Date: Sun, 28 Oct 2007 19:59:06 -0400
From: A. Cheshire Cat <kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com>
Subject: Tigger-Boy and The Gangster

Tigger-Boy and the Gangster
by: A.Cheshire Cat
Oct. 28, 2007

write me: kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com

While he waited for the bus to take him to work he felt a certain
loneliness he'd never felt before. It was a distinct sensation, biting at
his flesh like the autumn wind that blew down the street, as if his flesh
were just a mockery of the hollowness it disguised. His hair tossed in
the wind, smoke spewed from his mouth, he squinted as cars went by. He
felt like a dragon on this Sunday morning, a serpent of fiery pathos, a
deviant of nature, a gargoyle poised on the curb at the bus stop; he felt
like God was up there watching him this morning, made aware of his
presence because of his recent sin and he waited for God's action to
smite him ... at any time, anywhere. When the bus pulled up he saw his
reflection in the window, an old man was on the other side of the glass
and the young man shuddered to think of how many years he had left before
he'd finally be cast rightfully into hell.

Before all this happened, the way he'd seen himself was different than
this creeping ogre of gluttony and disgust. He was a gallant lad, a
man-about-town, a rare dandy in a town that desperately needed them. He
knew all the right people in all the right ways, he had no enemies
besides an old land-lady that he'd skipped out on without paying the
rent. His sins were limited to fashionable ones: persistent drug-use,
occasional prostitution, being late for work too much. He was popular at
all the right clubs, he was a stylish dancer, he snubbed correctly, and
adored the appropriate variety of idols. His wardrobe was consistantly
updated, he shoes were always clean, his hat was tilted at a clever
angle, a witty crown. Physically he was delicious, tall and thin, scrawny
muscles, a noble chin, soulful eyes, a large flawless penis.

He wasn't as young as he used to be. There was a time when he was on that
other side of the twenties, the golden side of Paradise. He had now eaten
the juicy fruit of youth and lingered on this side of his twenties,
spitting out the seeds that would never grow to bear their own.

While he sat on the bus he unfolded the Sunday crossword from the paper
and began his favorite pass-time with a face hung with shame ... he could
not escape the truth of his actions. The words that he filled the blank
squares painted a portrait of him that he recognized too well. "The
Picture of Dorian ..." He relunctantly submitted "GRAY." And the next to
strike his eye, four-down, "Cowardly colour." And he entered, "YELLOW."
Before he could go any further with this deliberate act of distraction he
was tugged backward in his memory to that moment he'd felt the kid's
naked thigh under the blankets ... it seemed that was the moment of his
most glorious destruction.

Ever since Dr. Jekyll revealed his Mr. Hyde to the world it's been common
knowledge that within every man, even the best of men, there is the seed
of something purely evil. Most men keep secret the monster within them.
Most men can go about their whole lives seducing reality with the gloss
of their fantastic facade, but within they are mansions haunted by the
demons in their foundation. As the bus made its way down sidestreets
toward the main artery of town, he let the crossword slip from his mind
and he found himself staring at the Victorians and Georgians, wondering
what terrors lay therein. On many of the verandas were perched
family-carved jack o'lanterns, and the colorful sprays of decorations for
the upcoming Halloween. Gloom, doom and witchery; superstition was being
celebrated everywhere he looked. He felt like Satan was somewhere looking
for him, he was only staying ahead of the Devil himself by only a bus
ride.

A child cried on the bus, stirred from his sleep by a passing ambulance.
The cacophony nearly made him cry. He was feeling weak. Very weak.
But last night he'd felt so strong, like a hero in something he'd have
written himself, or read on the internet. At the next stop a man got on
the bus wearing a uniform, a dark uniform not unlike that of a police
officer. He shuddered in his bones, all the way from the shape of his
skull to the knuckles in his toes a great terror rattled him. It wasn't
even a police officer, just a security guard on his way to work. Normally
the uniform would drive his libido into a higher gear but today, this
morning, he felt a degree of repulsion. He cowered in his seat, he pulled
the crossword back onto his lap. The second letter of the word he looked
for was the "o" of "yellow" and he looked at the clue, "Thing under a
kid's bed." He groaned and penned it in, "MONSTER."  Oh god, forgive him,
he was ...

