Swimming Pool Eyes

It was late at night and I was walking the streets down near the docks. Because that's where they hang out. Down near the docks.

Yeah. They were here all right. All around me. I could practically smell them. The smell of 'gay.' There was one standing in a doorway. There was one on the corner, looking across the avenue at the dark river. They were all so casual. Like they were just out for a stroll, or for a little walk. But they were really out for some dick. I touched my dick through my pants, and felt it harden reassuringly at the thought of the evening ahead.

Now one was passing me, and he was giving me the eye, but he was a little older than I like, and a little fatter. Now another one was giving me the eye. Still not what I'm looking for. Hell. They all gave me the eye, because I was big and tall and strong and good-looking, not like these wussy little gay sissies. I was every faggot's dream boat. Now another one. Still a 'no.' I kept walking.

Some loud rock music blasted out of a waterfront dive. I wouldn't go in there. I would meet him here on the street, in the dark, where no one could see. Another one passing. Not yet.

But here come's a guy. Not so bad. Maybe just what I'm looking for. Kind of neat and pleasant looking. An easy kind of guy. Yeah. Maybe him.

I moved into the recessed doorway of a dark storefront and pulled out my cigarettes from my jeans pocket. I stuck one in my mouth and waited. He was approaching the store front. Now he was passing the doorway. He knew I was standing in the recess, but he pretended like he didn't see me and was about to walk past.

"Got a match?" I asked him.

He turned toward me, and we looked at each other. I knew he liked what he was seeing. You could tell it in his eyes. And he was just what I was looking for. A young guy, about my own age, but smaller, and not as masculine as me. He was nice looking, and not too swishy. I mean the average person might never have known, but I could smell them out. The 'gay' smell. And besides, what was he doing walking around the deserted streets near the docks late at night? Yeah. He was looking for dick, all right. And I had dick. I would give him dick, and maybe a little something extra. Yeah. That was my M.O.. First the dick. Then the extra.

"I'm sorry. I don't smoke," he said.

"You know something. I shouldn't smoke either. It's stupid." And I threw the cigarette down onto the sidewalk and ground it under my foot. Actually I didn't really smoke. I just used the cigarette as kind of a stage prop. It was a good way to start a conversation.

"Nice night," he said.

"Yeah. Getting a little cold."

"Maybe you should go into the bar and warm up," he suggested, nodding to where the loud music was coming from down the block.

"Nah. I don't drink. I just like to walk around a little" I told him.

"Yeah. Me too," he said. "I couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd come out and take a little walk. Get a little fresh air."

"Yeah. That sometimes helps," I told him. "You live around here?"

"Two blocks over on Deasey Street," he told me. "You live around here?"

"Me? No. Hell, no. I live way across town."

"Oh," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "But I guess I should really get going. It's getting late and I have to work in the morning."

"Oh," he said. "Maybe you would want to come over to my place for a drink?"

"I told you I don't drink," I reminded him.

"Oh yeah. Well, maybe a cup of tea or a glass of cold cider or something?"

"Yeah. Cold cider sounds real nice," I said.

"Nicholas," he said, stretching out his hand. I didn't take his hand, and I didn't answer him. I was not going to tell him my name, and I was not going to bother to make up a name to give him. I just needed to do my thing, and then I would have no more use for Nicholas.

We walked two blocks over and one block further in from the river. We got to a building with big brass doors leading down three steps to a locked steel door, where you would get buzzed in, but Nicholas pulled out his keys.

We took the elevator to the fourth floor, and proceeded down the hall to Nicholas' doorway. He turned the key. We went in. It was a crappy little one-room apartment in a very old badly constructed building, but he was probably paying a lot of money for it. It was still better than the crappy rooming house where I was living.

He went into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He actually came out with a glass of cold cider for me. I took it and tipped it at him before taking a few swallows. Good cider. Fresh pressed. Not that crummy bottled kind.

He motioned for me to sit on the bed, as that was the only furniture in the apartment except for a small table and some wooden chairs. I sat down on the bed and finished my cider. I handed him my empty glass and he took it into the kitchen. He came back and we looked at each other. I eased back until I was half lying on the bed, but my feet were still on the floor. As I eased back, my pants pulled tight and displayed a tantalizing bulge. He looked at it. Then he looked back into my eyes.

