The Look: Alpha Male, Feisty Female Romance (95 page)

Keys dangled from behind the door and Stetson tightened his fists, ready to fight for ninth time this month. The door opened to small man, with a crooked smile on his face, holding a tray of mashed potatoes and bread.

"We thought you'd like something better this time." He placed the tray down on the end of the bed. Then he stood there, over Stetson's hulking body, waiting.

"Go on. I want to watch you enjoy it. Sorry about the other day." That phrase, "the other day," recalled images in his mind of the guards handcuffing Stetson to his bed, while they ripped his shirt off, revealing a nasty, unhealed stab wound on his ribs. He was sure it would get infected again when they knifed open the stitches and threw iodized salt into the wound. They wanted to him to scream, but he never gave in.

"Now, Mr. Carthswaite it's our job to make sure you eat. We can't keep you big and healthy for your Big Day in a week if you don't eat. The food we chose was special, as an apology for the problems we caused earlier."

He had no choice but to eat. Looking down at the food in the moonlight he could see the white bread, which did look untouched. The mashed potatoes were clean, too. The brownie on the side was still warm, but he couldn't smell properly after getting his nose broken by the guards even two months back. He held the tray closer to his face to make sure it wasn't a cruel joke. Taking one big whiff, he inhaled the rankest, nastiest aroma imaginable. The brownie was no brownie. It was shit.

Stetson's anger exploded and he lost control of himself. He hurled the tray at the small guard was laughing now. The tray cracked over his head and he fell to the floor of the cell unconscious. The lights flicked on, and three hulking guards came from the door with night sticks. They cracked the batons over his back and fingers. Stetson grabbed one by the throat and threw him against the wall, just as he lost feeling in his body. He knew this time they had paralyzed him. He just knew it.

II

Carter Simmons had sex with Michael Ingrams several more times after that day in the office. Ingrams was planning to leave his wife for Carter.

"I love you man," he said. "I haven't felt this way about anyone--ever." Carter was appreciative for the guy's affections, but his own heart was somewhere else. The thin layer of betrayal underlying his sexual liasons with Michael Ingram started wearing on his psyche after several weeks. Carter held onto any semblance of hope that he could get Stetson off death row before it was too late. If that meant he had to fuck one thousand other people to accomplish that, he would do it.

