South Beach: the Novel by Brian Antoni

Author:Brian Antoni
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2008-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Snuffme

Skip sat at his desk, pulled off his T-shirt, stared at his KS. There were now more spots—an archipelago of lesions. He touched them, felt terror. Just give me time to finish my novel, he begged. He didn’t know who he was begging. He didn’t believe in God. No merciful god would give him AIDS.

He booted up his computer, typed in his password, FEAR, and his screen name, Snuffme, logged onto the AOL chat line miami BDSM-FETISH-KINK M4M.

Snuffme: This is Snuffme.

He heard a ding and then got an instant message from HOTKILLER.

HOTKILLER: What kind of action?

Snuffme: I’m ready to die.

Skip read HOTKILLER’s profile:

Member Name: Damian: looking for someone to absorb my anger; the means to this is bndg, s/m, cbt, this is an acquired taste, but there are some of you pain pigs who would appreciate this kind of attention. Enjoy making a sacrifice of yourself? It’s an interesting way to let yourself be loved, sometimes it feels like the ultimate giving, give till you’re gone—I don’t do phone unless you want it shoved up your ass

Location: your pleasure zone/Miami

Sex: all the time

Marital Status: smooth, younger and smaller than me. the more attracted to you, the harder I will be on you.

Computer: If you are hot enough, I will kill you. my stats: 45, 6’2”, 200, salt and pepper/bl, very hairy, muscular (no fat)…. South Beach, FL

Occupation: edging it, really thin goes to the head of the line

HOTKILLER: I’ll fuck you to death. With pleasure:-)

Snuffme: First I want you to hurt me

HOTKILLER: PIC?

Snuffme: Sir Sure Sending Sir

Skip e-mailed HOTKILLER a picture of himself naked, except for his Mickey Mouse cap covering his face.

“You’ve got mail,” the electronic voice on his computer announced.

Skip checked out HOTKILLER’s pic. He was older and hot and dressed in leather, a hairy masculine muscle-bound Daddy type. He would do.

HOTKILLER: HOT PIC! Talk to me boy, you’re getting me hard. I’ll hurt you—bad—good.

Snuffme: Yes sir. Drive me into the darkness sir, into the black/drive me to a beach. Thank you sir.

Skip yanked his shirt off, pulled his chinos and Jockeys down to the floor.

HOTKILLER: I’m driving, and every few minutes I slap your fucking face. Boy.

Snuffme: Thank you, Sir.

HOTKILLER: I’m slapping the shit out of you, you little faggot. You piece of pig shit.

Skip started to calm down as he imagined the slaps hitting his face, harder and harder, as he traveled in his mind through the darkness to the fantasy. He felt his face slam back and forth with each slap. He imagined that HOTKILLER was slapping the AIDS out of him.

HOTKILLER: I’m sticking my fingers in your mouth. You’re kissing them.

Snuffme: I’m sucking them as you ram them down my throat.

Skip slipped his middle finger in his mouth, kept typing with his right hand. He gagged.

HOTKILLER: We’re there, boy. The beach.

Snuffme: You got handcuffs, duct tape, a steak knife—a white sheet.

HOTKILLER: I’m handcuffing you now. Pussy boy. If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll gag you. I cut off your clothes with my knife.

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