Queer Horror

How Not to Act When Shadows Dance While Having Sex in Your Car When Parked at the Top of Masterton's Point on Saturday Night with a Full Moon Above

by Mark K. Rule

Seek darkness, not light. For eyes abound see less to night than handing fear to light. Know this, you should.

The shell that holds you smells stale, but you tried to hide it by spraying excessive deodorant after showering. Hope you do that your date doesn't notice wholly that you sprayed your crotch. Do you wonder if it tastes on the tongue. Worry you should not now about achieving the goal to be blowed. But tempting it is to think it.

Your date watches you. Lavishing your own eyes, tasting your flesh freshly shaved. You feel like you should say something but the moment passed. He takes your cigarettes from the dash and lights one. He breathes it in, longing, as though without it he'd begin shaking violently. He hands back the packet and it tempts you to have one, though afraid you are about to make your breath stagnant. It occurs to you that he is smoking too and suddenly you feel stupid. However you then wonder if he smokes. You ask slyly, unsure if it's the right thing to do as he is the only son of one of the more sadistic cops in town.

"Depends where my mood takes me. Dad tests me every so often. He knows, but there are worst things I could be into." He smiles shyly at you and his hand slides over your knee. Too worried you are that you singed your goatee lighting your cigarette. You run your fingers through it, brushing above your lip with thumb and forefinger, trying but failing to look sophisticated.

Your date withdraws his hand, sighing. You realise now that he tried to draw interest. Panicking you drop inhibitions and kiss him quickly, forcefully. Teeth collide and saliva is plentiful. Surprised, he is inert but after standing your ground realises your intent and returns your desire and kisses you back hard.

Nothing else matters. Not the darkness nor the time nor the fact you should be hard and ready for the following events. But panicked, it seems to cower. And he has begun to unbutton your shirt.

What is the matter, you ask yourself. Why is your body doing this? You wonder if it's the drugs and you break the kiss.

"What's the matter?" He asks.

You shrug. "I need something to relax. Sure I am not that we should be here. Perhaps I need something chemical." He stares at you questioningly. You reach to the glove box but he stops you.

"I have something better." He pulls out a small vial of clear liquid from his shoulder bag that lays on the car floor. "I had a summer time job with my father and had access to the evidence room. I replaced it with vial of turps." He dabs a little on the tip of his finger. He offers it to you. You suck from it slowly, licking it.

From the corner of your eye you notice the moon. It was full before but now is shadowed. You do not understand it but accept it for the moment. Slowly you withdraw from his fingers and watch as he begins the same ritual, though sucking it himself. You smile, feeling almost jealous of his fingers. You move to his belt and begin to undo it. It comes easily as he thrusts his hips upward from the seat.

"It will start almost straight away." Your date confirms as your face of worry turns into a sudden smile, spreading from your face and around your head. It begins to lift and your skin comes away from your skull. It lifts high and dissolves as it meets the ceiling.

"Tell me," You start, talking through the iris's of your eyes as he takes your shirt off. "What did I taste?" The heat of darkness biting your face.

He looks at you, running his hands up your chest. You feel it burn with friction.

"They call it Ultra." His hands seems to enter your skin and rub into raw and wet muscle beneath. "It is almost as rare as 'Jimmy Dean'." And you remember the mythology pertaining to these drugs, the legends of how they came about, the first deaths and the perpetual name changing.

"Lixxa." You say, tasting the name. But your voice wraps around his hands, entering through the unders of his nails and into the flesh, curling around the fingers' bones.

The shadow comes closer to the vehicle and continues to block the moon fully.

"I remember..." You try to say but his tongue pushes through your mouth and probes deeply. While his tongue dances inside your mouth you push your hands into the jeans of your date. His tongue is erect, pushing out and in, the walls of your mouth screaming happiness.

A pair of young lovers walk past the car and see your face with your date inside it. Do they know you? The shadow looms near them but is inert, afraid that they will see it. It is full and human-like. With eyes so pitch black that the darkness of the shadow can not hide them.

