{"id":8158,"date":"2014-10-17T09:09:49","date_gmt":"2014-10-17T13:09:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=8158"},"modified":"2014-10-20T10:08:08","modified_gmt":"2014-10-20T14:08:08","slug":"fat-faggots-offer-drugs-for-sex-pt-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/fat-faggots-offer-drugs-for-sex-pt-1\/","title":{"rendered":"Fat Faggots Offer Drugs for Sex Pt. 1"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Drugs_585x585\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat took you so goddamn long, boy?\u201d Margene demanded. \u201cI been calling your name since the commercial.\u201d On the big-screen television, a perky blonde with dazzling teeth cooed about the efficacy of scented douche. Whenever Margene needed another wine cooler or wanted to empty the ashtray, she wailed for her son, Dewey, to leave his computer and assist her. He shuffled from the back of the mobile home, past all the piles of cardboard boxes lining the hall, and into the living room where Margene held court. Cigarette dangling from her lips and remote control clenched in her grip, she growled for Dewey to complete the tasks her sloth made untenable.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was chatting with someone,\u201d Dewey answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t talk to people that don\u2019t exist.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhaddya need, Mama?\u201d<\/p>\n

Margene was little more than a skeleton gloved inside pore-ridden flesh. Her ribs, her shoulder blades, and her hips realigned as she looked at her son. Why was it so hard to label her as frail<\/em>? \u201cThe methadone ain\u2019t kicking in like it should,\u201d she said. \u201cWe got Xanax left, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI dunno.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, shit, take a look,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

Dewey bowed his head. He couldn\u2019t remember the last time he felt brave enough to openly glare at his anorexic, needling mother. Knowing each day brought nothing but more demands, more game shows at thundering volume, more Virginia Slims\u2014the concept of future<\/em> was too painful to contemplate.<\/p>\n

The tiny bathroom shared a wall with the living room. While scanning the medicine cabinet, Dewey heard a huckster bark about his batch of used Fords, little kids orgasmic over fruit punch, and finally a plea for those who\u2019d taken a growth hormone to join a class-action lawsuit.<\/p>\n

He found the bottle of Xanax behind an empty jar of Oil of Olay. Three or four pills rattled. His reflection in the glass of the cabinet confronted him. His mouth grew long, the corners turning neither up nor down. Fat fuck, he thought. Not fat like your daddy in heaven, but give it time. It\u2019s a slippery slope, little pig.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoddammit, boy!\u201d Margene cried. \u201cYou get lost in there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust a second, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dewey had tricks, maneuvers to make himself more appetizing to the men he approached on the hook-up websites in his room. Most ignored him or wrote nasty replies to his lame attempts at introduction. He pressed his hand beneath his jowls, momentarily mashing his double chin. Relieved that this ruse provided hope, he cupped his hands over his two drooping pecs. No, that asshole kid down the road was right: they were bitch tits. He lifted the sagging flesh of each breast up and to the side. What if his pectorals bulged with firmness as they did in his fantasies?<\/p>\n

There were other attempts at self-deception. It was an elaborate series of gestures, rehearsed like a stage soliloquy. In less than a half-hour, Christopher would arrive. Tall, lean, and smooth Christopher with his eight-inch cock. It had taken three weeks of explicit text messages and online chatting to convince Christopher to drive to the mobile home park outside Longview. That, and Dewey promised to provide him with an eight ball of crystal meth for the privilege of sucking that long, thick cock.<\/p>\n

The Xanax tablets rattled in their bottle, reminding Dewey he still held it. He planned to persuade Margene to take all the pills. While he wouldn\u2019t entertain Christopher in his bedroom, he wished to neutralize his mother to be safe. Christopher knocking on the door and waiting would allow plenty of time for Margene to humiliate her son. When Dewey offered her the pills, she stared at him as if he were a stain.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou trying to knock me out silly, boy?\u201d she asked, eyes narrowed to slits.<\/p>\n

Dewey shuffled his feet, stared into a far corner. He could hide nothing from her. \u201cSomeone\u2019s coming over,\u201d he muttered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou ain\u2019t got no friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou never bring \u2018em here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t wanna bother you.\u201d He gestured toward the television. \u201cJudge Judy is coming on.\u201d<\/p>\n

Margene lit another Virginia Slim and took the Xanax bottle. \u201cIs he one of those faggots?\u201d she asked, her voice low and froggy, as if the word were difficult to pronounce.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe government ain\u2019t paying me to run some queer whorehouse, boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTake the pills, Mama. Don\u2019t get excited.\u201d<\/p>\n

