Sinners Circle (2 page)

“Don’t bother
alphabetizing any of the DVDs. Most of these newer titles start with A’s
anyway.” My boss Harry, he fans a couple films in his big gorilla palms. “
Ass-stimulation
,
Asian Anal Amateur
,
Annie
Chokely
,
All
American Amateur
parts six and seven... so you just put them up according
to date, see?” He pushes a stack of movies into my arms and says, “I’ll be in
my office.”

This
means he’ll be in the janitor’s closet. The one he tore the sink out of and put
a desk and table lamp in. The safety shower is still there, but it’s stuffed
full of mangled dildos and punctured bottles of flavored lubricant. He’s got
skin rags with torn covers stacked five feet high in there.

I
nod, trying not to drop any DVDs. “Sure.”

When
he leaves, I look at the hundreds of movies spilling out of the towers of boxes
all around me. I’m literally surrounded by enough porn to keep the TV on for a
decade. Funny thing is though, when you spend hours upon hours handling
pornography, you start to think about things like grocery lists. You wonder if
you’re brushing your teeth enough, you consider whether or not to get a pet and
weigh heavy the pros and cons of having said animal. Your hands on top of Jesse
Jane’s tits your thinking, “Am I getting enough absorbency from my current
brand of toilet paper?” Staring down the holes of topless teenage lesbians you
wonder if you are getting enough fiber from your breakfast cereal. There’s a certain desensitization that takes
place when you spend all day with dicks and tits in your face. Though every
once in a while, and I mean
rarely
,
you come across something that either cracks you up or gets those greasy wheels
of sex grinding and gyrating around in your mind.

For
instance, I’m almost done shelving all these movies, I’m sliding a copy of
Pushing the Pink
onto the rack and I
notice the two girls on the cover. By industry standards they are two normal
blonde babes, tits in hand, arching their backs in an attempt to look skinnier,
but the thing that catches my eye are the two humungous dicks strapped over
their slits. This isn’t anything new, for Christ’s sake we sell strap-
ons
here and even move a couple each week. But these girls,
these two twits gripping their tits on the cover of this DVD, they’ve got that
look like they’ve been rode hard and put away wet, but the life in their eyes
now, when they’ve got these big plastic penises belted around their pussies,
it’s staggering.

According
to Freud, the penis wasn’t just the man’s erotic zone; it was the
sole
erotic zone.
Period.
Freud assumed the characterization of women was only noting their differences
from men. He coined the phrase, “Women are castrated.” See, according to Freud
women must sense some kind of inferiority to men because nature dictates
females as
incomplete beings
. This is
where the masculinity complex comes into play because once a woman is made
aware of the wound to her
narcissism,
she develops a
scar on her ego. So, she starts to share the contempt felt by men for a sex
which is of less importance and thus, insists on being just like the average
run of the mill asshole guy on the street. Because, clearly, it’s not enough to
be fucked, but to be the one fucking that gives you the power. There have been
thousands of women in the Adult Film Industry who try and defy this role
assigned to their gender. These girls, they insist on being
the stud
and rearranging the order of
‘dominance.’ But in the end, it never pans out and they just wind up being real
paid whores who make a couple bucks whilst setting the feminist movement back
again and again with this awful defiance of logic. Never the less, this whole
super sexed thing on camera is bound to take its emotional toll on the lesser
successful starlets, such as these two girls on the cover of
Pushing the Pink
. This is a total bummer
because strictly speaking from a dermatological aspect, stress is a real skin
killer and looking at these two girls, they got stress coming out the
wazoo
. Late rent buried deep in their eyelids. Bounced
checks burrowed into their foreheads. They’ve got high school dropout stamped
into their laugh lines. But their eyes, their eyes have that same look people
on TV have when they win the lottery. They’ve got the same look as a fat kid
given unlimited access to the Hershey’s factory. Now, right now with their
cunts hidden, huge rubber cocks strapped over top, they look happier than ever.
They’re beaming like pregnant Mormon newlyweds.