"You're very handsome," he told me.

"Yeah," I said.

He sat down next to me, and his left leg touched my right leg. I leaned back a little more. I was really offering him the bulge. What the hell was he waiting for? Finally, his hand came up and began to stroke the bulge through my jeans.

"I just bet you want to suck my dick," I told him.

He didn't answer. He just kept stroking me. I raised my hips slightly to press the bulge into his hand. Finally he got the message and got down on his knees between my legs, which were still on the floor. I could feel and hear the zipper being drawn down, and now he was reaching in, and feeling my hard cock, because I hadn't worn any underwear. It was much easier for them to get to my cock if I wasn't wearing underwear.

He eased it out the zipper and began to rub my erection around his face and over his lips. Then his lips opened and sucked my prick into his hot mouth, and he started to suck up and down on it.

And I was feeling.............rage. This little faggot was on his knees sucking my dick. This pervert had dared to put my prick into his faggot mouth. And this wasn't the first time he had committed such an abomination. You could tell that he was well-practiced in the art of sucking cock. That filthy little cocksucker. And he was going to make me come. Come into his dirty cocksucking mouth. That dirty cocksucking queer was sucking the cum out of my balls. I pushed his head down on my dick till it was choking him, and just as my juices shot out into his faggot throat, I balled up my fist and let him have it.

He screamed. I hit him again. He kept screaming. I kept hitting. Then I heard banging at the door.

"What's going on in there?" a man's voice asked.

"Help," he screamed. "Help me."

They started slamming on the fucking door. They were trying to break it down, which wouldn't be hard to do in this crummy building. And he was crying and screaming. I knew they were coming in, so I had to do as much damage as possible before they got me. This fag had to be punished for sucking my dick. I hit and hit and twisted his arm behind his back, and he passed out at my feet as they broke in the door. There were three big guys, and they overcame me and held me, and one of them called Emergency for the police and also for an ambulance. I tried to fight them off, but they managed to hold me down until the police came.

I was booked and charged and I was up for some real heavy jail time, but they told me they had this new experimental program for people like me, and if I enrolled in the trials, they would try to get me off on probation. I said, "Fuck, yes."

They made me stay in some kind of half-way house with a lot of losers, and the next Monday they came and collected me and we drove over to the fancy part of town and they took me into the office of some Professor Nathan Stoner.

I had to wait a few minutes, because this Professor Stoner was in the other room probably doing his experiment on somebody else. And yeah. Finally the door opened, and this young tough guy came out, and I knew that the other guy, the older guy with the gray beard must be the Professor.

"Won't you come in," he told me, and stood aside as I entered the inner office. He motioned for me to sit in one of the two armchairs. He sat facing me.

"So you like to beat up homosexuals," he observed.

I gave a little laugh.

"You think it's funny?" he asked me.

"No," I said. I had to try to pretend to be cooperative.

"Why do you like to beat up homosexuals?" he asked me.

"Because they creep me out," I told him.

"I see," he said. "And do you go out of your way to do this?"

"No. I don't go out of my way. If a guy comes on to me, I let him have it."

"This young man you hurt, who is now in the hospital with multiple contusions and a broken arm. You did not go out of your way to hurt him?"

"No. He came on to me," I said.

"But you were in his apartment. Why were you in his apartment?"

""He offered me some cold cider, and I was thirsty. That's why I was in his apartment."

"And while you were drinking the cold cider, this young man sexually molested you?"

"Exactly," I explained.

"And how did you feel while you were bashing him. Did you enjoy it?"

"No. I was just pissed off."

"I think maybe you enjoyed punching him and hurting him," he told me. "I think maybe you got a thrill out of it."

"No," I said.

"A sexual thrill."

"No."

"I've treated other young men like you," he told me. "How can you enjoy hurting people? I just can't understand it."

"Me neither," I admitted.

"Would you like to not feel that way anymore?" he asked me.

"Sure," I said. Because that was what I was here to say.

"Very well then," he told me. "Roll up your sleeve."

"Why?" I asked him.

"I'm going to give you a hypodermic needle."

"I'm not taking any fucking needles. I hate needles."

