Killing Johnny Fry (26 page)

Take my woman.
The words felt like rats scuttling down my arms. I jumped at Maxie with outstretched fists. I had no idea what I was doing, but the next thing I knew, we were on the floor, wrestling and trying to hit each other.

Looking back on it now, I can see how that was a very bad move. Maxie was four inches taller and at least thirty pounds heavier than I. His fancy white shirt was open, showing the highly defined muscles of his chest.

But I fought wildly until hands grabbed my arms and legs to pull me back. I struggled against the men that held me. I almost broke free more than once.

Someone was talking to me. For what seemed like a long time, I couldn‘t hear him, because there was the taste of violence in my joints. I could feel my hands choking Maxie.

“Do you hear me?” the man‘s voice asked.

“What?"
I said.

“Do you want to fight this man?” the voice asked.

“Yes!"

“Look at me,” the voice said.

The command touched me. I turned and saw Oscar the sex clown standing there next to me. His hair was as wild as ever, but now he was wearing a dark suit that fit closely on his slender limbs and body.

“What?” I asked the harbinger of Sisypha‘s fantasies.

I wondered if this was all on camera. Would I be the victim of her new film? But that question gave way to the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

“You can fight Maxie Allaine in the ring, with gloves,” Oscar said.

“Okay,” I said, and then I leaped toward Maxie, who was also being held back, but the people holding us kept us from our goals.

I was taken to a back room, where men disrobed me and strapped boxing gloves onto my fists. Except for these I was naked, and breathing hard. Now and then a rush of blood went through my mind, and intermittently I wondered if this was all a show.

They took me to the ring and put me in a corner diagonally across from Maxie Allaine. He was huge. When I think back on that early-morning rage, I‘m amazed that I wasn‘t injured for life or even killed. Maxie was six two and over two hundred pounds. He was, as I was, naked except for large, white boxing gloves. He had one other piece of clothing—his penis was so large that someone had taped it to his left thigh to keep it, I suppose, from being hurt. His biceps were like big stones and his abdomen was just as powerful. His handsome face was contorted into hate-filled desire.

But I wasn‘t afraid. All I saw was flesh that I wanted to rend. All I knew was that I wanted to kill this man. There was no reason for my wrath. I wasn‘t thinking about Sisypha. I wasn‘t thinking about how he ignored me like I was some kind of inferior being. All I wanted was to kill him for the pleasure of seeing him die.

“When I ring this cowbell,” Oscar the sex clown was saying, “that‘s the end of the round. When you hear that,” he hit the flat-toned bell with a spoon, “I want you to go back to your corners. The first man knocked off his feet is the loser. May the best man remain standing."

An errant thought went through my mind. I thought that Oscar was trying to give my opponent the edge by looking at him as if he expected me to lose and I wasn‘t even worth the consideration. But then a rush of blood flooded my ears like loud white noise on a radio.

Oscar was naked too. He was a white man in a white boy‘s body, but he wasn‘t really white at all. His skin had an orangish hue. His cock was crooked and pink. It was more than half erect too. He was going to enjoy our fight.

He hit his cowbell, and I ran out toward Maxie‘s fist, battered it with my face, and almost went down. He grinned triumphantly, but I don‘t think he counted on Sisypha‘s drug in my veins. I leaned backward as if I were going to fall, but the pain set off that rush through my brain, and this transferred the momentum of his blow to my right hand.

When I connected with the side of his head, I knew that I would never have a more satisfying sensation. The punch was flush and solid. I heard him grunt, and I knew in my heart that he was going to go down. But when I looked at him, his face only registered surprise.

For a moment I was worried, but then came that rush again.

Maxie Allaine knew how to box somewhat. He threw jabs at my face and caught me about every third one. His arms were longer than mine, and even when I caught his punches on my gloves or arms I could feel them shudder through my frame. But the pain made me angrier, and every now and then I‘d unleash a flurry of punches that would go wild, missing the target nearly every time.

He hit me again and again, but I stopped feeling it after a while.

I had a vision of my father trying to teach me how to fight in the backyard of our tenement building. There he was, a full-grown man, punching me with his fists and knocking me down. And now here I was with a bigger man trying to do the same thing.