--- --- ---

When he'd arrived at the party there was a terrible urgency among the few
people who were there that he should drink as much as possible to get
into the sort of mood that made him popular among friends. Though
normally he was a happy person, and if he'd wanted to he could have done
this sort of house-party easily without any sort of intoxication, he
relented and within an hour and a small bottle of wine he was telling the
best jokes he had, rather loudly, so that people gathered around him to
hear the punch-lines. He was, for that first part of the evening, the
life of the party. After he'd gone to the washroom there were more people
there and the house was thudding with new-comers. Everyone was dressed
up, this was a Halloween party. There were the usual cast of character,
Juliets, Madonnas, witches, pirates, mummies, vampires, and there was a
Britney Spears "on crack", there was a Nerd, there was a Keg of Beer.
He'd dressed as a mobster from the thirties and soon he was being called
the Gangster by everyone who knew him. His costume was made up at the
last minute as he hadn't dressed up for years but admitted that he was
out of place without a costume so put some thought into it and came up
with this. He wore a bowler on his head, carried a plastic cap-gun, and
wore a tuxedo-silk-screened teeshirt with black pants, and a black mask.
It was a sexy costume. There were many gay boys at this party and it was
the sort of party that so many people would be talking about.

There were all sorts of people at the party. The laughter and hilarity
was fantastic. The party went really well for the people that were having
it.

One of his favorite friends had brought one of her gay-friends with her.
This young man was dubbed Tigger-boy because of his costume. He was
wearing a costume he claimed to have stolen from his younger brother, a
Tigger costume intended for a young kid. The fuzzy striped pants wore
like shorts on the young athlete, the top part of the costume barely fit
around his shoulders, the cute little ears were like a baby's bonnet. He
was blonde, and toned with a swimmer's build. He looked absolutely
scrumptious. There were many gay boys there and they were all vying for
his attention, hoping that this bit of fresh meat would choose them, as
if he were obviously going to choose someone. Tigger-Boy, according to
the gossip of other young men there who spend a lot of time in the
chatrooms of the internet, was not very slutty at all, he was a swimmer
on the team at the university he attended, he was still young, roughly
twenty-two, that most delicious of ambiguous ages on that side of
Paradise. His pictures on-line were the stuff of rumours and speculation,
apparently his cock was enormous, his abs were defined. His arms were
heaving with biceps and when he opened his bottles of beer the grip he
used on the cap sent ripples of veins and tendon up his arm, his pecs
flinched with use, and boys fell to the side in awe of his masculine-boy
beauty.

Well, the Gangster finally got a chance to talk lowly with Tigger-boy and
a seduction was easy with the liquor on their breath and the late hour
coming upon them. The Gangster laughed at the Tigger-boy when the younger
of the two tried to adjust his cock in the tight little, tiger-striped
shorts without drawing too much attention to himself. The rumors appeared
to be true, the Gangster thought, and to affirm his deduction he didn't
dare think twice about reaching down and helping him adjust his package.
Tigger-boy's laugh simmered down to a sort of purr that sent the signal
their time at this party was over.

With much fanfare, the Gangster announced his departure and kisses were
blown from slumbering fag-hags and cat-calls were thrown by the fags left
behind. The Gangster was making off with the real loot, the golden-maned
Tigger-boy, who was giggling and happy to be leaving as the tension was
getting a bit much. The trick got the treat.

