JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (28 page)

He knew what he needed to relax him—a few videos in the privacy of his room should do the trick. He was thinking about what to watch, what fantasies he wanted to play out, when he approached a bus stop on his right and saw a familiar figure huddled inside from the rain.

He approached the intersection and stopped at the red light. He looked toward his right at the bus stop and saw that the familiar figure was Carmen Aguirre, from Top's Burgers.

Without thinking, he honked his horn.

Carmen turned toward him and he leaned toward the passenger's side and waved.

She approached the truck cautiously and when she saw that it was him, her face brightened. She approached the passenger's side door and he unlocked it on his side for her. “Need a ride?"

“Do I ever!” Carmen got in and shut the door. “I'm glad you came when you did. I missed my bus and have to wait for the six-fifteen bus to Echo Park."

“I can take you home,” Charley said.

“Thank you.” She smiled sweetly, white teeth flashing, pink lipstick sparkling invitingly. Her big brown eyes twinkled. “I really appreciate it."

The light turned green. Charley stepped on the gas.

“I hope I'm not putting you out of your way,” Carmen said. She brushed her wet hair back from her face

“I just live in Highland Park, a few blocks down,” Charley said. “But I don't mind giving you a lift home."

“Are you sure?"

“Yeah, no problem. I did kinda want to swing by the house first for something, but it can wait."

“I wouldn't mind if we did,” she said, fidgeting in her seat. “I gotta pee."

“Okay. It's settled then. We'll swing by my place first and then I'll take you home."

“Great!"

With a flutter in his stomach, Charley smiled in anticipation as he cruised slowly home with Carmen Aguirre in the front seat of his truck.

The bedroom was dark. On the widescreen TV a woman was being disemboweled with a pair of garden shears. She screamed shrilly during the re-enactment, and a moment later the woman's body was gutted like a deer, the flesh pale white.

Charley sat on the sofa nude, gripping his penis in his right hand and picturing the woman on the screen as Carmen. It had been four hours since he had picked Carmen Aguirre up from the bus stop. Four hours after everything turned to shit.

He pressed the off button and stopped the tape, the need building in him again.

When they had pulled up to the house he was sure his mother wouldn't be home.

Wednesdays she usually went to church with his brother, who picked her up. But she
had
been home.

And she hadn't been too pleased to see Carmen.

The minute Carmen disappeared into the bathroom mother started in on him.

What did he think he was doing bringing that slut into the house? Did he see the way she was
dressed
? That tight sweater and those tight jeans and that make-up, and she wasn't going to let her boy be corrupted by that whore of Babylon and—

And then Charley had lost it. He saw red and flew into a blind rage. He didn't remember what he said, but he remembered yelling and screaming at her, not even aware that he was crying, and then Carmen had come out of the bathroom looking embarrassed, saying,
look, why don't we go? I don't want to cause any trouble with you and your
family
, and Charley had spun around and began herding her into his room. “No, you're a guest in
my
house and if I want to have guests over I
can
. Come on.” And he had escorted her to his room and slammed the door behind him, trembling with rage at the scene his mother had caused.

And Carmen, that bitch, had started to whine that she didn't want to be the cause of any trouble with his mother, she just wanted to go home.

And Charley saw what she really meant, what her true intentions were. She was laughing at him inside. She had seen the secret part of him, had seen that he lived with his mother, who ruled his life, wouldn't let him bring girls home, saw that he was less then a man. She laughed at him because she knew he had a crush on her, and had still been flirting with her even when she had given him a few not so subtle signals that she wasn't interested in dating him. She had seen all that, and now had seen
this
and saw him for what he
really
was—a pathetic excuse for a man, a momma's boy, a geek and probably a virgin who was scared of girls because he knew he would never have one because mother said he couldn't. Mother said it was naughty and he always minded her.