I had boxed with my father and then a little at the YMCA in downtown Oakland, but all I really knew how to do was to hold up my hands and put down my elbows when he went for the body. It was working pretty well until he hit me with an uppercut that sent me into the ropes.

I loved those ropes. Their thick, rough fibers abraded my skin like the rough kisses of new love. Without them, I would have been on my back. Without them biting into my elbows, I would have slid down to my knees and then kissed the floor.

The cowbell rang, and when I looked up, three men were holding Maxie back, pulling him toward his corner.

Hands reached out for me, and then I was on a stool, wondering if I could even get to my feet again.

“Cordell,” she called.

I turned to my left and saw Sisypha standing there, her red dress clinging to that perfect honey-gold form. She was looking at me, fear in her face, her hands clasped under those perfect breasts.

The love I felt for her turned into that white noise in my brain. I could feel my heart thunder, and then the cowbell sounded. I leaped to my feet and stalked forward with my hands down and my ugly face on.

It was all in slow motion, the whole rest of the fight.

Maxie had tasted my counterpunching, and even though it hadn‘t hurt him, he was moving counterclockwise around me, throwing jabs. I savored this punishment. Every time he hit me, I felt more powerful. Every time he moved his head back, just in case I threw something, I felt victorious.

But then Maxie landed three jabs on my nose and came in with a left cross that connected with the tip of my chin. I was lifted, still in slow motion, off my feet. I went backward a foot or so and came down like a building collapsing in on itself. I thought to myself as I was going down that if I fell all the way, Maxie would get Sisypha. He‘d take that great big cock and fuck her till she shouted for him the way she did for the big Greek workman Aristotle.

By the time I was down in the crouch, ready to fall over, the second phase of the designer drug made its last hurrah.

With all the might in my thighs, I pressed against gravity to rise up from defeat. On the way I had the feeling of weightlessness. I realized that Maxie was just standing there—confident of his victory. But there I was, damn-near flying. All I had to do was put out my glove.

This time his grunt was from pain, not surprise. This time it was he who went backward into the ropes and slumped to the canvas. I was wobbling on my feet but I was still erect. Still erect.

Maxie bounded to his feet and rushed toward me, but half a dozen men moved in to seize him. Oscar ran to my side and raised my gloved hand in victory.

For the first time since the fight began, I looked out and saw that sixty people or more had come to see us. They applauded and cheered.

“The winner,” Oscar shouted, “Mr. Cordell."

I noticed that the little clown had a full erection then. It stood up, in its crooked fashion, with the head nestled in his navel.

Men and women raised me to their shoulders and paraded around the room. From that height I saw Maxie arguing with Sisypha. He grabbed her, but Oscar got between them. The white man held his hands out, successfully warding off the much larger Maxie.

When the crowd put me down, Sisypha was standing at my side, grinning. In one arm she carried my clothes and shoes.

“Come on,” she said, still smiling broadly. “We have to hurry."

Oscar helped me shuck off the gloves, and without putting my clothes back on, I followed the woman who had come to symbolize my life (and Johnny Fry‘s death). She led me into a narrow corridor that was painted black. Every ten feet or so a naked red bulb shone wanly.

“That was so wonderful,” Sisypha told me as we went. “I didn‘t think you had a chance. And I was so sorry that you took that pill."

“What was Maxie talking to you about?” I asked.

“He wanted me to come home with him."

“Even after he lost?"

“He thought he had the right to take me,” she said, flipping an upturned palm at her shoulder.

“Why?"

“He‘s my husband."

That piece of information was just sinking in when our path became blocked by a very large white woman. She was obese, but not disgustingly so. Her naked figure had shape to it and her skin was firm. She had a fair complexion and red, red lips. Her face was like one of those good girls in junior high school that boys masturbated about in the afternoon before their parents got home from work.

The hall was so narrow that Sisypha could barely squeeze by her. When I did so, we were pressed together. When our faces met, she smiled and gave me a brief kiss. I was thinking of getting past her when my tongue lanced out into her mouth.

For a few seconds we made out; the walls at our backs seemed to be pushing us together.

When the woman reached down and grabbed me, she said, “I like that."

