Mojo - 16. Chapter 15: Cursed

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Part Five – ‘The Split,’ Take Two

Chapter 15: Cursed

The three of us entered our motel room with loud “Shooshing” of one another; we were still tipsy as hell. Napoleon had given us a ride in his We-B-Ho Rooters van from Tre’s event, but we’d stopped for 99¢ hamburgers first – lots of them – because we were all hungry as strays after the ‘art happening.’ Now I knew what they meant by starving artists.

We closed the door, kicking off our shoes and starting to strip off socks. “Shut the blinds, Gordon.” He was close enough, and twisted the rod to block out the morning sun. We needed to crash…or wreck, whichever it was.

I pulled down my trousers and whipped off my confining dress shirt, watching my boy train his eyes to my movements. In response, he opened the door again, hanging the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and making me smile as I climbed into bed.

Assauer went to the bathroom.

From my perfect view, hands locked behind my head on the pillow, I saw my beautiful boy take down his dress slacks, then come up and off with his undershirt. In another moment, my arms were open to him, and his warm skin was sliding against mine. We were in nothing but our drawers.

Tucked under the sheets now, a contented me started groping, spooning and hugging. With each caress of my experienced hand, the excited sighs and moans Gordon sent into my mouth told me he was whetted for desire. Sleepily though, my mind went to places less urgent, perhaps because his attempt to rouse me down there were returning no results.

“You know…” I pulled away from his lips for a moment. “Being with you is worth a million nights like last—”

He grinned sweetly – like saying “shut up” – and dove in for more tongue-on-tongue action.

Groggily, some verse assembled itself on the scaffold of my overwrought senses.

I stroked his curly locks, and caressingly pinched his blushing ears and cheeks.

“When all is said and done, my dearest boy,

No moments great will ever be recalled

With half the flush of pleasure to enjoy

As when limb-to-limb, enlaced we were sprawled.”

My final few words may have been a little mushy, for although I still gripped and massaged his throbbing boyhood, my eyes were drifting closed and his touch began to feel less ardent to my shutting-down brain.

I fell asleep with little improvements to be made to the verse drifting across my mind, and the sensation of Gordon’s hand still trying to get me hard.

Tre-Princely laughed and spilled his drink.

A moment later, he slipped the papier-mâché donkey head over his toupee and got down on all fours. The Grim Reaper threw open his coat, and the godlike Tyler stepped out in flesh and body paint.

He mounted the former pornstar and slapped his steed's backside. When Tre reared up, shaking his mane in defiant pleasure, the handsome young rider cried out, “Bucco, bucco – cheek by jowl – how many fingers can I get up your ass before you howl?!”

When he reached back to fist the creature like one of Mr. Rogers' puppets, the light shifted in the painted glint of the donkey’s eye, and the scene changed.

Inky darkness swirled then, from which, with maddening slowness, a sound emerged. Rippling and without form, the atmosphere against my eardrums gradually took on the frightening reverb of Parthia’s laughter.

I lay lashed to the floor grate of that Pasadena garden center, naked, and with the evil cult woman’s face hovering above mine. “See?” she said, gesturing.

I rotated my head. Gordon was lying in our motel room, also naked, with his back to me. His body trembled a bit, like it was being racked by barely suppressed sobs.

“What have you done to him?” I asked the priestess. Her face floated in the void between the cold bite of the metal I was strapped to and an even colder glimpse of sky beyond filled with stars.

“I…?” she chuckled. “Nothing. But see your boy there, prodded by your selfishness to a state of expectation, a desire for release, and yet you do nothing but drift asleep.”

“I’m overly tired….” I suddenly realized through a molasses haze it had been one week and a day now since I’d had an erection. “…I’ll be all right soon enough.”

Her cackle split my ears. “Self-centered youth! What does your pleasure have to do with his?!”

I glanced again at the turned-away figure of my boy in our L.A. motel room. Would my lack of…ability…make Gordon seek relief elsewhere?

“You could,” chanted the woman, “keep him unteased, un-brought to a state of lusty want, OR, you could take care of those desires you raised in him yourself.”

“But I’m a top, only.”

“Ha-ha!” she said. “Your hands were not tied earlier; your lips not stopped up with a muzzle. Those pieces of your anatomy know neither top nor bottom. They should know only love and reciprocation.”

What did that mean…?

Suddenly there was a gag in my mouth. Before the Priapus statue-column, Gordon and Lolita were flower-decked and taking one another’s hand. The priestess, now moved to the teenagers’ sides as officiator, pronounced them “ready for bliss,” and the couple came to me. But, they seemed not to see me at all, for they were Frenching wildly, Gordon removing her veil and top, and groping her like a wild beast.

I tried to scream, but it was useless. My boy laid the gum-popping girl on my chest like I was the cot. They started making love, and I wanted to die, seething with a jealous rage.

Without warning, light filled the room. I turned to watch Assauer emerging from the motel bathroom. He was wet from the shower and wore only a white towel around his waist. My ex walked the straight line from the door to the side of the bed where Gordon was still crying. He crouched for a moment, whispering soothing words and stroking my boy’s hair. When Assauer rose, he moved the bedsheet with him, uncovering my boy and scooping him up into his arms.

