{"id":8403,"date":"2014-11-21T09:00:38","date_gmt":"2014-11-21T14:00:38","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=8403"},"modified":"2014-11-28T14:36:29","modified_gmt":"2014-11-28T19:36:29","slug":"infestation-pt-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/infestation-pt-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Infestation Pt. 2"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

\u201cAre you swearing off men completely?\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton\u2019s pulse quickened with relief. Vince had unwittingly offered Barton a way to refuse him without resorting to ridicule. \u201cNone of us should be hooking up right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019d relapse together.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cOur friendship would hit the shitter.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know how much you care about\u2026\u201d Barton felt a prickling sensation upon his shoulder. He felt a cluster of them. \u201cIs something crawling on me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHold still.\u201d Vince swatted at the cockroach, giving him another excuse to hit Barton. The bug leapt from his shoulder, landing on the balcony, oblivious to the attempt on its life.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus, that fucker\u2019s big.\u201d Barton shuddered.<\/p>\n

Vince managed a flimsy smile. \u201cThere\u2019s still the matter of my birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRemind me the day before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt won\u2019t cost a cent.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm, okay\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not what you think.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton\u2019s leg shook like a paint mixer. Once you put a price on a man, decisions become easy. The two men had been speaking a while, so Barton scanned the courtyard for any neighbors notorious for starting rumors. No one seemed to notice them sitting closely like lovers.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d Barton said. \u201cYou can\u2019t ask for anything sexual.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll wait till you\u2019re wearing a towel and a smile, wandering the halls.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince laughed at his joke; Barton did not. Vince composed himself and offered a pained smile. \u201cDearest big brother, would you please kiss me on my birthday?\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton stared through him, jaw hovering and unsure where to land. So simple a wish from so vulnerable a soul\u2014when was the last time Barton bent over for that alone? But Vince didn\u2019t complete the equation, not remotely. No one would blame him for doing what he must.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s a good idea.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA kiss isn\u2019t sexual.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew you\u2019d shoot me down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not you, not at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince rose from the bench, pushed his hands through his hair. \u201cAlmost curfew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVincent,\u201d Barton whispered, reaching out, not expecting Vince to take his hand.<\/p>\n

And then, what Barton feared: the tears. \u201cYou\u2019re doing me a favor, you know. Everyone knows rehab romances never work.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton swept past Vince and blocked his exit. \u201cStay. I\u2019ll get some smokes. They\u2019re right inside.\u201d He stepped toward the door. A squishing sound followed a sharp crack. \u201cWhat the hell?\u201d Barton lifted his loafer to discover the thrashed remains of a pest impossible to identify.<\/p>\n

\u201cSlay the dragon, big brother.\u201d Vince laughed. Barton had no choice; he laughed, too.<\/p>\n

Barton swiped Goof\u2019s pack of Camels from the nightstand. He studied his roommate, absurdly grateful Goof would never learn how Barton broke a poor faggot\u2019s heart. One cigarette and the night would end. He crossed the room, opened the door but went no farther.<\/p>\n

Vince slept on the bench, grunting softly as if making love. Surely, he hadn\u2019t slipped into dreams in less than a minute. Irritated he had to wake Vince, Barton reached for his shoulder. He drew back, however, seconds before his hand landed on the cockroach creeping up Vince\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n

\u201cMotherfucker!\u201d Barton shouted.<\/p>\n

Vince\u2019s eyes snapped open.<\/p>\n

\u201cDude, kill it!\u201d Barton cried. \u201cIt\u2019s right there! It\u2019s\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the hell are you talking about?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cKill it! It\u2019s fucking filthy!\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton\u2019s guest jumped to his feet, inspected his clothes, the bench. No bugs anywhere. Barton panted like a sprinter crossing the finish. Vince observed him with a wry smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cPoor big brother. That was close.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton collapsed onto the bench. \u201cI can\u2019t handle that shit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019d you get the smokes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cInside. I told you I had some.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean my apartment?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour apartment is in the next building,\u201d Vince said, spooked. \u201cIt\u2019s on the second floor.\u201d<\/p>\n