I
flip the case over and see a bunch of
queeny
boys on
the back. They’re fish facing and posing as slutty as the girls ever could. I
smile thinking how cute the whole concept of women trying to fuck men is. I
think it’s totally great that for one day they got to be the ones drilling
holes and pounding ass. Makes me think of a Make-a-Wish Foundation for used up
porn stars dying of AIDS and the advanced stages of various STDs and the kinds
of wishes they’d make. “I’d like to shoot my dad,” or, “I’d like to rape
my
brother while
my
friends watch.” You
know,
that kind of
thing. I laugh a little and put the DVD on the shelf, turn around and almost
smash into this guy standing right behind me.

He’s
got real shaggy grey hair and those huge black sun blockers that only sex
perverts and old people wear and he’s hugging a packaged blow up doll to his
chest. He’s got a whale of a waist line, the pockets of his green khakis
bulging like huge tumors. He stands a
whole two heads taller than me and when he doesn’t move out of the way I wonder
how much blood is in his body. “I’m ready to make a purchase.”

I
walk over to the till and scan his doll while he runs his fingers through the
display of dangling keychain whips on the counter. I stuff the doll inside a
small garbage bag and make sure our fingers don’t touch as he hands me three
twenties. I slide him his change across the counter, “Is that everything?”

He
nods, mumbles something to himself on his way out, his pockets swaying massive.
A couple feet from the doors he stops real awkwardly, and looks at the lingerie
display on the wall. When he steps between the two security poles by the door
the sound of the alarm is almost deafening. This big lug, he spins around to
face me, pushes his hands in his pockets and pulls out foam tit stress balls,
vibrating penis pens, a miniature pocket pussy. Handfuls of flavored condoms,
little vibrators and bottles and bottles of heating lubricant fly onto the
floor. The look on his face, he looks like a deer caught in headlights. I kind
of just stand there and then sit down on my stool. After a few seconds, when I
do nothing but sort of tent my fingers and think about buying different toilet
paper, he yells at the top of his lungs, “Only God can judge me!” then runs out
the door, his mouth hung open, that fucking garbage bag blow up doll held tight
against his chest.

If
I squint and look at the park benches sideways, they look like tombstones in
the dark. The only light comes from the moon and a few dim lamps lined along
the jogging path far enough apart from one another to create a space of total
darkness before one ends and another begins. I’m sucking a mouth full of M&Ms so thin that when I rattle them
between my teeth, they shatter and make me think of cave men kneeling in sand,
beating dry animal bones over rock. From where I’m standing I can see the
jogging path but not much of it. My view is skewed by trees grown together in
thick clusters and if I enter this tiny forest, I can reach the back door of my
house within minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye I can
see dim shadow play, slight changes in the light on the path. I slip into the
trees, branches dragging across my face, past my ears. About six feet in, I’m
across from the water fountain and from here I can see the path in its
entirety. I can see where the little dirt route winds slightly, making the
runners
zig
zag
as they
make their way down. I pop more M&Ms in my mouth, rattle them around and
smile as I watch whoever the fuck swerve closer.

I can see she’s female. As she
moves in and out from under the lamps I notice she’s wearing a white t-shirt,
white ear buds attached to an iPod strapped to her arm, brown hair pulled back
into a ponytail, swinging back and forth with every sprint. I wouldn’t call her
fat, but I wouldn’t call her beautiful either. She’s not skinny enough to be
actually pretty. When she’s close to the fountain she slows down to a walk. Across
her chest her shirt reads
University of
Oklahoma
.

Out of nowhere, another jogger
appears from the other direction and this one has a dog. Her pace indicates she
doesn’t intend on stopping to have a drink, but her dog stops in mid run,
turning in my direction and barking
barking
barking
. He’s up on both hind legs barking at the face he
can’t see. The woman, she slaps her dog on the back, yanks his leash and drags
him along with her. He doesn’t stop barking and she doesn’t stop jogging. The
things people will ignore for a good cardio workout.

