Selected Transcripts from the "Hard Time Chronicles" of "Billy Budz"
Section 5 (24Mar2034)
5.01 (From Robby's narrative)
That guy Banger is scary and I don't likes him. Old Billy says we gots to have a scary guy if we's gonna get Joe back but he's just too scary. I keeps thinking 'bout them guys what kilt Mama.
I thinks Mama never even give a shit them guys kilt her. She never give a shit about nothing after my brother Tommy died. That was rough. She just holds him and rocks him three four days and he's already dead. Finally he's all swoled up, and she lets us bury him. She weren't the same after then.
And that crew comes busting in that night and me and Joe goes to hide in the place under the floor where they doesn't find us. She never even yelled or nothing. We comes out when they's gone, later. A lot later. And she's dead.
Joe, he takes care of me after then, til that dingo gets us. I will try not to be scared of Banger, who Billy calls Stefan, even if I seen what he done to Little Igor. I gots to have my brother back.
5.02 (From Billy's "blog")
I could have done very nicely without Stefan today. Frankly, it doesn't take a lot of muscle to deal with an achondroplastic dwarf, and he really didn't have to kill the little guy, especially not in front of Robby. They called him Little Igor because of the hump, naturally. His real name was Marlon Borovsky, and the dingo was his brother, Pauly. So now we're looking for Paul Borovsky. If Paul Borovsky has a street name, Little Igor didn't have a chance to tell us.
We used Robby to get in. It was just a little brick house, with no security guards, but built like a fort -- steel door in a steel frame, bulletproof glass in the windows, a really nice job. Robby stood in front of the peephole, which was set in down low because of Little Igor's size. Come to think of it, Igor would have had to recognize a regular sized guy by his crotch. Maybe he had people drop their pants so he could tell them apart.
Robby thinks that's funny.
So, anyway, when Little Igor saw Robby he opened the door a crack. Stefan pushed it open the rest of the way, sending the dwarf flying across the room. I saw Igor scramble over towards his little desk -- a child's desk, I guess -- going for a drawer. I pointed my old Glock 19 and put a round in the wall behind his head. He froze. Inside the drawer was the cutest little Beretta Tomcat, much easier to carry and conceal than my Glock. It has a new home in my jacket pocket now.
5.03 (From Stefan's narrative)
My stomach kind of flipped over when I saw that little freak. I never saw anything like that before, and all I knew was I didn't want to touch him. It was weird. Good thing Billy got that shot off, because if the little nasty got to that Tomcat I don't know if I'd have been able to squash him in time.
I didn't even hear what Billy said to him, or what he said to Billy, I just got this kind of burn on me, if you know what I mean. When he went for the desk, for the gun, he kind of scuttled, like a crab, on those crooked little arms and legs. And that nose, shit, that nose poking way out like, I don't know, like it could push into you and suck your blood and leave poison behind. Like the Captain's nose, back in the Pit.
The Pit is what we kids called the boys' reformatory. There was some stupid bitch who was supposed to be in charge of the place, but it was the Captain who ran things, the Captain who did what they called "discipline." Sometimes he used his belt, and sometimes he used the electric, but mostly he just used his dick. It was the biggest, ugliest dick I'd ever seen, and when he rammed it into you it hurt. It didn't even matter how many times he did it to you, it hurt every time.
The freak's nose was a close match for the Captain's, just this giant beak of a thing poking right in your face if he was fucking you on your back, or dropping down past your own nose if he was on you from behind. You don't forget that kind of thing. I was in the cage the night the other boys killed him, and I always will be sorry about that. They ripped him open with their bare hands, I heard, and choked him with his own guts. That must have been good. Really good.
5.04 (From Billy's "blog")
Back in the old days, when the liberals still mattered, Little Igor would have been a "person with disabilities." When he died, though, he was just a dead freak. Well, maybe not to his brother, the dingo. I have to figure it was brother Paul who kept the poor bastard alive -- living in his little fortress, supplied with food and fuel and the occasional sex partner. He wouldn't have lasted five minutes on the street.