After more pleas to Dewey not to disgrace the Langtree family name, Margene dismissed him. He sprinted back to his bedroom and checked his cell phone for text messages. Nothing. Don\u2019t panic, he told himself. Christopher was on his way. Maybe he didn\u2019t text when driving. Dewey lay atop his bed knowing rest was not in his future. He\u2019d smoked some crystal meth an hour ago. Without it, he would\u2019ve cancelled, certain that humiliation loomed. He waited for a knock on the door.<\/p>\n

Too wired to sleep, he went into a sort of trance, so fixated on the wheeze from the air conditioning unit outside his window, he failed to register the quick trio of knocks at the front door. Another three knocks followed. Christopher was nearly an hour late. Dewey didn\u2019t care. He was thrilled the young man had come at all. Men had flaked on him in the past, even after his promise of crystal meth.<\/p>\n

As Dewey dashed to the front door, he caught a glimpse of his mother motionless on the couch. Even Xanax didn\u2019t hit that fast. Maybe it was all the wine coolers she\u2019d guzzled since Good Morning America<\/em>. If she hadn\u2019t taken the Xanax, maybe he could sneak one himself. He didn\u2019t want Christopher to detect his deep-rooted conviction that something would go wrong, and soon.<\/p>\n

The vision that revealed itself once Dewey opened the creaky screen door filled the fat young man with hope. Suddenly, his sad and sordid world seemed alive with possibility, with the knowledge this gorgeous man would surrender to him as he pleased and flattered it. Dewey had already decided he would swallow Christopher\u2019s load if given the chance. He muttered hello, asked if Christopher had any problems finding the place. Dewey rambled about the hardships of living in the backwoods, how grateful he was for company.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got diarrhea of the mouth, big boy,\u201d Christopher said, laughing. Dewey stopped at once. The biggest disappointment he\u2019d experienced hooking up with other men was how none of them were witty and charming like in sitcoms and frothy romantic comedies. Instead, they spoke in a primitive language of veiled insults and sexual commands. Christopher, however, possessed a true wit. Better yet, he assumed Dewey must possess one, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, cutie,\u201d Dewey said, gripping the doorframe as if he might topple. \u201cI always get so nervous, and my hands sweat, and it feels like I haven\u2019t eaten in a fucking week, and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow are you gonna suck my dick if you can\u2019t stop jabbering,\u201d Christopher said and slipped past Dewey into his home. While he passed, his hand grazed Dewey\u2019s love handle. Dewey wasn\u2019t sure how to interpret the gesture. This was the worst time to be reminded of his weight\u2026but beautiful Christopher had touched him! The contact hadn\u2019t repulsed him. Christopher flashed his host a megawatt grin and casually gazed about.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Dewey fought the urge to drag him out the front door. Dewey, however, was too dazzled by his guest to move an inch. Of course, he\u2019d gazed obsessively at Christopher\u2019s array of photos on the hook-up website, especially the one of his long, smooth body utterly nude, the image cut off at his neck. Dewey marveled at any man with the discipline\u2014and optimism\u2014to work out.<\/p>\n

Even though the age Christopher gave on the website was a mere twenty-two, Dewey believed his guest could pass for a high school senior. An unkempt bush of rust-colored curls drifted atop his head like low clouds at dawn. One of his eyes was a bright hazel while the other was a pale blue. He moved with the staccato rhythms of a tap dancer, all seductive excess motion. His only flaw was that his front tooth was chipped. Dewey\u2019s own mouth was full of neglected cavities and rotting teeth stained yellow from his daily pack of Salem cigarettes. He\u2019d lied online when Christopher asked if he smoked. He chastised himself for forgetting to gargle with Listerine before admitting Christopher.<\/p>\n

Christopher drifted toward the living room, but kept his head tilted upward, as if waiting for Dewey to begin a proper tour. Margene let out a low grunt. Dewey prayed it wasn\u2019t a sign her stupor was lifting.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t wanna see this dump,\u201d he said, sliding past Christopher to block his entrance. \u201cI set up the perfect place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou put mucho effort into silly things, big boy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have the whole afternoon,\u201d Dewey breathed.<\/p>\n