Assauer took my boyfriend over to his bed and laid Gordon down on his back. He removed his towel and Gordon’s shorts; their erect manhoods came into contact. They kissed, passionately, before Assauer lifted Gordon’s legs, rubbed a big wad of spit on the tip of his enormous dick, and fucked my boy.

Gordon moaned and gripped Assauer’s arms like he was in love.

“See?” Parthia said. “Yours is useless now. Only Assauer’s blessed cock can quench the thirst you have raised in your boy. Your Gordon craves The Blue One’s member, and will get it from now on.”

“Bucco, bucco – dunderhead,” Tyler laughed, the donkey eye coming back to focus on me. “Chin by cheek – how many fingers do I need to count all the fools both dumb and weak!?!”

Hours and hours later, I woke with only the weary sensation of knowing time had passed by very unkindly.

I rolled out of bed, scratching my belly and heading for the john. I barely kept my eyes open as I pissed and recollected what a crazy night it had been with Tre, and what an awful dream to boot.

A few minutes later, I was crawling back into bed, intending to snooze for a while, but just as I settled down on my pillow again, I started up, fully awake.

Gordon was not there.

With steady and deliberate movements, I stood and stalked over to the other bed. My boy was sound asleep on top of the sheets in Assauer’s arms. Both were naked as bluejays.

Rage drew a sheen of spots before my vision, but, dispassionately, I went to the desk drawer. As quietly as an assassin, I pulled the lever and brought the box into sight. In another moment, I had Hojax’s stolen pistol in my grip.

I walked back to the bedside, cocked it and placed it next to Gordon’s temple.

I spoke softly, more to myself than them. “Maybe,” I said, “it’s time for you to really fall on your swords. Maybe I should help you stay like this, transfigured to death….”

Assauer awoke, hearing me, and slowly climbed over Gordon to shield him. An unusually frightened tone crept into his voice as he asked, “Was tust du? Komm mal runter und beruhige dich.”

His question and statement of “What are you doing? Calm the fuck down” had no effect on me.

Seeing that, Assauer rose out of bed, pushing me and my gun back away from the boy.

Gordon woke up then, blinking in disbelief at me pointing the gun at my ex.

I grunted once, stormed over to the window, and jerked up the blinds to let the afternoon sun bleach their tainted flesh.

I told Assauer, “Pack up and get lost.”

While the two of them got dressed, I went to the closets and pulled down our bags and loot. I dumped all the contents, including the gifts from Tre-Princely last night, onto the sheets and started making two equal piles. I told my ex, “After we split our things, our divorce is final. I never want to see you again.”

“Feeling’s mutual,” Assauer said. “Arschloch.”

He stuffed his two bags with clothes and pawnable merchandise. After he shouldered them, a changed expression crept over his face, becoming conspicuously darker.

Assauer walked over and ‘found’ the gun right where I had left it sitting in its box. He pointed it at me. “Now, let’s divide the boy too. Why should you be the only one to benefit from that particular ill-gotten gain? Time to divvy up that booty as well.”

“What?!” I scoffed. “You’re crazy. You’re no Solomon about to rip our baby apart just to make a point.”

“Share and share alike,” Assauer said through a maniacal grin. “Those are your words, brother. Your. Words!”

Gordon threw himself between us, tears in his eyes. He pleaded, pushing on our chests, “Don’t risk doing something foolish that will get the cops over here. Besides, it’s all my fault; why fight each other like common scrappers when neither of you are to blame?”

Gordon finally fell on his knees and dramatically hugged Assauer’s shins. “If you want to shoot somebody, then it’s me who deserves to die. Don’t you see that?!”

My ex softened, and when he reached down to pick Gordon up off the floor, my boyfriend rose skillfully, in a way which allowed him to be in possession of the Luger by the time he was on his feet.

Cool as a zucchini, Gordon un-cocked it, went to the box, shut the gun up and slammed it in the drawer.

We stood around for a moment more, until I told Assauer, “All right, you can go now.”

“Not yet,” he said. “We still have one piece of unfinished business.” Assauer meant Gordon.

“He’s staying put.”

“Is he? You own him, do you? Like a slave.”

“Um—”

“You stay out of it, honey.”

“Let’s give the boy a chance to decide for himself.” Assauer touched Gordon’s face. “It’s only fair he tells us who he wants to be with.”

Cocksure about my boyfriend’s love, I said, “All right. Let’s do that.”

Assauer went to the motel room door, opening it with the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign still flapping. Fresh air assaulted our stalemated condition as he stood there and waited. “Well?” he asked Gordon, extending his hand.

After another tense moment where time itself seemed to be hostage, my boyfriend glanced at the drawer with the gun and then me.

Gordon went to Assauer and they left together, my boy closing the door quietly after him.

Alone, in crushing silence, I crumpled to my knees on the floor. Racked by sudden sobs I felt I couldn’t breathe. For the first time, I knew I was truly cursed.

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