"That's an important part of the treatment. I'm just going to give you a drug which will totally relax you. It will make you feel wonderful."

"No. No." I told him, and started to get up.

"Very well then," he told me. "You are violating your probation and I will have to tell the authorities, and they will put you away for a very long time, and you can beat up all the sex hungry men in the State Prison."

I sat back down. I rolled up my sleeve. He had me. What was I to do?

He walked over to a cabinet, and took out a prepared syringe and a cotton swab and some alcohol. He came over next to my chair, and sterilized my arm. Then the needle went in. The fucking thing hurt. I hate needles. Then I rolled down my sleeve and he put the syringe down and sat facing me."

"How do you feel?" he asked me.

"Fine," I said. I didn't feel anything. Except I did feel a little warm and a little comfortable.

"Now look into my eyes," he told me, and I did, and his eyes were black and sparkling like two deep pools way off in the forest, and then the water in them was swirling and swirling.

"You are very relaxed," he told me. "So, so relaxed. Do you feel relaxed?"

"Yes," I said, and my voice sounded like it was coming from a thousand miles away.

"I think you would like to sleep," he told me.

"Uhhh," I said, trying to nod my head, because my voice had gone too far away to call back.

"Yes, I will let you sleep. Sleep will be good for you. We all need sleep, but as you are falling deeper and deeper into this wonderful restful sleep you will continue to hear the sound of my voice."

"Uhhh," I said.

And then I don't know what happened, because the next thing he said was "You are to come back here for another treatment a week from today. Same time. You did very well today."

"I did?" I asked him. "You mean it's over?"

"Yes. For this week."

"But what happened?"

"I gave you a first treatment. Don't you remember?"

"No," I said. "You mean the needle?"

"In a way," he told me.

I didn't know how I had done well, but if I had, great. I left.

Later that night, I sneaked out of the halfway house. The old compulsion had returned. I needed to beat up a fag. I needed my fix. I went down by the docks again. That really was the best place. I passed a lot of them by. Not really my type. Too old. Too fat. I knew what I wanted. And then I saw him.

"Got a light?" I asked.

"Yes I do," he said, and lit my fucking cigarette. I started coughing. I'm really not a smoker.

"Nice night," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I love to walk by the river on nights like these."

"Yeah, me too," I told him. "You live near here?"

"A few blocks over," he told me.

"I sure wouldn't mind a cold beer. You got any beer?"

"Yeah," he said. "I like beer too. It's in the refrigerator."

"Great," I said, and we started walking toward his place. When we got into his apartment, I kind of stretched out on the open convertible sofa and leaned back so that my pants could stretch over my bulge. That was my M.O., my bulge. I could see he was looking at it hungrily as he walked toward me, holding out a bottle of cold beer. I took a swallow, and leaned back a little more, bulging, bulging, and I started to seductively run my fingers over my fly.

"Did you want me to do something for you?" he asked me, nervously. He was afraid of making the first move.

"Well, yeah. You could suck my cock a little. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, and he was on his knees between my spread legs, and I heard and felt the zipper coming down, and his hot hand reached in and grabbed my stiff one which was right there, because I wasn't wearing any undershorts, and he drew it out, and I felt his hot mouth close over it.

The dirty little cocksucker was sucking and sucking and the cum was building in my balls, and it felt great. I mean really great. I love to come, but when I smash the cocksuckers with my fist, it feels even better.

He could tell the cum was building in my balls, and he was sucking wetly and hungrily and making noises, and I balled up my fist, and my cum started to shoot out into his mouth. And my arm wouldn't move. I don't know why that was. My arm wouldn't move. It was like I really didn't want to hit him so much.

"Was that okay?" he asked me.

"Yeah sure," I told him. "Super. You give great head. Listen. I gotta be going." I stood up and zipped up my pants and walked to the door.

"Maybe you could come over for another beer some time?" he asked me.

"I don't think so," I told him. "I'm really into women. But that was great." Then I left. I didn't wait for the elevator. I just ran down the stairs. What was wrong with me? I mean I love to shoot my juice and all that, but it's so fucking exciting to beat on them as they're swallowing it.

The next Monday Professor Stoner asked me "Did you beat up any homosexuals this week?"

"No, sir, I didn't." I told him.

"Did you meet any homosexuals this week?"