Hell, he didn't last five minutes once we were inside his house. He was on the floor, totally helpless, of course. I asked him who the dingo was. He didn't want to say, so Stefan put his heel down on poor Little Igor's hand, breaking some indeterminate number of bones. Pretty clearly, Stefan didn't want to touch him, because he did all his persuasion with his boots. It didn't take much persuasion.
He gave me his brother's name, but claimed he didn't know where to find him. Stefan moved his foot further up the dwarf's arm, and Little Igor started screaming and crying how he didn't know, really didn't know. Then, all of a sudden, Robby is screaming too, saying how it wasn't Igor's fault and we should leave him alone.
"Stefan," I said, "give it a minute. Back off."
Stefan backed off. Little Igor pulled his injured hand against his stomach and curled into a ball. All you really could see of him was that big hump sticking up, and his red little kid sneakers sticking out from underneath.
"Come on, man," I said, "we don't have to hurt you anymore. We just want to find out what Pauly did with Robby's brother, Joe. And you like Robby, right?"
5.05 (From Stefan's narrative)
Sometimes, in the Pit, the Captain would decide it was time for the boys to play a game of "allball." Everybody had to play, so it was about forty boys to a side, plus ten or fifteen of the Captain's "trustees" with thin green branches that hurt like hell -- I think he called them "switches" -- making sure nobody hung back. There were three balls -- a football, a softball, and a little golf ball. The first team that got two of them past the other team's goal line was the winner. That was the only rule of the game. The winners got to eat the same old dinner that night. The losers got nothing.
We played the game naked, of course -- that was the Captain's style -- and the little boys always got banged up pretty bad by the bigger ones. I remember one little kid -- maybe only eight or nine -- who got run over by the same 15-year-old three or four times one game. There was no reason for it -- the balls were all off in other parts of the field every time. Well, that little kid came back at that big one, grabbed his swinging cock, and damned near yanked it off. The Captain near laughed his ass off, but that little kid still turned up dead a couple of days later.
Me, I always went for the football because I was good at kicking it downfield, sometimes right over the line. And there was that little freak, all tucked up with that big hump sticking out, looking just like a big old football. And me wearing my steel toed boots. Well, I just couldn't stop myself. Billy was mad at me after, but fuck him, it felt good. I lifted that little freak right off the floor and sent him bouncing off the wall. There was a nice dent in the plaster too. Fucking ugly little football man.
5.07 (From Robby's narrative)
I don't wants to tell about that. I just done it, don't know why. All I wants is to get my brother back.
5.08 (From Billy's "blog")
Little Igor probably could have told us more, but crazy Stefan got it into his head that he ought to kick the little bastard through the fucking wall. I went over to see if he was okay. He wasn't. Blood was coming out of his mouth and nose, and he was gasping for breath. He'd already said his last words.
It's hard to describe the expression on his face. His eyes looked like they were asking something, but the question wasn't "Why?" I don't think he was at all surprised to die that way -- it's not like it's all that unusual. He was asking something, though. Maybe one of these days I'll know what was going through his head -- I just hope I don't find out any time soon.
Stefan had backed away, and was leaning against a closet door, breathing hard. Then Robby went up to Little Igor, looking like he was going to cry. It was weird. From what he told me, Robby didn't much like the guy, but he still looked like he was going to cry. Then Robby drops his pants and plants his ass crack right over Little Igor's big, ugly nose. It looked like the dwarf was trying to nuzzle the boy's hole for a couple of seconds, but then he just died there on the floor.
There wasn't much of real value there in Little Igor's little brick house, but Stefan found some stuff to steal while I was washing the blood off Robby's ass. "Take your time," I told Stefan. "Now that you've killed the dwarf, you'll have to wait here for his brother to show up. And don't kill him until after you've made him talk."
Stefan grumbled, but said he would wait as long as we took "that ugly little thing" with us when we left. I stuffed Little Igor's corpse into a plastic trash bag, and tossed him into the trunk of my car.
