Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

I have decided to start a blog for myself to keep myself challenged and productive, so here we are. I will like to share fiction, personal recollection, and other assorted randomness at irregular intervals so check in periodically if you like what you see. For my first post I would like to share a piece of fiction I've finished recently but have been carrying around in my head for a while now. It makes me feel better to get it out of my system and to allow it to pollute someone else's brain for a change. Here we are:

IN PRISON

Alexander awoke to find his life exactly the same as he had left it the night before when he had went to sleep. In the darkness of his bedroom he could make out the shape of his wife, Ruth, unmoving underneath the covers. The alarm had not yet chimed yet, and he turned it off. Quietly he padded to the bathroom and he showered and shaved and dressed for work in a simple ordinary black suit. Alexander was an investment banker for a large firm in the city. Alexander never went by Alex, or even Al, just Alexander. He lived in a fairly affluent suburb a half hour outside of the city, away from its commotion and activity. The houses in his neighborhood all looked the same, every lawn carefully manicured. Alexander and his wife had no children, no complications, no problems. Ruth was as non-descript as her husband. They seemed to be made for each other.
Alexander went downstairs to find Ruth awake and making coffee. She was still in her robe. She didn’t work, she didn’t have to. They lived comfortably on what Alexander brought home. Alexander had a sensible breakfast of instant oatmeal and a glass of orange juice and he told Ruth goodbye. Before he left, he retrieved his briefcase from his study.
It was two blocks to the bus stop. It was a brisk morning, as summer gave way to autumn, and Alexander mentally acknowledged the change in seasons but it didn’t affect him in any discernable manner. He saw the same set of familiar faces at the bus stop but Alexander wasn’t the type of person who made small talk in idle moments. He waited patiently for the bus to arrive, which it did two minutes later.
He held his briefcase on his lap and stared out the window, watching the tree-lined streets and rows of houses gradually change into businesses and busy streets and finally into the gray city like a child’s magic trick. The bus pulled into the station and Alexander was swallowed by the sea of swarming commuters and their frantic pace. He walked the three blocks and across the avenue like he had done for five days a week for eleven years, past the tourist trinket hawkers and neon-lit bars and restaurants and the lone seedy sex shop on the corner where he turned to take the avenue to his office building. The storefront the sex shop was garish, loud, tacky; the vacant faces of dead-eyed women beckoned to passers-by. It was not the kind of place Alexander would even entertain the notion of entering. It was completely off his radar. He walked up to it and as he was passing, the door abruptly opened and a strange man ejected outward, colliding directly into Alexander. He dropped his briefcase to the sidewalk. The man was taken aback, as if Alexander had directly affronted him.
“Hey asshole, watch where you’re goin’,” he said to Alexander, glaring with a bloodshot stare.
“Excuse me,” Alexander said softly. He bent to pick up his briefcase.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” the man accused.
“Nothing,” he said, face to face with him, and just then he saw over the man’s shoulder through the open door of the store. It was a glimpse of something hidden, something forbidden. Alexander didn’t know why he let his gaze linger for so long.
“Why are you staring at me, fuckface?” he asked Alexander. He snapped from his semi-trance and hurried along his way, not wanting to invoke any sort of confrontation.
At his job Alexander’s mind drifted to the shop when he should have been concentrating on the work in front of him. His mind reeled at the anachronism he stole the faintest glimmer into, the rows and racks of sex for sale. Alexander had never seen a pornographic movie and never had an inclination to. Sex wasn’t much of a priority in his relationship with Ruth. There wasn’t the allure for him that the rest of the world had shared with the act. And yet, time and time again he thought of what lay inside the place, what he had been missing his whole life. Probably little if anything at all. He considered stopping in after work, before he caught the bus home. Just to see for himself. He consulted the bus schedule and verified that ten minutes would be more than enough time to pop in and satisfy his curiosity.
He wasn’t what could be considered a curious man. But, still. He had decided he had a need to know.
At five o’clock he turned out the light in his office and took the elevator to the street. He walked his usual route and came to the shop, the neon lights coming to life in the approaching dusk. He hesitated for a moment, and then pulled the door open, and allowed himself inside. The darkened entranceway gave to a large bright room. To his right was a long wall of magazines of a hundred different persuasions, any particular interest for sale, and his eyes ran over the lurid titles and the bared models partially obscured by cellophane wrapping. Two men perused the racks, intently oblivious to Alexander. He saw displays of odd sex toys, a rainbow of phalluses in all shapes and sizes. To his left was a large sign that read, “PLEASE CHECK ALL BAGS,” and he clutched his briefcase tightly, curling it up under his arm, unwilling to submit it to anyone. At the front of the store sat a fat old man behind a counter, bald but for gray tufts of hair clustered around each ear, his faded shirt straining across his torso. He was talking on the phone, and took no notice of Alexander or his briefcase. He had the ability to not be noticed, since childhood it seemed. He weaved through the racks of DVD’s, more salacious depictions of their contents than he saw on the magazines. Graphic, vulgar things, images and scenarios he’d never been able to imagine. There were beautiful women on the cases and hideous women as well, and muscular male bodies there to flesh things out. His hand ran over them, flipping through the stacks, as absorbed as the sparse other customers in there with him.
He looked to the back of the store and saw a lit sign: PRIVATE BOOTHS. What did that mean, he thought. He decided he’d inspect this last facet before catching his bus home to his normal life.