Ingrams pulled off his shirt and sat down on the bed, awaiting Carter, who was already naked. The guy was definitely forceful in bed and showed it when he took Carter by the waist and hoisted him upside down so they could perform mutual oral stimulation. Carter was on top of Ingrams, who had his pants down by his waist and sock still on. They continued to pleasure each other, as Ingram analyzed every physical blemish, no matter how small or seemingly trivial about Carter. He took a big whoof of the boy's anus to memorize how smelled, which was definitely vaguely sweet, like roses just blossoming on a summer's day. The sunset outside of Ingram's bedroom reminded him of the first time he had sex with his now wife. She was originally a prude, but there was definitely a difference between the experience of having sex with a boy and a girl. Carter, though somewhat dainty and effeminate, had definite boyish qualities, like when what Ingrams was doing to him down there felt good enough, he responded by increasding his stroking frequency on Ingrams member. The mutual pleasure formed a cycle of response between the two lovers and he was certain Carter must have feelings for him. After spending the next few minutes continuing the cycle of pleasure, Carter slipped off onto his side and Ingram licked his toes and feet, the skin of which was untouched, perfect almost. He never liked feet before, but then he never liked boys before either. So all of this was new. Ingrams then took Carter and placed him on top of his waist to ride him, while Carter braced himself against the headboard. Carter could see a small toy Ingrams must have kept from his chldhood, twirling around, near falling on the edge of the shelf of the headboard, while Ingrams himself watched Carter's rocking back and forth on his penis through the mirror on the opposite wall. Ingrams placed his hands on Carter's waist, feeling the soft skin which ran along the side of his torso. He was still so young, Ingrams though. How could someone so young have already suffered so much. His empathy levels skyrocketed at this moment, coupled with the sexual ectasty of physical communion with him. Ingrams ran his hands down Carter's legs and thighs squeezing the ever so small piece of fat on the inside of his legs, observing the small fuzz on his lover ankles and feet. In the mirror, Carter's ass seemed far more volutpuous to Ingram than he originally noticed. He grabbed both cheeks with his hand and squeezed firmly, in the same way he did when he first made love to his wife. Soft, fleshy parts of people were almost the best bits to hold onto during lovemaking. Carter slipped off his pens and lay back on the side of Ingram, who took a break but continued his erection by stroking aimlessly. Carter looked Ingram, who for near 40 seemed like he was in the best shape of his life. His skin was tan, red with the heat of testosterone, and his shoulders were broad, somewhat out of proportion for the rest of his body. By far the most beautiful part of Ingram were his blue eyes. The man had the eyes of the most compassionate human being to walk the face of the earth, somehow able to communicate all the stirrings of his soul through a single part of his body. He was proof the eyes truly are the window to the soul. Another beautiful part of Ingram were his distinct masculine lips. They were unchapped, a soft pink from regular Chapstick use. Carter ran his thumb along his lips as Ingram continued stroking his own penis to continue the passion between the two men. After a few seconds it was clear he was ready and he took Carter's face into his hands, laying kiss after kiss on the guy, everywhere he could find, on his lips, his cheeks, the edges of his mouth, along the ridge of his nose, his eyelids, his eyebrows, his forehead. He ran Carter's blond through his face, taking in the rich, soft, clean smell of his hair. It was heaven. He then pinned Carter's arms above his head, and wrapped the boy's legs around his waist, finding his entrance with the tip of his penis. He then pushed a little for a few seconds and Carter's entrance opened for him. He pumped slowly at first, then faster and faster. The boy took the pounding like a champ, moaning in the right places. He was happy for the moment, Ingram thought. He could feel the softness of the inside of Carter's canal, happy that he could make Carter happy. He ran his hands along the top of Carter's slight chest and over the soft belly. There was a soft smack of skin against skin as Ingram pounded his waist against Carter. Then he pulled out and turned Carter around so he could get a look at rear-entry intercourse, smiling as he ran his hands up and down the outer edge of Carter's behind. He sat up and put his penis near Carter's hole and used his partner's waist as a brace to push against. When he entered from outside he moaned on the other side of the bed, and, for a second, he worried that he had hurt the guy.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Carter's head nodded forward in comprehension. Ingrams continued pumping away, and with every pump coming closer and closer to completion. Miraculously Carter himself came at the same time, and they both mutually grunted in satisfaction.

"You said you could help me," Carter said, taking a breath. "What did you mean by that?"

Ingram seemed disappointed Carter remembered what he said. "I'm Presley Watkins partner in crime. He doesn't know about us."

"OK."

"The guy is a bastard. You don't know the shit he committed trying to get your boy in the chair. He would do anything if he thought you were guilty. I wouldn't be surprised he if he has murdered someone himself in the past. I just wouldn't put it past him."

"What did he do?"

"So many things with the jury, to make sure you wouldn't get in his way."

"He rigged the fucking jury. I knew it."

"Well yeah, but he's smart Carter. He did it right on the edge of the law, where it would be hard to pin him down."

"But you could testify."

"Do you know what he'll do to me, Carter? He'll find a way to frame me. God forbid he find out about us."

Carter sighed. "You knew all along and you didn't say anything."

"What was I supposed to do, stand up in court like a fool and vouch for the outcast? I'd lose my job."

The words stung more than Carter was used to, and he turned away, his cheeks hot with shame. "Look," Ingram said, standing up to put on his underwear, "I'm sorry I didn't do what's right. Just give me some time to think about how to help you."

"You already know how to help me. You're just too chicken shit to do anything about it." Carter got up from the bed and closed the door to the bathroom, ready to take a shower.

Ingram sat down on the bed, his shoulders rolling over his chest, thinking. Then he got up and knocked softly on the door. "Carter. I've got an idea."

III

Showers on death row are almost as dangerous as eating the food sadistic guards give you. Stetson walked to the edge of the shower, the steam making a dense fog he could not see through. He was naked, in full glory, and he feared the Pops the Queer was waiting for him in the back of the showers, where no one could see him. Stetson didn't doubt that the guards would schedule his shower time with Pops, so he was extra ready, as Pops was known to bite various appendages off in a tussle. Fortunately Stetson was about three inches taller and 20 years younger, so he had a chance to keep from getting raped then.

There was a light window which opened into the courtyard next to the shower doorway. The only sound anyone could hear was the soft hiss of the water. Stetson removed his towel and stepped onto the tile, making sure to stay next to the edge of the wall so as not to get lost. He lathered some soap from the dispenser and began washing his body. He heard a young guy laugh from within the tiled chamber, then a figure emerged from the middle of the room. Stetson's heart jumped as the 20-something walked away from him toward the exit. Then everything got quiet again.