Confused, Barton checked the door\u2019s number. The brass numerals read 115; Barton and Goof lived in 206. He backed away, convinced Vince was in on it, ignorant as to what \u201cit\u201d might be. Goof called Barton\u2019s name from the far end of the courtyard. Not responding, Barton dashed upstairs and never looked back.<\/p>\n

Before room 206, Vince sat waiting, legs crossed at the ankles. \u201cYou left before I could finish.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow the fuck did you do that?\u201d The words shot out like jets from a spray.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had a dream about you, big brother.\u201d Vince rose, minus all the naked need Barton had associated with him since they met. He approached Barton with the certainty of the masked killer in a horror film. \u201cIt was my birthday, and you didn\u2019t kiss me.\u201d He gazed at Barton. His voice sounded hollow and smooth, like a customer service greeting. \u201cIsn\u2019t that an awful dream?\u201d He wrapped his arms around Barton. \u201cI\u2019m so glad I woke up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their kiss transpired like an assassination, the target besieged before spotting danger. Vince forced his tongue inside Barton\u2019s mouth, the men\u2019s teeth clicking like tap shoes against marble, hands frantic. Barton preferred kissing men over women; he lacked the insight to speculate why. His eyes clenched shut, his breath caught. There is no moment more heartbreaking than the end of a kiss.<\/p>\n

\u201cTook you long enough, fucker.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton broke away from Vince and found Goof standing in the doorway of room 206. Shirtless, his slender chest caught the amber light from the streetlamp. Shaking, Barton peered over his shoulder and discovered that only the motel parking lot, its chipped asphalt and fading yellow lines, lay behind him. His eyes bugged with amazement.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve been gone a whole hour,\u201d Goof said. \u201cThere\u2019s a smoke shop five minutes down the interstate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry.\u201d He didn\u2019t know who deserved an apology.<\/p>\n

\u201cBaby, I need it up the ass,\u201d Sister Pussy cried, indifferent to other guests in other rooms. Goof yanked Barton into the room, leaving him no chance to note the numerals posted on the door. Goof had lived with him in room 206, and now Goof waited in a room facing the interstate. The door slammed shut. Goof nibbled Barton\u2019s ear, a gesture more menacing than affectionate, then strolled past. Goof smacked Sister Pussy\u2019s bare ass. She bent over the bathroom counter. She wore her greasy blonde hair in pigtails; Barton knew she meant to please Goof, not him.<\/p>\n

Again the canned Southern accent: \u201cDear Bart, can\u2019t you see I\u2019m dying for a man?\u201d Her lewd wink and small jiggling breasts stirred Barton with their guaranty of victory. There was no risk, no possibility of rejection. This was pussy for pussies.<\/p>\n

Goof held an iPhone in front of him. His rotten teeth emerged like a submarine from the ocean\u2019s surface. Barton\u2019s unease ticked higher; it was Goof\u2019s dope and his party. Barton had paid for the room, but he felt na\u00efve calling it his. After twenty-five years, he knew the rules and restrictions of this subculture; he knew them like his mother\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy ass might close up tight without some real dick real soon,\u201d Sister Pussy said.<\/p>\n

\u201cGimme one more line.\u201d Barton stumbled toward the coffee table.<\/p>\n

\u201cChill out a bit,\u201d Goof advised. A cheetah tattoo stretched vertically down his side, the beast dashing for his armpit; it undulated when he yawned, fists aimed at the ceiling. \u201cWanna give sister girl a booty bump?\u201d<\/p>\n

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

\u201cAfter you seed her ass,\u201d Goof said, eyebrows jacked like he planned to blow her house down, \u201cI\u2019ll do one for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is bullshit!\u201d Sister Pussy cried. \u201cFuck me, pronto!\u201d<\/p>\n