5.09 (From Robby's narrative)
So Banger is kilt Little Igor and we still ain't found Joe. Billy taken me back to his house and gone out again. José sees I am crying and we goes on the bed together. José is nice.
5.10 (From José's narrative)
Nobody told me what happened, but I know some bad shit went down. Old Billy just turned around and went back out again, and Robby is standing there doing nothing but with tears all over his face. I already made the bed real nice, but I don't care. I lay Robby down and lay down with him and hold him a while. In a little bit, he stops crying.
Well, I can't help it, he looks real cute and my dick gets hard, and I ask him if he wants to get naked like me. He smiles a little and shakes his head OK, so I start to undress him. I pull up his shirt, and I see how little his chest is, with those two tiny pink titties. I just have to kiss that chest, you know, and I run the tip of my tongue over those little titties, which makes him giggle. That's good. That's a lot better than crying.
So he lifts up his arms so I can get the shirt up over his head, and I push it up further, but I stop while his head and his arms are still inside and I say, "Now I got you" and go at him with my tongue again, right under his arms where it really tickles, you know? He starts wiggling around and laughing, and I'm hugging him and tickling him until he gets the shirt off his head and pull his arms down. He looks at me with a big smile on his face, and I just have to kiss him. I kiss him on his nose and his cheeks and his smily mouth, and he hugs me and starts kissing me back. It was really, really nice. I never got much kisses in my life. None of my masters was really big on kissing, and none of the other apprentices neither. Mostly, I just got fucked.
Well, I can hardly even move, I am so happy this cute little boy is kissing me, but he says, "Go on, get my pants too." So I move down the bed a little and open the button on his shorts and pull down the zipper, but there is that little belly button in front of me, and I can't help it. There goes my tongue again, and he starts laughing again and tries to curl up in a ball but he can't because my head is right in there between his belly and his knees. I reach under him and stick my hand in his shorts so I can squeeze his cute little butt too, and he straightens out his legs and pushes my face off his ticklish belly.
Next thing you know his pants go down and his little bitty boner is in my mouth. It's so little I practically can wrap it up in my tongue, and my face is pressed between his belly and his legs, and everything is so soft and smooth that I get both hands under his ass and just press him into my face as hard as I can. I never got to mess with any younger boys before I met Robby, and some ways it's much nicer than doing it with a man. He just smells so nice and tastes so nice. And I know he won't hurt me.
My first master hurt me a lot. I was way younger than Robby even, back then. I will never hurt a little boy like that, not ever.
I could tell Robby was liking his blow job because he was making moany noises and humping my face. I just kept trying to make him happy. I really wanted him to be happy, and I know he is so sad without his brother, so I tried to get it perfect. After a minute or so, he came. He can't cream, of course, because he's too young, but I'm pretty sure I tasted a little drop of something, and his whole body was tight and shaking, and then he just let himself go limp.
"Good one?" I asked him.
"Real good," he said, and then said okay, now I'll do you.
I was a little embarrassed, but I said it anyway. "Maybe I could have some more kisses?"
5.11 (From Billy's "blog")
When I left the apartment I was thinking maybe I ought to stay with Robby, but I guess José got him feeling better, and I don't know if I could have done that just then. I was really upset with Stefan, which actually means I was really upset with myself -- thinking maybe he wouldn't have turned out so crazy if I'd been a better... I don't know. Parent? It felt more like being an animal trainer, and I didn't have a clue how to do that kind of thing. There was this guy on TV back in the old days who showed you how to train dogs. If I'd known, I'd have watched that show more often.
No, that's not fair. Stefan was a boy -- my beautiful boy. I should have been able to come up with something better than strapping him down to the bed at night and then letting the court send him off to that nuthouse they called a boys' reformatory.
Anyway, I wanted to be around somebody who wasn't a boy -- and that included Stefan of course, who never really grew up -- so after I dropped off Robby I headed over to Tawana's. Tawana is old enough to remember the old days, although I didn't know her back then. Now she runs a girl brothel, which she likes to call a "bawdy house." It's supposed to look the way a whorehouse looked back at the start of the twentieth century, and its "historical" decor seems to have succeeded in making it seem a bit classier than your average whorehouse. It's especially popular with politicians.
