swollen; they resembled pig hooves. Paris thought his body was starting to match his heart; crippled.

Berniece prepared his plate while his father looked him over with his nose turned up like he had raw chitterlings on his plates.

Paris decided to break the ice. “So, Dad, how are you?”

“That's Glen to you.”

Paris smirked.
Old, contrary bastard
, he thought. “Well, how are things going, Glen?”

“Why would you waste your time asking me that?” his father said. “You know my life has been fucked up since the day you were born.”

Paris's heart dropped. Why didn't the man like him? During his twenty-two years of life, the man never had one nice word to say to him. He wanted to tell his father how he was a miserable bastard and tell his mother how pathetic she was for not being able to stand up to him, and then he wanted to push the table over and leave. But he wouldn't dare let his father know that his insults bothered him.

“It brings joy to my heart to know I have that kind of effect on you,” Paris said.

“Stop it,” Berniece said. “I'm sure you're both happy to see each other.”

Paris sucked his teeth. “Don't start me to lying.”

Berniece slapped him on his shoulder. “Oh... stop it now.”

“What he needs to stop doing is walking around here wearing dresses, high-heels, weave, and a purse,” Glen said.

Berniece took a look at Paris's alligator purse. “I love that purse; it had to be expensive. How much does a purse like that cost?”

“Money's not a problem when you're turning tricks for it,” Glen said. “Besides, that bag is probably where he keeps all his voodoo shit.”

“Naw, it's a big bag of dicks,” Paris said.

“I'll bet; it's just like you,” Glen said. “You can't stop playing with dicks long enough to see your mother.”

“Actually, I brought them for her,” Paris said. “I know she gets tired of having to pry yo' dick from underneath yo' big potbelly every time she wants to get laid.”

“Come on, y'all; let's have a nice peaceful dinner,” Berniece suggested.

“We could if this punk understood his place,” Glen replied.

“I know my place,” Paris said. “It's behind you with my foot up yo' ass. But I hate to get shit on my four-hundred-dollar shoes.”

Berniece jumped in the argument again, trying to change the subject. “I noticed your shoes match your purse. You have to let me borrow them sometime, Paul. I mean, Paris. That's what you like to be called, right?”

“As long as he's in my house, he'll be called Paul,” Glen said.

“My name is Paris.”

Glen pounded his hand on the table. “Paul, Paul, Paul; that's what your mother named you and that's the name you'll go by in this house.”

Berniece tried to change the subject again. “How is your friend, Charlie?”

Paris looked at his father and grinned. “You mean Crystal? I wouldn't know. I've only seen him once since he got out of jail.”

“I heard him and Anthony, you know the one who used to live down the street from Stefan, I heard they were a couple.”

“Stop playing!”

“I'm not; that's what's being said at church,” Paris's mother said.

“Stefan; that's a faggot I can respect,” Glen said. “No doubt he's the biggest queer of them all but he doesn't try to hide his identity and change his name to something dainty like Paris or Crystal.”

Paris and his mother ignored his father and continued their conversation.

“His mother didn't take it too hard though,” Berniece said. “But she's crushed about Anthony being strung out on crack.”

“Anthony is on crack?” Paris said. “I would've never thought.”

Berniece nodded. “Yeah, and they say Crystal also uses it.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Paris said.

“Like what?”

“Like why I haven't heard from him,” Paris answered.

Berniece placed her hand on top of his. “Sometimes, when people feel like they're doing something wrong, they cut themselves off from the people who love them.”