More memories, his mind was trying to catch up and fill in the spaces. How he’d felt that crushing loneliness. How he’d called the escort service, and he’d told them what he’d wanted. Someone…someone young. Someone with daddy issues. Someone with a big thick cock. “Y-Yes…” He stepped closer, knees weak and when the young man pushed him down, he fell, grinding his face into the crotch of his gym shorts, smelling him, wanting to taste him. He started licking the man’s abs–they were hard–too hard, with none of the give of flesh, but he didn’t care–he wasn’t alone…right?
“Is that what you want, Owen? A parade of muscular young men? All of them hung low, happy to fuck you?”
The young man pushed his shorts down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. Own sucked on his semi-hard cock, his hands exploring his body.
“We can do that, for you. Why don’t we call out and order a few escorts, eh? Then we could have a few more people to play with. What do you think? It’s so boring being all alone.”
Alone. He hated being alone. He wanted to taste this cock forever…and yet…and yet…this was wrong. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t want this to be happening. This isn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want this! His body was still sucking, however. He could feel his ass aching for cock. But this wasn’t real. This wasn’t real, and with his hand, he mustered as much force as he could, pulled his hand back in a fist, and slammed it against the young man’s body.
There was the sound of something shattering, and his hands felt something strange. He looked up, and the young man’s body had a crack running through it from the top of his head down his face and neck, to the side of his torso–and the body fell back to the floor, where it shattered. The rest of the body followed, the cock breaking off in his mouth. Terrified, he spit it out, feeling the glass cut his lip. On the ground, the pieces had broken into bits smaller than dust, and aside from a faint glimmer, it was like they’d never existed at all.
“Not what you wanted after all? You’re a fun one, Owen–yes, we’re going to be having all sorts of fun together, I think.”
He whirled around, but the reflection had disappeared from the hallway. Heart pounding, he crawled back to the bathroom doorway, and saw that the mirror inside had a hairline crack running from the top to one side in a path just like the one he’d made in the young man. On the other side, undisturbed by the crack, was his reflection, though not where it should have been, given where he was. It was smiling shards gleaming, and he slammed the door shut, heaving for breath.
He was still fat. He was still fat and old. He got up, and discovered that the room wasn’t at all like he’d left it the day before. The floor was littered with a few suits, all of them too large for his usual body. The bed was trashed like he’d been sleeping there the night before, and not out…wherever he’d been. He had to get out of here. He had to get away. He ran for the door, but the handle wouldn’t turn–he was trapped.
What could he do?
He was alone.
He didn’t want to be alone anymore.
He looked around his room again, and all he could really feel was despair. He turned on the TV–it was another movie on HBO that he’d seen hundreds of times, in rooms like this one, all over the country, and yet that didn’t change the fact that he was alone. Alone and horny. Really horny. He reached under his gut to toy with his small cock, his other hand moving to his nipple without really thinking about it. He could order a porno, but those always just depressed him after he came. He kept idly stroking himself, staring at the TV because there was nothing else to bother looking at, and in the screen, in the reflection off the glass, overlaying the movie, he could see the room, and in particular, his eyes were drawn to the phone on the table by the bed.
He could…call someone.
He could call someone to come over, and then he wouldn’t be alone anymore. Like…like an escort. A young man who could…could come over, and he could–
He licked the blood from his lip. His hand was reaching out for the receiver, the other hand still wrapped around his hard cock. It was taking all of his energy to just stop himself from dialing a number in his mind, a number he knew, even though he didn’t know how he could know it, a number which he could call, and someone would come and play with him, and they’d have so much fun…
He picked up the phone, and he was getting ready to dial. Hesitating. He needed help. He needed to call…someone else. Someone who could help him. But who? His mind was blank. Who even remembered phone numbers anymore? They were all in his phone, in his pants on the floor, which might as well have been miles away. All of the numbers aside from one. One number, he’d known for years, a number he’d called in college so many times, he could remember it now, even though he hadn’t called it very often lately. He forced his hand to hit those instead, and he waited, praying he’d pick up.
Someone answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Billy! Fuck man, you have to help me, this is all fucked.”
Bracken's Corner 