The Shape in the Stone

Each day I chisel

The rough surface of this rock,

Trying to find the

Sculpture. I chip off

The words I don’t want to say,

“I don’t feel close to

You right now,” “I take

Pills to make life bearable,”

“If I could run, I

Would.” Another chip.

“I know you sense the dread in

Me, but haven’t the

Words to express it.”

“My best days are behind me.

They flew past while I

Was waiting for some

Validation that didn’t

Come. There is less of

Me each day.” I would

Rather die with these words not

Said, than hurt any

Of you. Alas am

I fated to wound you to

The core. Chip, chip, chip.

A Dish Served Cold

It was a stupid disagreement. I was eating breakfast and drinking coffee during morning lecture. Tom was a notorious germophobe, and COVID was his personal apocalypse. He came up to me after lecture and confronted me, in front of everyone: “Herman, you had your mask off during lecture. You got to keep it on. You’re not even supposed to be eating in here.”

I lashed out; I should’ve held my tongue. But lots of people were eating, and he wasn’t even chief. He had no authority over me. “Tom, have you guys decided that there’s a no food policy in the lecture hall? No? Then don’t put your shit on me.”

He turned around and walked back to his seat. I was all fired up, threw my coat on, and walked out of there. I drove home in a fire of furious rage. What the fuck? I couldn’t take an insult like that lying down.

Other people from my group called me to invite me back to lecture and tell me they liked me. I guess I appreciated that, but it was hard to just brush past all of that. Spoiled little rich boy, never been in a fight. I’d never speak to him again.

Days went by, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Finally, I was left with the only solution: I had to get his wife to suck my dick and film it. Fuck her in the ass, if I could.

I know, it’s not the simplest way to quit being angry at someone for acting like a prick, but I didn’t choose to be like this, I just … am like this.

I’m old fashioned; I’m not bisexual. I still like to fuck women exclusively. Otherwise I’d figure out a way to sodomize him. It’d be more direct, but I’d have to settle for his wife.

I went online, studied their wedding pictures. You can read everything in a person’s facial expressions. I looked at Carly’s face, and saw everything I needed. Her stiff upper lip. Her blank eyes and wide smile. The angles of her face. The sweetness, the barely concealed fatigue and frustration. Every look said: “You owe me, asshole.”

Compared to her, he was all softness. Quavering uncertainty. Will that failed. He didn’t have that killer instinct that rich boys needed to earn their father’s love. He was a second son, a disappointment, and he always would be.

I made a show of apologizing to him profusely. I made it abundantly clear to Tom how terrible I felt, and how I respected his bravery for enforcing COVID policies. I threw myself at his feet. I begged him to come for dinner with my wife and me. And to bring Carly, of course.

My wife, Francesca, is a tremendous cook. We bought several bottles of good red wine, and had steak, char-grilled to perfection. Tom and Carly were reticent to drop their masks at first, but they wanted to mirror our unmasked approving faces. The masks were pocketed quickly.

Tom relaxed in our company, bragging, laughing loudly, while Carly and Francesca chatted. We were all good friends now; any unpleasantness was in the past.

Tom drank glass after glass of red wine and was slurring his speech prominently by the time I dropped the roofie in his drink. After dinner we were in the living room talking. Francesca and I switched, so now I sat with Carly, and she sat with Tom. I could hear his voice drop lower in register; I knew the drug was working.

Carly found everything that I was saying hilarious. She could not stop laughing at my impressions of celebrities and the people from work. Finally, I started in on Tom. I imitated his germophobia, making him out to be Howard Hughes, with tissue boxes on his feet and jars of urine. Carly howled with laughter. When she leaned forward, I could through her decolletage almost to her navel. I put my hand on her shoulder and left it there.

Tom slowly turned his head. “Heyyyy…” he said, but he was too far gone to do anything. He’d be a silent witness of the proceedings from now on. Francesca rose from his side and came to me, kissing me tenderly on the mouth, absently stroking Carly’s throat and neck.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she whispered to me as she withdrew from me. She quietly left the room, with me and Carly close to one another. She would go to the computer room to start the living room cameras working. That way, all the events could be recorded.

“I should probably call a taxi. Tom’s pretty drunk, it looks like.”

“Just hold on a moment,” I said, and I drew her face to mine, inhaling her scent deeply. Her eyes were wide, frightened. She glanced over to Tom, still watching, not moving. I gently bit her upper lip and sucked on it. She shivered, and goosepimples appeared on her exposed chest. We kissed, and her sweet, sharp little tongue darted in and out of my mouth. She cradled my head with her hands, holding it for several moments.

She sighed and drew her head back, looking over at Tom. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I’ve only been married a year. My whole family was there. Everyone spent so much money. I can’t just go and fuck someone in front of my drunk husband.”

I took her hand and looked into her eyes. They were sparkling, crystal blue, intelligent and eager. The fright they’d shown a few minutes ago had passed. Slowly, I drew her hand down to my erect cock. I let go and she didn’t release my cock. She licked her lips.

I pulled her close to me and we kissed. My hands were on her bare shoulders, unzipping her dress. She had a tight grip on my cock, and was steadily humping my leg and she worked it up and down. I unsnapped her bra and felt her warm, full tits in my hands, their nipples strongly erect.

To be continued …