Tigger-boy had a car. They hopped in as it started to rain. It was a
cold, miserable night, really rather late then, and there didn't seem to
be another soul stirring in the entire suburban development that they
made their way through toward the house where Tigger-boy lived. He
admitted that they would have to be quiet because he lived with his
parents. The Gangster wasn't supposed to worry too much, he shared the
basement of the house with his youngest brother, the eight-year-old whose
costume he was wearing, and the kid slept through thunderstorms all
summer long anyway.

Tigger-boy was fuckin gorgeous. He was a high-class twink, a genuine
pretty-boy. When they pulled into his parents' place the dark suburban
house stood tall, three stories tall, over the small lawn. A stubby maple
was losing its last few leaves in this late night rainstorm.

They ran into the house, removing their sneakers at the door and then
abruptly going down to the basement. Way up in the house the parents were
sleeping. His other brother was out of town this weekend. They went down
the stairs, the Gangster followed close behind and realizing they were
alone he reached down and grabbed at that ass because, squeezed into
those little shorts, his perfect little butt had been driving him nuts
all night.

There was a washroom to his right, a door on the left which was slightly
open, and then a little further down there was another room on the left,
which was his. As soon as they were through the door they started making
out. Kisses were sloppily strewn up and down their necks, he was so
good-tasting, he smelled of a fashionable cologne, he ate the smell off
his neck hungrily, like a vampire, and he nibbled at the flesh,
suggesting a desire to tear him to pieces with a violent ease of his
jaws. Off came the costumes in drunken tugs. Tigger lay on the floor to
get the tight shorts off and the two young bodies met there on the carpet
to grind and thrust at each other, when the flesh was exposed there was a
delightful smacking of chests, there was a terrific chugging and tugging
and lugging of arms and legs, and hips and belly-buttons and the lines of
muscles were drawn together, there was a certain Francis Bacon-esque
quality to the gore of their lust, there was a smashing of colors in
their brains, they laughed as they felt so good taking from each other
passionate portions. They groaned and moaned, the sighed and spewed
lovely thoughts at each other, mumbling mostly, as if it was the secret
language made after centuries of loving in both their lives had been
combined. Tigger-boy relished the tasty way he was about to be topped,
the Gangster threw at him looks that were absolutely sinister with
frightening intention. It was rather macabre how quickly it got to this,
it was happening more quickly than it was supposed to. They pulled apart.
Tigger had to go to the washroom.

The Gangster was out of breath, from being terribly out of shape and from
having smoked so much over the course of the night. The room felt hot and
cramped. He was dying for a cigarette but he could tell there must be no
smoking allowed in this place as there were no ashtrays and no lingering
stain of cancer on everything. When he heard the toilet flush he got
ready for the second round of carnality. When the door opened the young
man that entered was every bit as gorgeous as Narcissus, or so the lake
might have said, and there was something about his lip-biting purring
that told the Gangster that this boy loved a guy who had a hairy,
barrelling chest, and didn't mind at all the way the Gangster was posed
like a wolf sparring for alpha-dog among the pillows. The two of them
went at it again. And soon enough there was a terrific clamor coming down
the hallway and the light blasted on and both of them turned to see at
the door a wide-eyed little boy.

"Go back to bed," Tigger said.

"I had a nightmare, I think there's a monster under my bed, and I want to
sleep with you."

"You can't, dude go back to bed, I'm really busy."

The both of them knealed on the bed, their throbbing cocks swaying to and
fro, precum oozing from their members, the juices shimmering in the raw
light that made them both squint and feel even more naked.

The kid was just as adorable as his eldest brother. He had fiery blonde
hair that was cropped short and he wore only a pair of pyjama bottoms
with superman prints on them, old comic book superman, none of this new
shit. The Gangster lowered himself to the bed, realizing that his
throbbing cock was what kept the kid staring at him. The kid seemed to be
reacting as if the Gangster were holding a gun at his brother, which was
hardly the case.

"Here," Tigger said, "I'll put you back in bed and then later I'll come
in with you." Tigger winked at the Gangster. This was a plot to get us
back alone.