Sisypha took hold of my arm and pulled me toward her.

“I‘ll do him right here, sister-girl,” the fat white woman said.

“The way he feels, it won‘t take long."

“Sorry,” Sisypha said. “We have an appointment."

After a few more moments, we came to a door. Sisypha ushered me in. It was a small room that stood before a doorless doorway that opened onto an even smaller room. The smaller room had red carpets and red fabric paper on the walls and ceiling.

“I‘m sorry,” I said to Sisypha. “I mean, I didn‘t want you to go with your own husband, and there I am making out with that girl."

Sisypha kissed me lightly on the lips.

“That‘s okay. It‘s just the drug coming on. You need to fuck now."

Sisypha shucked off her red dress, and in the soft light of our alcove, she looked like my most closely guarded secret.

“Sisypha,” I said. “I, I . . ."

She put a finger to my lips and said, “Don‘t worry, baby. I know you can‘t love me tonight. That‘s why I have Celia coming."

“Who?” I asked.

At that moment the door to our double room opened.

The woman who came in was from a place in my mind even deeper than the one Sisypha occupied. She was naked and short (not a hair over five feet tall), slight of build but buxom, with a generous, well-formed butt. Her skin was as black as skin could be but her big round nipples were darker still.

This woman was the epitome of blackness. Her dense hair was tied up into the shape of some kind of wildflower on top of her head. The only thing about her that wasn‘t black was her pubic hair; this she had bleached white and cut so that it was in the form of a flickering flame.

“This is my friend Cordell, Celia,” Sisypha was saying.

“Hi,” I said.

“Oooo, look how he holdin‘ his dick, Sissy,” she said. “You want me, Cordell?"

I nodded, almost certain that the drugs flowing in me now would bring on a heart attack.

When she smiled, I could see that Celia had spaces between each of her teeth. She didn‘t have a beautiful face, but it was hungry and friendly in the way that that made you understand that no matter how long you knew her, you could always get to know her better.

“Let‘s go in the little room,” she suggested, and the three of us did.

When we were standing there, Celia told me, “Get down on your knees, Cordell,” which I did with a thump.

She leaned over me then, her ample breast pointing at me.

“Lick it light,” she whispered, and I did.

“Oooo. That‘s nice. You see how it get a little harder an‘ rise up?"

“Yes."

“Lick it again."

Sisypha put a hand on my shoulder, and I let my tongue circle Celia‘s hardening nipple.

“Oooo shit,” she said. “Just two licks an‘ it‘s full hard."

I tried to make my breathing regular but couldn‘t.

“Do it to the other one now,” she said.

I followed her orders without having to be led. She made all the right noises, and Sisypha put a hand on my other shoulder.

“Uh, damn,” Celia said. “Okay, Cordell. Now I got sumpin‘ for you. Sumpin‘ every man want even though he might never even think it. Do you want it?"

“Yes."

“Even though you don‘t even know what it is?"

“Anything,” I said, looking up into the hungry young eyes that reflected my own desire.

“My titties are full wit‘ milk,” she said. “Mother‘s milk."

I moved to take a nipple in my mouth, and she slapped me.

“I didn‘t say you could have it,” she said in lecturing tone.

“Please let me drink,” I said. I could see the pale liquid at the center of her ripe nipple. A drop formed.

Without saying another word, Celia pushed her wet nipple into my open mouth. I sucked on it twice, and a thin stream of warm, almost sweet liquid shot into the back of my throat. I drank from her while stroking my cock. Sisypha was rubbing the sides of my neck gently.

Then Celia pulled the nipple from my mouth. She did this while I was sucking on it, so it made a loud smacking sound.

She was pressing against the base of her breast, and so the nipple sprayed milk on my face and down my chest. I opened my mouth to catch it.

“Oh, baby,” Celia crooned. “That‘s what I wanna see. Stick out your tongue. Get it all. Uh."

I was sure that she would offer me the other breast, but she didn‘t. Instead she said, “Lie back, baby. Lie down."

I was willing, but getting all the parts of my body to obey was beyond me. The taste of her milk in nay mouth and down my throat caused a thrumming in me that interfered with my motor functions.