Charley had told Carmen to ignore his fucking mother. It was his house, too, and that's when things got fuzzy. He had been angry at his mother, and was growing more angry at Carmen as the scenario escalated. But the gist of it was this: Carmen had said that she didn't want to intrude on anything at the house, and then she had opened his bedroom door and walked out. Her last words to him were “Thanks for the ride, Charley, but I'll manage on my own.” Then she was gone.

Charley had sat in his chair in his room, his vision clouding black. He hadn't felt so enraged in ... well, since mother had laughed at him four years ago when he had finally gotten up the courage and asked Shelly Plant out on a date. He and mother had met Shelly at church one Sunday morning, and she had talked to them after the service. She had been a nice woman, around Charley's age, and he had taken to her quickly. They saw each other at Mass for the next few weeks, and then one Sunday while mother was talking to a couple of ladies that she always talked to (easily distinguishable by their under five foot one height, their stooped shoulders, their gray hair pulled into a tight bun or cut short, and the matronly dresses they wore) Charley asked Shelly if she would like to go out to dinner or the movies. Shelly had smiled and said she'd like that very much. They had traded phone numbers and Charley had been giddy with excitement on the way home. He had been so excited that he had told mother; it had just slipped out nonchalantly. He had been expecting mother to either ignore the news or perhaps greet it with some exclamation of

“well that's nice, dear,” but instead the news had been greeted with laughter. “I can't believe it,” she had cackled. “She agreed to go out with
you
! That girl needs glasses."

Charley had shut up, his enthusiasm zapped away with that simple comment.

Mother had continued to laugh and poke fun at him all the way home.
Did little Charley
ask a girl out on a date? Why how cute? Did Charley like this girl? Oh, that was just so
cute
! Charley was silent on the drive home, but inside he was seething with rage. He just wanted to reach out and rip her goddamn fucking throat out and silence her taunting voice forever.

But he hadn't. And he hadn't called Shelly Plant, either. The next week in church she had sought he and mother out and Charley, while not overly friendly and talkative as he had been in the previous weeks, wasn't making any obvious attempt at conversation.

On the other hand, mother was more talkative with the girl, smiling at her and sneaking teasing glances at Charley as if to say
well, come on boy! Talk to her! Now's your chance
!

But Charley didn't, and the next week had been the same and after that it was over. Shelly Plant merely nodded and smiled pleasant greetings and didn't stay for idle chatter.

He didn't remember Carmen leaving the house. He remembered hearing the dim sound of the side door opening and closing and that was it. His mind just went black. The next thing he remembered was sitting on the sofa in his underwear yanking his crank to a video he had picked up, one of those simulated films of torture and S&M. His orgasm had shuddered hard and he came awake with a wonderful sensation that everything with Carmen was taken care of. He didn't have to worry about her. As long as she was on his mind he could visualize her in any scenario he wanted. She was every bit as real to him when he conjured her in his mind as she was in the flesh. Why be concerned about the flesh and blood Carmen when the one he could conjure up in his mind was so much more desirable? The one in his mind could be made to cavort around in lingerie, or black leather and spiked heels. She wouldn't whine and complain. She would beg for any fetish or desire he wanted to do to her. Anything.

Charley pressed the stop button on the VCR. He rose to his feet and ejected the tape. His penis bobbed like a divining rod between the thick thatch of pubic hair. He put the tape on top of a stack of others and rummaged in the entertainment center for another, the one his body screamed for. He found it, put it in the VCR and went back to the couch.

He settled his naked rear end on the plush sofa, a smile creaking his ruddy features. He pressed the play button as the tape started, and as the new fetish video sprang to life his mind drifted back to Carmen Aguirre.

1:34 a.m.

He was in the bathtub with Carmen amid a pool of water and blood. The water was deep red, and as he lifted himself out of the tub he felt a warm elation wash over him.