The dark hallway was lined with doors, all closed, and each had a sign above the knob that said either “vacant” or “in use,” in green and red lettering respectively. There was an odd fluttering in his stomach. He chose a door marked vacant, and pushed it open. It was dimly lit inside, and once his eyes adjusted he saw a video monitor on the wall, with a device underneath it that seemed to accept money. He made sure to turn the lock behind him. There was a low bench positioned in front of the monitor. He sat down and set his briefcase next to him. He quickly figured out that one was supposed to feed dollar bills into the machine, and once he did the video monitor came to life. There were two women on the screen, kissing passionately, fiercer than he had ever kissed another person before. They removed their clothes and explored one another’s bodies. Alexander’s throat went dry. Soon they were on a couch in someone’s living room, alternating between using their mouths and tongues and then rubbery implements like he’d seen outside in the store on their genitals. It was almost more than Alexander could process. He felt his penis stiffening in his slacks. He felt slightly embarrassed, sitting alone in the dark watching something so intimate, even if it was only on a tv.
Motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention away from the actresses. There was a small hole in the wall directly to his right that he hadn’t noticed, and something was coming out of it. Something moving. It was a pair of fingers, desperately trying it seemed to get his attention. He felt the overwhelming urge to leave as quickly as possible. His last wish would be to get caught in a place like this. The fingers kept gesturing, no matter how hard he tried to ignore them.
“Hey,” he heard a small voice call. “Hey,” it came again, only to be replaced by the fingers.
Alexander’s erection loomed in his lap like an unexpected visitor. He pressed his hand against the lump and his eyes went back and forth between the monitor and the hole.
“Hey, come on,” the voice said. “Come on.”
Alexander saw the hole was carved out at almost waist level from the floor. Maybe just a little bit lower.
He was of average intelligence, and it didn’t take long for Alexander to realize why someone would put a hole through the wall in a place like this.
He squeezed his penis through his pants, the way he used to as a child. Before his mother taught him not to.
Gingerly he stood up and undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants and slid them and his underwear down over his thighs. His erection bobbed like a dowsing rod.
He thought about how Ruth had never used her mouth on him, not even when they were dating.
A third actor joined the action on the screen. It was a heavily tattooed man with a shaved head. He held one of the women by the hair and roughly shoved her mouth onto his erection and worked her up and down on it. Spit ran over his chin like she was a drooling baby.
Alexander pushed his penis into the hole, uncertain and unsure. He felt a mouth close around it. He clutched at the wall to balance himself. The person on the other side of the wall, they knew what they were doing. He pushed against the wall, his head turned to the monitor, not wanting to miss anything.
He came much too soon. And he felt much too ashamed of what he’d done. He pulled himself back through the hole and pulled up his pants. He had to leave and not be seen by the person, who was undoubtedly a man, in the room next door. He couldn’t wait forever for them to leave first.
His brain, it did something funny, but he barely noticed. He sat there, very still, his hand reaching out for his briefcase.
From the hole a penis emerged, invading the tiny space he was occupying. Quid pro quo was the nature of this transaction that was so unfamiliar to him. It thrust forward somehow impatiently. A clear bead of moisture glistened on the tip, reflecting the sex still transpiring on the monitor.
He reached out and put his hand around it. It felt awkward to be handling a penis that wasn’t his own. He pulled gently and the skin flushed.
“Come on,” the voice pleaded. “Come on, use your mouth.”
His stomach turned on itself at the thought of it. His hand stayed there, though, stroking it now.
On the video, the man was roughly plowing away on top of one of the women. Alexander popped the catches on his briefcase with one hand, not releasing the penis with his other. His hand glided over the familiar contents, all of his implements. He found without thinking about it what he was looking for.
The man on the screen ejaculated over the women’s faces in wide arcs.
Alexander took out the long thick needle, the end as sharp as the edge of a razor.
“Come on, come on,” the voice said urgently.
Alexander visually measured and then thrust the needle through the base of the penis, close to the opening in the wall. It went in and through relatively effortlessly. It emerged underneath with an audible popping sound. Blood welled at the point of entry and ran down the sides. The erection ceased thrusting, frozen there pinned so close to the wall.
“Hey,” the voice came weakly from the other side. “What are you doing?”
Another scene started on the monitor. Just a couple, one man and one woman, this time.
The pre-cum at the tip turned pink. Blood came down the wall in a thin steady stream.
“What the fuck? Let me go!” The voice cried. With every tug backwards, the needle strained in the flesh but did not give. More blood issued out, but his erection didn’t ease.
Alexander closed his briefcase.
“Hey, this isn’t funny. Why does my dick hurt? Let me go, asshole!” the voice called.
Alexander cleared his throat. He said, “You got what you had coming.”
The penis ceased struggling. The voice said, “Alexander?”
He sat down hard upon the bench, at eye level with his captive.
“Alexander?” The voice asked again. He couldn’t make out who it could be on the other side of the partition, or how they could have recognized him. He said nothing more. The penis was turning an awful color and was still steadily bleeding with no signs of stopping. He clutched his briefcase to his chest, full of his precious tools, and he left the stall. He jammed the push-button lock and when the door closed behind him the sign remained in the “in use” position. He thought he could hear the man calling for help but he knew it could have been his imagination. He left the store and walked with the flow of the crowd down the street. He caught his bus, and on the ride home he thought of the awful things the man would have to do to get himself free before he bled to death. He wondered who the man could have been.
Ruth had dinner ready when he arrived home. He apologized for being late but she said nothing of it. He washed his hands and put his briefcase in his study and joined her for dinner.

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Thanks for reading.

Sincerely
S Bowlin