Stetson continued washing himself, this time washing his nasty hair, anxious to get the soap out of his eyes. In the white noise of the water jetting from the shower heads, Stetson's mind began to wander, invariably toward Carter. He knew the guy cared about him, otherwise he wouldn't have gone to such lengths to help him. Carter didn't come by to visit Stetson on death row for several weeks after the verdict, so Stetson did sometimes wonder what happened. Maybe the kid moved on. Stetson really couldn't blame him if that was the truth--no one wants to fall in love with a prisoner on death row.

He imagined Carter put his hand on his shoulder from behind, caressing him quietly, apologizing about not making sure to see him, and abandoning him when he was this alone--saying all this without words but only touch. Then Stetson realized the hand on his shoulder was no fantasy, but in fact was the 60-year old hand of Pops the Queer. Adrenaline immediately pumped into Stetson's mind, and he turned around with a clenched fist, slamming one strong thwack on Pops' face. He whimpered like a girl but kept coming at Carter, like some starved incubus in a bad dream, incapable of feeling remorse or self-doubt or discouragement. He pushed the guy away from him, sending Pops into the tile wall, cracking a few pieces with the back of his skull.

"Oh baby, you fight too rough."

"Where's your makeup sister." Stetson put his fists, naked in the shower, his large member hanging like a bored dragon in the steam.

"I left it in my purse baby. Don't you talk to me like that, or I won't go as soft as I want to. You sure do have a nice booty. I can't wait to slip inside it and drop a few loads."

Stetson nearly gagged at those words, but didn't hesitate to tackle Pops back into the wall, this time knocking out one of his teeth. Pops laughed and spit out a slew of blood, leaving a maroon trail from his mouth to the drain in the middle of the room. Stetson told himself right then and there that he would die fighting this freak before he would allow anyone, male or female, to rape him.

IV

Carter sat in the front seat of Stetson's blue truck, thinking about how quickly he was forgetting the guy's smell. The truck was parked in front of a taco bell, at midnight, and he was petrified that Michael Ingram would abandon him. He could never be sure that Ingram was on his side. Perhaps this was because Carter had been betrayed by so many people for so long. There was a true, genuine compassion with Ingram that Carter noticed most conspicuously when Ingram made love to him. For example, his favorite position was the missionary one, as he always wanted to see Carter's face during the act.

There was a guy who passed by, standing in a white shirt and black jeans, and Carter found himself wondering what it would be like to have sex with the guy. In his imagination, he got out of the truck and walked to the front door, and the guy held the door open for him. The guy had black hair and brown eyes, wearing a red cap and black gym shorts. Carter followed him back to his car without saying a word. In the passenger, quiet and still, he looked over at the car who stared him down with his brown beady eyes, saying nothing. His throat was so full of anxiety and terror, but he couldn't help himself and reached over to begin masturbating the gym, who let him. He then let the love juices slobbering down his chin and onto the guys lower waist. They drove back to his place, an apartment in the city, seeming like a dump from the outside, but on the inside a vast and beautiful loft, with open spaces and large windows, looking out onto the night. There were cars in the city honking, making tons of noise, but up here on this space there was nothing but the guy and Carter, who refused for some reason to say something to each other. In Carter's heart he just knew the guy was using him but part of him didn't get care. The guy threw off his shirt and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The door remained closed for several minutes while Carter lay back on the fluffy down pillow and bedspread, wondering if getting this close to something so intimate as the guy's bed was the same thing as getting to close to him. The guy was impenetrable from the looks of it, and Carter wondered whether he had any feelings at all. Did he care about him? What insecurities and self-doubts did he have? Carter tried to imagine him as a child, a baby, so vulnerable and seemingly pure, but it was hard. All he saw in his mind was a cold-hearted, strong child unable to express his fears to anyone, let alone himself. It was an alienation painful in the experience but otherwise somehow magical and intriguing for Carter. The guy walked out of the room completely naked, with black pubic hair, but not a hair anywhere else. He was skinny through the shoulders and chest, but for some reason his thigh muscles were strong as an ox. He stood next to the bed for a minute, staring at Carter with a knowing glance and then crawled onto the bed. Carter could sense a double-sidedness to the guy, where it seemed like the guy wanted him for sexual pleasure but at the same time didn't want him around at all.