Goof shrugged, rolled his eyes. He patted Barton\u2019s shoulder. \u201cHouse rules: Gotta keep the bitch happy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton ignored Goof as he snapped shots of Barton penetrating Sister Pussy\u2019s ass. During Barton\u2019s absence, Goof or his sister had cranked the heat to full blast. Barton sweat like a boy in junior high gym class. Each thrust of his cock roused louder, more piercing screams. He didn\u2019t stop. He couldn\u2019t stop. She called him Billy. It didn\u2019t matter.<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t understand why the flashback\u2014if that\u2019s what one would call it\u2014abruptly ceased before he and Vince parted, both devastated, one quietly and one with tragic fanfare. After Vince\u2019s confession, the two shared a cigarette. They chatted about therapists, the sob stories doled out during group. No cockroaches lurked, just a chorus of crickets and an army of stray cats roaming the courtyard. Vince promised never again to ask for a kiss, fumbling the words. Barton\u2019s heart drummed so loudly, he pulled Vince against him hoping for silence. They embraced like parents grateful their child landed in a fireman\u2019s arms. As the seconds passed, a damp sensation fell upon Barton\u2019s throat, his stubble scratching Vince\u2019s cheek. A kiss\u2014so simple, so essential. Without hesitation, Barton kissed Vince\u2019s throat. His guest moaned so softly that Barton first believed he, himself, had made the sound. Giving Vince comfort made Barton feel worthy; he\u2019d forgotten that feeling. His lips lingered until Vince pulled away, surprising Barton. Anyone would\u2019ve bet that he would conclude their unwise but unavoidable embrace.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re friends, Vince.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill you miss me when I\u2019m gone?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll never tell.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe all have secrets, big brother.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince vanished from the rehab a week later. His generous disability check proved too tempting. Goof claimed he saw him leaping over the complex\u2019s iron fence in the dead of night. No one informed Barton of his fate; he made no inquiries. He basked in Vince\u2019s adoration like a coed sunbathing beneath an overcast sky\u2014the rays never emerge, but skin burns gold by day\u2019s end.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou damn near wore my ass out,\u201d Sister Pussy declared. Goof caught Barton\u2019s eye and began to stroke himself, his other hand capturing still shots of this passionless moment.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t stop now,\u201d Goof ordered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou bisexual boys know all the tricks,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

To dodge her litany of filth, Barton resumed fucking her. Sister Pussy moaned and shook and hollered and declared her ass belonged to Billy. It\u2019s Barton, Goof reminded her. Barton began his final assault. The first thrust slammed her head against the edge of the bathroom counter. The sterilized plastic cups tumbled from the surface. Barton didn\u2019t notice the streaks of blood smeared across the counter\u2019s edge. Sister Pussy coughed and gagged.<\/p>\n

The dozen cockroaches she vomited dropped to the carpet without ceremony. They fell from her lips like snow upon a manger. Not until dozens more bugs skittered and crawled across the room did Barton shriek and yank his cock from her ass.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the fuck?\u201d she cried.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus,\u201d Goof said, \u201cdid you get this room at a group rate?\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton leapt upon the bed, curled into the fetal position as he did whenever alone for the night. This was quite often. The moments crawled, parasites feasting on his fears and regrets. Perhaps if the creatures found what they wanted, they\u2019d go away. Find who they wanted.<\/p>\n

\u201cStomp the fuckers!\u201d Sister Pussy cried.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s kinda fun,\u201d her brother added.<\/p>\n

They clomped and screamed like an inner-city dance troupe. For them, the joys gleaned during sex differed not one bit from those gained during destruction. This epiphany crept up like a toothache: Barton was not like them.<\/p>\n

Vincent, Barton thought. Vince would know what to do. He gaped like a crash survivor at the amateur exterminators. No matter where or how hard they stomped, the bugs would not fucking die.<\/p>\n

 <\/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":"

\u201cAre you swearing off men completely?\u201d<\/p>\n

Barton\u2019s pulse quickened with relief. Vince had unwittingly offered Barton a way to refuse him without resorting to ridicule. \u201cNone of us should be hooking up right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019d relapse together.\u201d<\/p>\n

Vince nodded.<\/p>\n

READ MORE.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":233,"featured_media":8487,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,200,219,217],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8403"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/233"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8403"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8403\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8488,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8403\/revisions\/8488"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/8487"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8403"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8403"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8403"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}