"... Want you..." The shadow and your date whisper at the same time. Beneath you, your wash jeans slides from your waist and his hands enter the skin of your hips and rub and grab into you. His mouth encircles you, then swallowing down your now hardened shaft with pleasure. And in penetration you enter up into his mind. You see only darkness. Your date bobs down and up rhythmically, but unlike the rhythm that you can taste in your mouth. He pushes his fingers into his mouth and out they come again, wet with saliva. Reaching and caressing your body he moves his wet fingers and pushes them into your ass. Everything that he touches has become a body of pleasure, each touch painful with merger and pleasured with joys of the damnable. Your emotions have become real to touch, lust and desire, nervousness and fear slide into the same parallel.

Your pelvis has become one into itself, your emotions and body. It charges electrically and foreign with stimulation and need unlike any before experienced. Your date pushes his fist against you anus and it is slowly swallowed. The tongue around your penis pushes into the tiny opening and suckles greedily.

The shadow begins to dance with the rhythm, terrorising a forest of kauri to the left of the car. It torments and teases them, watching you. The trees turn and wither away from the shadow and it soon loses interest.

"... Want you..." The shadow and your date say simultaneously once more. The words vibrate into the stems of your being. You quiver wildly. The shadow moans, smiling with evil intent, turning and twirling, playing with itself. And as the shadow dances closer to your car in which you play, you are in lust with the fear this shadow of life brings. You want the shadow to move with you as you are manually fucked. You want it to open the door and take your date from behind as you kiss it in fear and wonderment.

Stimulation suddenly changes into fast momentum and it almost feels like the arm behind you is pushing for a resulting conclusion to come. And you do.

Semen releases itself as he suckles, swallowing hard. You taste it with you nose. The sweetly sickening taste of salt overwhelms and the pores in your depleted skin ravage it. You begin to hurt and each moment you enjoy it more.

Your date comes up and breathes the air in your lungs, lacing your mouth with semen. The smell reminds you of sniffing bleach as a child and the welling tears that followed.  

"Now you." He says with many eyes. His mouth is now a gapping hole. Inside it is darkness. The shadow reaches the door and slides in through the vehicle. It emerges and enters, entwining with your date. Inside the gapping hole of the month that once belonging to your date, the shadow looks out.

You become confused. It tingles with lust in your fingers. One hand goes to his genitalis while the other moves to his face.

"You are fear." Aloud you say. And while giving joy to your date with one hand, the other, caressing, pushes into his mouth.

"Harder." He says, the shadow cowers as you try to thrust your hand deeply to capture it. It backs down his throat. You move close and kiss his neck, biting hard, crushing his throat.

"Yes, again." Comes a stained voice. You bite harder this time, trying to destroy the shadow. You continue to rub his sacks gingerly, softly, in both hands. His erection grows harder and stronger and touches against your stomach. Your teeth enter skin at his throat. Blood does not come at first, but starts delayed. It runs through your teeth and over your skull, uniting with your own blood.

The darkness screams. The shadow goes deeper into him.

You spit away the blood and kiss, sharing his own blood. It wells heavily and flows across his body. The shadow is drowning as too is your date. You go for the neck with hands again. You rip deep into his flesh and pain him with excitement. His body dying, though each step closer to he comes to death, the more lust overcomes him.

You now punch at him, throwing your body against him and pressing your date against the door. The shadow whimpers. It sobs and cries and begs for life. The harder you fight against it, the more pleasure comes in hand for you and he who took you only minutes ago.

You beat his head into the glass over and over. His skull makes a dull thud as glass splinters and slowly cracks. Blood pours from his nose and mouth, his neck and forehead. Time slows and lapses until the body stops moving and the shadow screams no more. The body smiles at you. Remaining still, you kiss it, caress it and make love to it passionately and heated, forcefully as it did to you before.

You awake alive. Your date lies in your lap. His head moves. You stroke it gingerly and awaken it with lips pressed against lips. He opens his eyes and stares at you with great darkness.

This story is part of a trilogy. To see more of this story, contact Mark K. Rule.

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