The lady with the dog disappears,
leaving
University of Oklahoma
alone
in the dark. She stretches her legs when she stops, panting she wipes some
loose hair off her forehead, her hands on her hips as she steps awkwardly
towards the fountain. I’m guessing that she probably moved up here after
school, got a new job, a new boyfriend,
started
some
new life. Jogging must be her way of feeling like she’s really holding it
together, like she’s doing well for herself because she’s staying active and
eating right. Even with her head in the fountain, she doesn’t take out her ear
buds as she laps up quick gulps of water. Looking up and down the path to make
sure no one is near, I’m winding a stretch of nylon cord around my knuckles, a
length of two and a half feet give or take, stroking the sides with my thumb,
making sure it’s nice and tight. I close my eyes for just that second when I
hear her come up for air, gasping,
a
throat full of
water about to shoot down into her belly. I move out of the trees, across the
grass, the path and dirt silent as a ghost, the cord twice around her neck
faster than she can breathe. Before her hands shoot up I’ve turned her around
so she’s facing the woods. I kneel into her spine and she drops hard onto her
face. I stand up fast, yanking the cord so she has no option but to stand with
me or choke to death right then and there. A few steps forward is all it takes
and she’s collapsed into the brush and trees of the little forest. Just before
I feel her go completely limp, before the lights go out, I flip her over and
her knee sails weak into my crotch. This is learned behavior; I guess being
dragged into the bushes must not be a new thing for her. But when she sees my
long hair, feels the flatness where, statistically speaking, the dick of an
abductor should be, I don’t
need
to
slam her skull against the trunk of a tree because she just passes out trying
to scream with whatever air is still inside of her lungs. I don’t
need
to do it, but I do anyways.

Sticks and branches snapping
beneath her weight, my sneakers, I drag her by the armpits into the basement of
my house. My basement, it’s actually just a tiny root cellar with old wood
floors and chairs that I have to keep replacing because of chop marks. I keep
these chairs held in place with steel brackets and a couple of screws. However,
before I can really get her down there, she starts to wake up and I don’t want
to fall down the stairs along with her when she starts flailing and kicking up
a storm, so I just let her go, her body tumbling down the steps. I close the
basement door and turn on the light at the top of the stairs before going down
to her. There’s a big split on her hair line, blood trails running through her
hair and down both cheeks. I put my head to her chest, my fingers on her wrist
to make sure she’s still alive, that she’s still with me. Puny bumps under my middle and pointer finger
tell me I haven’t lost her yet. I strip off her clothes and sit her up on the
chair; I loop one hand through the back and lock her wrists with handcuffs.
Same story with the ankles, only I spread her legs apart and cuff them at the
back.

Sometimes I like to make movies,
that’s why I keep camera equipment down here, but mostly I just like to take
pictures—pictures with tons of flash; women tend to scream more when there’s
lots of flash, especially if I’ve turned off the lights. Tonight, I take off my
clothes, toss them onto the stairs and switch on the power strip my video camera
is plugged into. While I wait a few seconds for it to turn on I look behind me,
at the axe against the wall, the hunting knife hanging on a nail. This camera
of mine, it’s one of those old school VHS deals, great as long as you don’t
have to use the battery pack. Outdoors it’s hopeless; the battery only runs for
five minutes, even if you spend three days charging the crap out of it. Carl
gave it to me about three years ago. It was signed into the psych ward
inventory and swiped a couple days later. Carl and I, we’d been talking about
shooting some wedding videos on the side. Well, more so him than me. He said
something about wanting to capture unhappy faces at celebrations or some
retarded thing. He spent thirty bucks running an ad in the newspaper and when he
finally got a call back, the soon-to-be newlyweds sent him packing when they
caught a glimpse of his equipment. So he gave it to me, and I’ve been using it
ever since.

I sit behind the camera and
massage my pussy till it’s good and wet enough to slip a few fingers in and
out. I do this for a good five minutes
before
University of Oklahoma
, her
head bowed to her chest, wakes up and
blinks
for a few
seconds. I didn’t notice it before, but one of her eyes has gone totally red
and the lid doesn’t open all the way. Her head is swaying from one side of the
tiny room to the other, totally dazed, when I smile at her and say “Hi.”

Her head slowly bobbing in my direction, she
stares dead center into the camera and screams when she sees me propped up on
my knees, pushing fingers into myself. My aunt Marcy, she lives two floors up
from this little basement, and she’s half deaf and in a wheelchair. There isn’t
a ramp for her to take down to my floor, the one below hers, so I don’t really
have to worry about any interruptions. Nevertheless, even coming from a throat
that is probably bruised and will swell shut by morning, this girl is screaming
pretty damn loud. That’s because fear,
real
fear will make you do things you’d think you couldn’t do. I’m pretty sure if
those handcuffs weren’t the real deal, she’d break right through them. She
screams when I walk on my knees towards her. She screams when I
dip
my head between her thighs and she screams the whole
ten minutes I spend licking her pussy and chewing her tits. She keeps yelling,
“What the
fuck
are you doing?” She
keeps yelling, “
Stop
it!” Even when
her voice is hoarse and all scratchy she keeps calling for help.

