Bob the Book by David Pratt

Author:David Pratt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: literary, gay, humor, tolerance, gay romance, gay fiction, gay novel, new york, gay humor, greenwich village, used books, bookstore, gay literary, romantic humor, bibliophile, book lovers, david pratt, english major, new york fiction
Publisher: Chelsea Station Editions

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The man tugged drunkenly at Owen’s fly. In his other hand he held the knife. Owen, gagged and tied to his own kitchen chair, squirmed and made the only noises he could. He looked on in terror as the man waved the curved, glinting tip of the knife at his crotch.

“Oh my God!” Marc gasped. “This can’t be happening.”

Neil wished he were closer to Marc. He was too frightened to speak.

“Yeah, you’re gonna get the ultimate punishment,” the man growled. Owen, gagged, the electrical cord digging into his flesh, tried to yell.

“Shut up!” the man said. He hit Owen across the face. He yanked Owen’s pants down so his penis was exposed. He knelt and brought the tip of the knife to the tip of Owen’s penis. “You’re gonna pay,” the man breathed. He bounced Owen’s limp penis on the end of the knife, then caressed the top of it with the blade. Neil and Marc heard other books crying, “No, please, don’t!” Suddenly a loud slam jolted the room. The man leapt to his feet, dropped the knife, and whirled around. Owen’s volume of Shakespeare lay on the floor in front of the bookshelf, his moans heard only by the other books.

“What the fuck?” the man said.

Owen kicked the knife and sent it skittering under the sofa. The man turned on him. “What’d you do?” he demanded. He looked again at the Shakespeare volume, then back to Owen. “What’d you do?” he demanded. Owen stared up at him. “Oh, man!” the guy said. “I’ve got such a fuckin’ headache. It’s your fault!” He walked in circles. The books held their breath. The man stopped over the Shakespeare volume and scowled, as though he knew something was different or wrong but could not quite grasp it. Owen waited, too, unable to speak or stand. The man knelt, looking around the floor for his knife.

“What’d you do?” he complained. “I’m gonna get you for this, man. I’m gonna find that knife, and I’m gonna cut you. I’m gonna cut you like…”

But he wasn’t searching very efficiently. He held his head in his hand like it was unbearably heavy, and he drifted and wove. Owen watched his every move. The Shakespeare moaned on the floor. Then abruptly the man passed out, crumpled by the entrance to Owen’s hallway. Owen stared at him and waited. Finally he shouted from behind the kerchief, and he clattered the chair back and forth. The man did not move. When Owen was satisfied that the man was completely passed out, he began twisting to and fro to free himself. But the electrical cord wouldn’t give. He twisted so hard the chair tipped over. Owen flopped and squirmed and moaned and whimpered. The man lay motionless.

For several minutes the books watched Owen twist, turn, wrench this way and that, then stop, sweating, tears running down his face, making muffled whimpers. To add to the indignity his pants were still down. It seemed as though the cord would never come loose.

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