I didn't want a girl, of course. I just wanted to talk to somebody closer to my own age -- somebody who could understand just how badly things had been fucked over. Yes, I wanted to complain -- but I wanted to complain to someone sure to agree with me.
I knocked with the big brass knocker, and a young girl opened a little window in the thick oak door to have a look at me. It seems to me the little window was a 1920s speakeasy feature rather than a 1900s whorehouse feature, but the effect was still nice. Not being an obvious ax murderer was good enough to get me admitted. Tawana's not in business to send people away.
"No, honey," I said to the girl, who was rubbing herself up and down on me, "just tell Tawana that Billy Budz is here." She was persistent, though, so I had to give her a few coins before she would quit rubbing and go out back for my old friend. Yes, Tawana and I actually are friends. We met through a mutual customer who liked to get his drug deliveries at Tawana's place, and somehow we hit it off. Same sense of irony, as best I can tell. We make each other laugh -- well, maybe not laugh, but grin a little. Not much of that, these days, at least not for me.
A few minutes later, we were sitting in the room she called her "parlor," sharing a pitcher of excellent martinis and talking politics. She's six or seven years younger than I am,in her early sixties, and likes to describe herself, in the words of the old blues song, as "built for comfort, baby, not for speed." She'd been watching TV coverage of the big Jesist rally going on up in Stockton, and wondering how the reigning plutocrats meant to co-opt yet another religious revival.
"Ah, America," I remarked, "you do like your charismatic cults, now, don't you?"
"She sure do," Tawana agreed, "and this here new one is a doozy. They got their people selling everything they got just to give the money to the church. And I know, because I'm buying some of what they're selling. You won't believe this." She slapped the button on an intercom on her desk and spoke to somebody in another room. "Vanessa, get the twins and send them in here. Okay?"
I guess the crackle from the other side was an "Okay," because a few minutes later the parlor door opened and the twins came in. They looked to be about seven years old, with shoulder length blond hair and bright blue eyes. They were dressed in matching pink harem pajamas. "Girls," Tawana told them, "go give Uncle Billy a cuddle."
Now, I'm not repulsed by girls or anything like that, I'm just not interested. Still, I didn't want to hurt their feelings, so I let them climb up into my lap. I guess I must have looked a bit uncomfortable, because Tawana was laughing. "Oh, what sweet little girls," she said. "Go on, give Uncle Billy some kisses."
One immediately slipped a tongue into my mouth, while the other nibbled one of my earlobes. Tawana only laughed harder as I tried to disentangle myself. It was only when one of them stood up on my lap and pushed against my face that I got the joke. There, only slightly concealed by the diaphanous harem pajamas, was a stiff little penis. A quick check of the other twin let me know that he, too, was a boy. A second later, I was laughing harder than Tawana, even while teasing one little penis with my lips and the other with my fingers.
"Don't those girls have the sweetest little willies?" Tawana asked through tears of laughter. My answer was a rude noise, made by blowing against a soft, deliciously chubby belly. At that point, all four of us were laughing.
"You like us," one twin proclaimed.
"Yes," I replied, "I like you very very much."
5.12 (From Stefan's narrative)
I was trying to catch a nap, curled up on that stupid little bed, when somebody started banging on the door. I almost yelled out to go the fuck away, but then I remembered where I was. So I took out my .38 and opened the door. The next thing he knew, the barrel of a gun was in his mouth.
He wasn't Pauly. He was some asshole named Ahmed, Pauly's friend, and he talked. The little kid, said, was sold to some sick old perv up in the Plato's Playground gated community. That's how I knew he wasn't lying. The older boy, he told me, was wholesaled with a bunch of other kids they bought from some cult -- mostly older kids, like twelve or so.
Maybe I should have killed him, but I didn't. He told me enough, and I didn't want to stick around that fucking house waiting for the midget's brother to show up too.