I decided to be honest. "Yes I did. I met this guy and we went up to his apartment for a cold beer and he wanted to give me a blowjob, so I let him."

"And you didn't flatten him?"

"No sir. I did not."

"Why is that do you suppose?" he asked me.

"I don't know. I thought I was going to hit him and then I didn't."

"That's very good," said Professor Stoner. "Roll up your sleeve."

I rolled up my sleeve and let him inject the stuff into my vein, and then we were sitting face to face again and I was staring into his dark swirling swimming pool eyes.

"You look very tired," he told me. "It would be good for you to get a little sleep. But try to listen to the sound of my voice, even while you are sleeping. Okay?"

"Uhhh," I answered, and I knew that my head was lolling.

"That was very good," he told me.

"You mean it's over again?"

"Yes. Treatment Number two."

"How many treatments are there?" I asked him.

"We'll see," he told me. "Be back here next week same time.

And two nights later I had a similar experience to the one I'd had the week before. I went down to the docks and let this gay guy pick me up and take me home and suck my cock, and I didn't even roll up my fist. Something was happening to me.

I reported for treatment number three, and took another dip in the dark swimming pools.

"Is it over?" I asked.

"Yes. You know that poor young man you hurt, Nicholas Reed. You really injured him. It's going to take months for him to mend. You broke his arm, and you caused some slight internal damage. What a shame."

"Yes," I said. I was starting to feel a little guilty. I had been thinking about Nicholas. He had been a nice boy. He hadn't done anything to deserve what I had done to him.

"Next week same time. Treatment number four," he told me.

"Yes," I said. I mean I really didn't mind the treatments. They were actually very restful. I always felt very good after the treatments. And somehow I was feeling better about myself than I had in a very long time.

I was lying in my cot in the halfway house reading a girlie magazine. Well, not actually a girlie magazine. A fuck magazine. I liked to see the guys fucking the girls. That was really hot. And then I started thinking about Nicholas. What had I done to poor Nicholas? I wondered if there was any way I could make it up to him a little. No. That was ridiculous. How could I make it up to him? But I couldn't get him out of my mind.

I found myself walking in the vicinity of Deasey Street. Right near his building. Maybe I should apologize to him, I thought. No. He wouldn't even see me. I had hurt him. He would be afraid of me. He would call the police. But I kept walking toward his building. I went in the outside door and rang the buzzer. I heard his voice on the intercom.

"Who is it?"

"It's Chester Grange," I said.

"Who?" he asked.

"Chester Grange. I'm the guy who beat you up."

"What do you want? To beat me up again? Get out of here, before I call the police."

"No. Please. I feel very bad about what I did. I wanted to apologize," I said through the intercom.

"Go away," he said. "You're crazy."

"Please, please forgive me," I said, and now I was sobbing into the intercom. "Let me come up and apologize. I'm so sorry."

"You apologized. Now you can go."

"No, please," and I was really crying now. "I want to see you. I want to really apologize. I swear I won't hurt you. Please."

And then the buzzer rang. I was so surprised I almost didn't push on the door in time. He was letting me in.

I took the elevator up and went to his door. He was standing there in his pajamas. He looked pathetic. He was all black and blue. And his right arm was in a cast. I had really hurt him. Why had I done such an awful thing?

He had the door half closed so that he could slam it and lock it if necessary.

"I'm so sorry," I told him.

"You really hurt me," he told me. "You bruised my kidney too. I can't even go shopping or cook my food. I have to ask my neighbors to help me."

"Please forgive me. I'll do anything I can to make you forgive me."

"Just go away. It hurts for me to stand too long. I have to get back to bed."

"Let me help you," I told him. I wanted to help him so badly. To make it up to him in some way. "Let me help you back to bed," and I pushed on his door and moved inside. He had very mixed feelings about all this. You could see that. I didn't know how to let him know how sincere I was.

"Here. Let me help you," I said. And I eased him across the room into his bed. His face was very white. But also black and blue. He closed his eyes. You could see he was in pain.

"Let me go out and get you some dinner," I told him.

"No. That's all right. The girl down the hall usually brings me something later."

"Let me. Please. Let me. There's a Chinese place down on the corner. Would you like me to bring you some Chinese?"