This had simply been the best one. She had come to him easy and then before she knew it she was his. And all she had done was ask to use his bathroom! It was much easier to take them in the bathroom. When he knew she was finished he had simply opened the door, catching her with her pants down, literally, struggling to rise from the toilet seat.
Oh, I'm
sorry
, he had said.
There's a real bad leak in this room and I just came in here to check it
and I forgot you were in here
. She was just starting to smile embarrassingly when he brought the knife out from behind his back and lunged at her, shoving her towards the bathtub. His left hand was on her throat, his body pinning her down. She had already been off balance due to her jeans being around her knees, and she went down easily. He drew the blade of the knife across her throat before she had a chance to scream, and as she gasped for air he shoved her face-first into the tub, letting her life blood spill. He kept her pinned down until her body started going limp. Then, with the knife still embedded in her throat, he completed the procedure and separated her head from her neck.

Then they had had some fun together. Just the two of them.

Now seven hours later he was spent. He must have came four times during the course of the night, once during the actual act of beheading, the second time when he had fucked the headless corpse on the bathroom floor; he had used newly made orifices as well. He had settled back against the tub, a contented smile on his face. He was in ecstasy.

Between the bouts of sex, he had gone into his living room area and slipped in a tape on the VCR. That got him aroused in no time, and for his second orgasm he mounted the camcorder on a tripod and recorded the event. He had watched it an hour later in the living room with Carmen's headless and limbless trunk perched on his cock. His thrusts matched those of his alternate self on the screen and he came with a shudder. Then he dozed for awhile.

But now it was time to clean up.

He rose from the tub, his body covered in watery blood; it caked into his hair, his nostrils, his teeth. He was immersed in the coppery scent of it. He reached down and pulled the plug and stood up while the water-and-blood mixture drained from the tub.

When it had drained, leaving a red film at the bottom, he turned the shower on and, using the detachable nozzle, he hosed down the tub, turning up the spray on Carmen's dismembered remains. He picked up each limb and washed it down thoroughly. He spent more time on her head, holding the nozzle a hair's length from the top of her head, washing her hair down as thoroughly as he could, washing all traces of blood away. She needed to be clean for him now. For the future.

When he was finished with the body, he pushed the dismembered pieces against the edge of the tub and turned the nozzle on himself. He scrubbed himself down, working the nozzle all over his body; his legs, arms, back, chest and stomach, his pubic area, up the crack of his ass, his neck, his armpits, his face. He opened his mouth and let the water jet into his mouth; he gargled and spit it out, washing that down the drain. Then he moved the nozzle over his scalp, using his fingers to run the water through his hair. He massaged his scalp under the strong pressure for ten minutes. When he felt clean and refreshed he replaced the detachable nozzle, stood under the spray for a final rinsing, then turned the water off. He reached out for a towel and dried himself off. Then he stepped carefully out of the tub, being careful not to step in the small puddles of blood that had pooled on the floor, the result of the first sweep of the knife at Carmen's throat. He toweled himself off quickly, then padded naked to the workshop and returned armed with paper towels and disinfectant. He spent the next ten minutes mopping up the puddles of blood, throwing the paper towels in the toilet and flushing them down every so often. When the tiled floor looked relatively clean, he sprayed disinfectant on it and used another ten or so paper towels, scrubbing the tiles and grout as clean as he could get them.

He flushed the remaining paper towels down the toilet, took the leftover roll and the disinfectant back to the workroom, and returned with a roll of butcher paper.

Humming an aria from Mozart's
The Magic Flute
, he picked up each body part and carefully wrapped it in the butcher's paper in the tub. When he was finished he carried the pieces—the limbs first, cradled to his naked chest like a man carrying logs to a fireplace—to the large refrigerator-sized freezer and put them in the bottom shelf. He put Carmen's trunk on the middle shelf, and he put her head on the top shelf with the others.

He smiled at the little collection of seven heads and another body, this one another stupid gang member that he had brought home around Christmas, and closed the door. These should last quite a while. He knew he just had to sample Carmen. He had tried portions of that gang member and his meat had been well beyond ripe and stringy. Still, it was mighty good eating, and he was sure he had a few good portions left. But Carmen ... ahh, Carmen was going to prove to be just
delicious
!