There was a shuffling back down the hall. The kid was whining and didn't
want to be left alone. The Gangster could hear the older of the two of
them in there saying how there wasn't any monster, "See, nothing here,
nothing in there, nothing in this, nothing under that." Tigger came back
shortly but the Gangster was less provocative this time and was nearly
passing out.

They went at it again. This time it wasn't nearly as long before they
were nearly fucking and the Gangster, being struck with a sudden desire
to be safe, asked if Tigger had any condoms but Tigger said he didn't
care and wanted that cock up his ass bareback-style. The Gangster didn't
even hesitate. He obliged the gorgeous bastard, and would have done
anything he wanted.

The Gangster started with voraciously eating at Tigger's ass. The smooth
skin surrounding the puckering whole was smooth, as if puberty had
neglected to roughen that tender skin with anything more than the softest
fuzz. He licked, up and down and shoved his tongue deep into the boy's
cunt and made the young swimmer bite at the pillow to save him from
crying out in orgasm. The moans were muffled when the Gangster positioned
himself, and having slicked up his cock with his saliva, shoved his
eight-inch, cut cock into the tight orifice without any polite
hesitation. The bottom's back broke into instant sweat, his shoulders
braced his whole body for the pounding of a lifetime. The two of them
went at it with a rhythm the whole house seemed a part of, the Gangster's
hands felt around the hips and jerked the strong cock hidden next to the
sheets.

They fucked in several positions. The fucked for almost three quarters of
an hour, and finally Tigger rolled onto his back and started jerkin his
cock really fast and said he wanted to cum, so the Gangster relented but
went down to the cock to take the cum into his mouth, and he gulped down
load after load of the stuff.

But when he tried to cum, the Gangster couldn't, unfortunately he had to
pee.

"Ahh, well go to the washroom then."

He couldn't believe his misfortune. He went down the hall as quickly as
possible and went into the washroom through the door that he remembered.

The light in the washroom was most unflattering and the thing he saw in
the mirror, throbbing flacid cock, hairy belly and chest ... the lines on
his face were such tell-tale signs he was older than the boy he'd
seduced. He couldn't believe this, he stood over the toilet begging
himself to pee faster. Finally a strongly scented jetison of urine came
out of him like the roar of a forest-fire being extinguished. He bounced
on the balls of his toes waiting for this torment to end. He kept
thinking about Tigger in that costume. His ass had barely fit in the
shorts. His eyes had beamed at him from across the patio ...

He finished peeing and stepped out into the hall but blinded himself when
he shut off the light and left himself in the dark.

He giggled. He couldn't see anything, he felt for the door on the other
side of the hall.

He found the door slightly open and stepped in without turning on the
light.

He sneaked over the bed and heard that the boy was sleeping in it. He
crouched down onto the bed and tried to make as little noise as possible.
He lay down next to the warm body. He lay there and wondered why Tigger
had fallen asleep so quickly. He asked in a hush voice, "Are you awake?"
And a little voice said, "Yes." Was it the same voice, he felt like it
was ... He said, "Can I fuck you again?" And the little voice was silent
this time.

He fished under the sheets for the hip that was next to him. Finding the
hip he noticed immediately that the hip was smaller and less meaty than
the other one and thought that maybe he was sobering up or something and
in the morning would wake up to find that he'd been fucking someone that
had actually been ugly and scrawny and not at all the brawny, pretty boy
he'd thought Tigger had been. In the darkness of this late night lust he
felt his boner picking up again and slipped his fingers between the legs
of the little guy next to him. He pulled the finger to his mouth and
licked the boy scent that lingered there. Spitting on his fingers again
he juiced up the tight hole. And pulling himself up next to the body
there he barely touched him when he shoved his cock at the hole, "Oh man,
you're so tight. Man, feels way better this time!" The body next to him
squirmed and when he went to gasp the Gangster put a pillow in front of
his face. "Shh, you don't want to wake up your brother, do you?" He
started fucking him, faster and faster, he felt himself going to cum so
quickly and with a moan of his own, and a ferocious groping of the
shrivelled cock on the other side of the boy-body, he unloaded the
wild-rush of gob-after-gob of cum into the ass that had been waiting
there for it.