\u201cActually, I only have an hour. My girlfriend needs me to pick up a dime bag. The weed they sell in Tyler is crap.\u201d Christopher went on to explain his visit was the product of pure coincidence\u2014and past experience. \u201cYou fat boys are expert cocksuckers,\u201d he muttered, smiling so wide that Dewey started counting his teeth.<\/p>\n

Too much information and too little self-worth led Dewey to panic. Christopher had stopped by for a blowjob and some dope before returning to his girlfriend and pretending her talent for sucking dick came anywhere close to Dewey\u2019s. The host rubbed his bulging belly without realizing Christopher watched him. Why draw his attention to that shameful spot? It only mattered how Dewey could please him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI picked up the dope this morning,\u201d he announced.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it good stuff?\u201d Christopher asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t tried it,\u201d Dewey replied, the lie coming easily. He knew these hook-ups were games of deception and concealment. Each man wielded a carefully orchestrated image for the other\u2019s enjoyment. There was no shame in this charade. Dewey had joined the website three years ago, not long after his twentieth birthday. His late father had bought the computer years ago hoping to interest Dewey in Tetris and other math-based video games.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have a pipe?\u201d Christopher asked. \u201cMy roommate always asks all sorts of questions if I borrow his. You\u2019re discreet, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis afternoon is just between you and me,\u201d Dewey promised, thrilled to hear those words aloud. Finally, he summoned enough courage to physically guide Christopher toward the screen door still hanging open. He kept gentle pressure at the small of Christopher\u2019s back, noticing how tightly his guest\u2019s simple black T-shirt wrapped.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. I like boys who keep their traps shut,\u201d Christopher muttered, ducking his head to avoid the doorframe. \u201cYou let some faggot suck your dick and next week the whole fucking town knows.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hate guys like that,\u201d Dewey said quickly. \u201cI got a pipe waiting for us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere the fuck are we going?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s a trailer down the street. No one\u2019s lived there since Mrs. Zuckerman died last month.\u201d<\/p>\n

The two young men walked with purpose across the mobile home park. Some of the trailers featured scattershot attempts at decoration or comfort\u2014a wobbly wooden deck, garden gnomes with evil faces, wind chimes that hung uninspired in the still, humid afternoon. Dewey risked a glance through a particular trailer\u2019s window as he and Christopher walked past. He wasn\u2019t surprised Professor Pete glared back as if waiting for Dewey to see him. That morning, Dewey had struggled with his gag reflex while sucking Professor Pete\u2019s spongy, uncircumcised cock, pubic hairs breaking off inside his mouth. Professor Pete didn\u2019t accept cash for his dope. Dewey didn\u2019t have the cash anyway.<\/p>\n

What would a person think seeing him walk with gorgeous Christopher? It was silly to speculate\u2014he knew the answer. He was guilty himself. Obviously, whenever two people knew each other, and one was far more attractive than the other, everyone knew the beautiful one held all the power. Dewey sometimes found himself tempted to invite frankly repulsive men for quick, shameful sex\u2014he was weary of receiving pity. Every bastard who stared at him in frank disgust reminded him of Margene. She had scorned him since his father was killed instead of him on that lonely, icy interstate three years ago. The memory of his father\u2019s final sigh sweeping through the overturned pickup cab chilled Dewey. He\u2019d lied when Margene had asked if his father had died instantly.<\/p>\n

Part two coming October 24.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\n

Thomas Kearnes holds an MA in Screenwriting from the University of Texas at Austin. His two collections are “Pretend I’m Not Here” (Musa Publishing) and “Promiscuous” (JMS Publishing). His fiction has appeared in Litro, The Adroit Journal, The Ampersand Review, PANK, Word Riot, Eclectica, SmokeLong Quarterly, Johnny America, Five Quarterly, wigleaf, Storyglossia, Sundog Lit, A cappella Zoo, Spork, The Pedestal, Digital Americana Magazine and elsewhere. His work has also appeared in several LGBT venues. He is studying to become a drug dependency counselor. He lives near Houston.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cWhat took you so goddamn long, boy?\u201d Margene demanded. \u201cI been calling your name since the commercial.\u201d On the big-screen television, a perky blonde with dazzling teeth cooed about the efficacy of scented douche. Whenever Margene needed another wine cooler or wanted to empty the ashtray, she wailed for her son, Dewey, to leave his computer and assist her. He shuffled from the back of the mobile home, past all the piles of cardboard boxes lining the hall, and into the living room where Margene held court. Cigarette dangling from her lips and remote control clenched in her grip, she growled for Dewey to complete the tasks her sloth made untenable.<\/p>\n

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