5.13 (From Billy's "blog")
The twins were kind of young for my taste, but cute as all hell, with the kind of little tushies that just make you want to take a bite out of them. I'm afraid I wasn't paying a lot of attention while Tawana remembered how happy she'd been when we surprised everybody by electing the black guy, and how disappointed she'd been when he turned out to be no better at standing up to the plutocrats than any of the white guys. Too bad I left my recorder at home.
Now, though, I'm still thinking about how fast my feelings changed when I found out those twin girls were twin boys. It didn't make a damned bit of sense, not logically, anyway. Hell, they even thought they were girls. They insisted.
Tawana was going on about how she quit being a Christian to be a Muslim, and then how she quit being a Muslim too, and in the meanwhile one twin is across my lap and the other has pulled down his harem pajama pants and is saying, "Go ahead, spank her!"
"No," I said, "why should I? He didn't do anything to be punished for."
"Not he," shouts the one on my lap with his round little bottom soft under my hand, "she! I'm a girl!"
"And she deserves to be punished," continues the other one, "for showing you that naughty boy thing."
The one on my lap, I supposed, was the one who had shoved his stiff little winkie against my face. Really, it all was kind of confusing. Both boys seemed to believe they were girls. Maybe that's why their Jesist parents sold them to Tawana, or maybe there was some other reason -- like money. I honestly don't know. The one across my lap seemed perfectly willing to take a spanking for the "sin" of having a tiny little cock and balls, and his brother, I'm guessing, would have happily taken his place.
And then there was me. When I thought they were girls, they just made me uncomfortable. When I found out that the twins who were nibbling and stroking me actually were boys, I was relieved -- and also, I have to admit, somewhat turned on. Hell, they were doing their very best to get me turned on, but in their confused little heads, they were girls turning me on, not boys. And, on top of that, I wasn't even handling those little boybits that differentiate a seven-year-old boy from a seven-year-old girl. Why did just knowing they were there make so much difference?
And what if they'd been seven-year-old girls with boy haircuts and boy pajamas? My guess is that they'd have gotten me nicely turned on, and if I'd never reached between their legs, I'd never have known the difference.
5.14 (From Robby's narrative)
José likes kisses, so we was kissing a while.
And after a while I says to José, y'know, I ain't never got it up the ass yet, but you can do if if you wants. And he says nah, I might hurt you. And I says nah, you gots a little one anyway, which should be good for starters. And he says, well, first we will see how you gets yours up mine without it falling out, and then maybe we gives your ass a try.
So he pulls his knees way up next to his ears, and when I looks down there is his hole and he's making it open and close and open and close. I never seen that before, and I laughs at it. Truth is I never fucked nobody before because my dick's just too short, but the way José is laying there, I thinks maybe it will work.
But first I gets down there and licks up his hole the way he done to me before, so it's nice and slippery. When I curls up my tongue it sticks right up there almost as far as my little dick goes. And then I sticks my dick up there, but when I tries to hump him it keeps falling out, so I just sticks it in and leaves it. And we kisses some more.
5.15 (From José's narrative)
My second master had this thing where I would sit next to him and color in a coloring book, but with his finger just a little way up my ass, not even to the middle knuckle. I have noticed that certain guys have very funny ideas about what is fun. Anyway, that was what my ass felt like with Robby's cock up there -- like, not much at all. But it was nice because we were kissing again.
He wanted me to fuck him, but I didn't. Maybe my dick is not so long, but it's still kind of fat, and that's what hurts.
Really, though, Billy probably won't stay off him much longer. The way he looks at Robby's ass, I can just tell. It won't be that bad if I just loosen him up a little, will it? But then what if Billy gets Joe back -- how will he feel about me fucking his brother? Joe is a little younger than me, but from what I hear, he's maybe a lot tougher.
Billy came back late from wherever he went. He sat in the kitchen a while, drinking his booze. Me and Robby said goodnight, and kissed him, and went to bed. He never came into the bed last night, I don't know why.