"Oh ... man, that felt good."

Tigger was quiet ... the effect of the cumming and the amount of booze in
his system quickly caught up to him and he fell asleep rather quickly.

He woke up with a headache. He felt a movement in the bed next to him. He
figured Tigger was going to the washroom or something so he didn't bother
waking up yet. He lay there for a moment. Then suddenly the door opened.
He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was a giant poster on the
wall, a poster for the Transformers movie ... it had not been there the
night before. He looked at the sheets, all Superman stuff ... and the
smell in the room was different, it was all laid-out the same, but it was
wrong, it was for a younger guy ... it was the younger brother's room ...
at the door was Tigger-boy and he was standing there with his arms
crossed ... "What the fuck did you do man!"

"What?"

"Don't lay there playing dumb. You know what the fuck you did."

He sat up, next to him was the dent in the mattress where a little body
had been laying, the pillow was still bunched up like it had been gagging
the kid, the scene screamed like that of a murderous catastrophe. He'd
raped a kid! That's what he'd done.

The beautiful boy he'd come to the house with, the kid's eldest brother,
still six years younger than the Gangster, was standing at the foot of
the bed in white briefs with his arms crossed ... a look on his face that
couldn't be read anywhere other way but confused disturbance ... a mix
between disappointment and a hangover ...

"Oh my god ... I'm so sorry ... " He jumped out of the bed and forced his
way by the door, running as if a bear were chasing, as if the house were
falling apart.

He got into the other room and realized how wrong he'd been, how he'd
gone into the wrong room in the night, how wrong the voice had sounded
when he'd said he was going to fuck him, how fantastic but tight the hole
was, how young that ass was, how terribly he'd shoved the pillow in the
mouth of the kid when he'd fought and tried to cry out. He'd touched the
hip of the kid under the blanket and almost known. He grabbed his clothes
and pulled his pants on while the brother came in the room and saw he was
getting dressed as frantically as possible.

"Wait a minute man, don't think you can just fuck him and get away with
it. I mean, what the fuck ... how can you fuck a guy half my size and
think it was me ..."

"I guess I was drunk, and I was really horny." All of this was so lame
sounding. It sounded like the best excuse he had was the worst excuse for
someone like him.

"Oh ya? That's the best you got."

"I'm sorry." He saw the kid at the door, standing behind the wall though,
scared a bit, scared of what was happening ... he was crouched in the
darkness of the hall.

Dressed then, he ran down the hall and up the stairs. Arriving at the
front door where the shoes were he could smell bacon and eggs and it
nearly made him vomit to think that his parents were right there, just
out of sight, preparing themselves for a lovely suburban breakfast,
perfect and extraordinary in its ordinariness when in the basement the
commotion was that of flushing out a paedophile rapist.

"Hey man, come on back down here, we're not finished," Tigger-boy was
heard calling as the Gangster ran out the door without tying his shoes,
freezing in the cold autumn morning, the rain was still coming down. He
ran and ran and didn't look back. He found a bus stop and figured out the
quickest way to get home. He thought he saw a car coming that was like
that of Tigger-boy's so he splurged and got a cab and got as far away as
he could.