When I start getting bored, I sit
on her lap, wrap my arms around her shoulders, she tries to spit in my face but
there isn’t anything in her mouth but strings of blood and strips of tissue
from biting her tongue and inner cheek. She can’t look me in the
eyes,
she kind of just bows her head and whimpers, “Why are
you doing this?”

I want to hug her but I don’t
want to get within head butting range. I drum my fingers on her shoulder and
pull her hair so she has to look in my face, but she keeps her eyes closed so I
pull hard at one of her earlobes until she opens them. I smile, stroking the
side of her head, the one I whacked against the tree. “Look, I’ll tell you
what, OK? If you...” I tap her tit with my fingertip, “…if
you
suck my cunt for about, oh let’s say five minutes...” Her eyes
start to close and her head slumps down a bit. I pull her hair again, tears
rolling from her swollen eyes. I hold up my hand, all five fingers wide apart,
“Just
five
minutes and I`ll let you
go. I absolutely swear...” I put my hand over where my heart is supposed to be.
“I will let you out of the handcuffs. OK?”

We sit there, her cuffed to that
chair, me on her lap, we just
sit
there in total silence until her head drops, I can’t tell if it’s her throat
that’s finally ballooning up or if it’s real pain in her voice when she finally
speaks. “
Why
are you
doing
this?”

I pinch her cheeks, squint into
her eyes and can’t stop myself from grinning into her adorable little face,
baby talking and everything.
“Because you’re just
so cute!
”

I stand up, put my leg up on her
thigh and push my pussy into her face. In a situation like this, one that
already seems impossible to imagine, a victim will always believe escape
is
possible. No one wants to believe
they are about to die when just an hour before they were doing something as
normal as going for a jog. No one wants to accept that just one hour later they
are locked inside a dark, grubby basement, tied to a chair and suffering from
massive head trauma while being forced to perform oral sex on some pale
lesbian.

University
of Oklahoma
, the
silly, stupid girl, she takes a sort of deep breath and goes for the plunge. I
can tell right away it’s her first time doing this. Clearly she didn`t do much
experimenting in college and right now, her performance level is proof. But the
good news is, eating pussy is not a science, it’s
not
difficult. In fact, I’m willing to gamble that it’s one of the
easiest things known to man, because after a little bit, she’s doing great.
Those five minutes I promised, well they go right out the window. I’m guessing
I make her do this for a good fifteen to twenty before I come and pull away.
“See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”

She looks away, shivers and spits
off to the side. “Can I go now? My boyfriend…” Her eyelids opening and closing
separately, she’s slurring her words. “…he’ll worry.” I’m not sure if she can
feel it, but there’s a steady stream of blood running out of her right ear. I’m
trying to focus on what she’s saying, but the flow of blood is very
distracting.

I stand up, nod, walk back behind
the camera. I make sure the shot is still dead center, and it is. “Yeah, you
can go now.”

Her shoulders sag in relief.

I bend over, look into the eye
piece of the camera and reach behind me, grabbing the axe leaning against the
wall. “Thing is...” Her eye lids, they blink out of synch just as her other ear
begins to hemorrhage large drops of crimson onto her neck and chest. “Thing
is
babe, I don’t have any keys for those
cuffs.” I stand up straight. “But I said I’d get you out of
those
right
? And fair’s fair.”

Her eyes bulge as the axe catches
her collar bone. She screams so loud I don’t even hear the bones snap.

I laugh. “Oops! Sorry sweetheart,
I missed
!”

Hot ribbons of blood whip across
my face, my stomach, my whole body as I swing again,
taking
off her arm at the elbow. With three chops, one of her legs comes loose above
the kneecap. She only stops screaming when the axe opens the bottom of her
throat and top of her sternum. I slip the cuffs off the hands on the floor. I
light a cigarette, turn off the camera, eject the tape and toss it onto her
lap. “You can go home to your boyfriend now.”