In the cab, soaked to the bone, he couldn't believe what had happened. It
was as if the night was gone and in the morning there was a mystery about
who he really was, and what he was capable of. Every time he closed his
eyes he felt himself telling the kid, "Don't want to wake up your
brother, do you?" And he knew that the kid would always remember that,
all those things he'd scene on CSI about child-rapists, and child-killers
came back to him. He couldn't believe it. Tigger-boy was probably going
to climb up the stairs and tell his parents everything and the kid would
be taken to a hospital and checked for diseases that might have come out
of this Gangster-dressed monster. The doctor would lean into the father's
ear and whisper words that describe how terribly irreperable the damage
done to his little boy sphincter was. He shuddered to think of the kid
crying while he slept hot and wreaking of booze next to him in the night
... waiting for the morning to tell his older brother in the next room
about how there had been a monster under his bed and how that monster had
done something really mean to him ... and his brother knew everyone and
he could imagine the apocalyptic demise of his social life, fags
whispering things about him at all the best parties, fag-hags disowning
him, abandoning him, and the city would be so lonesome ... maybe he
should leave the city, leave it all behind ... his sexuality was always
capable of being his undoing ... and now it was over, and he wasn't even
thirty yet.

When he got home he showered in the hottest water he could stand. He
scrubbed at his skin till he was red. When he washed his penis he could
still feel the grip of the little boy's tight ass on him and he couldn't
do anything to wash it off. He made himself hard and he hated it. He
couldn't even look at himself in the mirror. He didn't even dare log onto
his computer. The phone started ringing. He didn't answer his phone. He
stood there watching it ring and when he checked his voicemail it was his
mother just calling to chat, the sound of his mother's voice nearly
killed him. Finally the television turned out to be taunting him too ...
CSI was on every channel all the time ... he couldn't stand it ... gore
and killers and snappy ironic comebacks that seemed to be Grissom's way
of saying directly to him that he was the scourge of civilization; he was
nearly crazy with guilt. Every time he thought about going somewhere, to
visit a friend, any friend, anyone, he thought they would inevitably ask
about the party and then they'd figure it out ... "Oh wait, you're the
guy that raped a kid last night."

He couldn't stand it ... he decided to just bite the bullet and go to
work, just go to the call center and answer some calls, bury himself in
some menial tasks.

He got dressed and went out to wait for the bus.

--- --- ---

When he got to work he lurked through the cubicles and found his usual
spot void of any attention. There was no one here that wanted anything
from him, no one asked about the party, no one knew about it. As the
customers called in to get their services fixed he would answer them with
a mask of civilised professionalism. His only sanctuary was in the comedy
of his anonymity. If only they knew, if only America knew what kind of
monster they were talking to. What kind of vampire they were thanking for
such polite assistance.

Then, randomly, in the middle of the afternoon, there was an email
waiting for him in his mailbox.

It was friend his friend, Judy, the one who had brought Tigger-boy to the
party. He nearly convulsed as if having a seizure in his seat. When he
looked at the message it was pretty brief. It contained a few pictures
from the night before, the pictures were of him and Judy and this
Tigger-boy ... and the note was full of questions about what happened
after I'd left, as well as anecdotes about what people had thought, or
said when I'd left with the prettiest boy at the party. And then a
poste-script, "He called me this morning asking for your information,
he'd said you'd left in a hurry and forgot to give it to him. oooo ...
You, you actually forgot to give it to him." Oh if only she knew.

And then when he was done reading it there was another new message in his
mailbox. This one was from him, Tigger-boy. He was quick to imagine
things like, Police, Lawyers, Rape, Evil, Bastard, Creep, Monster. It
didn't have a subject, when he opened it, it was pretty self-explanatory:

"Hey man, sorry about the way it worked out this morning. Really, though,
I'd had a lot of fun with you and I think you're really sexy. I want to
meet up with you again. Don't worry, it's not like I'm a thug or anything
and arranging to meet you to beat you up for what you did or anything. My
brother was just upset when it wasn't me in the bed with him this
morning, he'd thought I'd fucked him last night. ;) Why don't you give me
a call when you get this. I got your information from Judy. Hope you
don't mind. Don't worry, you didn't hurt my little brother. He told me he
liked it.

Signed Greg.

P.S. Write me as soon as you get this, let's make plans for Halloween."

*snap