The dark, unassuming vehicle pulled over to the side of the highway. The driver leaned over and rolled the passenger window down. “Where you headed?”
“That way,” Goiter said, pointing north without making eye contact.
“That way? Huh, what a coincidence, I’m going that way. Get in.”
The man behind the wheel was Curtis Bolio, originally from Ohio. He was a decent looking, clean-cut white man in his late thirties or possibly mid-forties. It was hard to tell because he was a gym enthusiast and took extremely good care of his body. Curtis had a wife and kids back in Cincinnati, but they weren’t missing him. They weren’t missing him because they were dead; dead because he killed them after raping his son’s buddy in the middle of the night during a sleepover and then stabbing his wife and son to death when they discovered what he had done. It was of no consequence to Curtis Bolio however. He had done this before when he was much younger, to another young lad long before he was married…..before the days of the institution…..and he was eager to do it again….maybe with Goiter, maybe not. Goiter was a bit older than his usual prey, but perhaps he would be a willing participant in gratifying his needs so that Curtis would not have to kill him. He didn’t look forward to the killing aspect of it all, but sometimes it was a necessity in order to keep him out of jail. He did enjoy the raping however; he loved the way they screamed and squirmed and tried to fight back. It aroused him tremendously. In his mind, it was the same tough love that his father had enforced upon him when he was younger; enforced so Curtis would grow up and be tough. Tough enough anyway to hold down a young boy while riding his backside. What an absolutely delicious treat he thought it was, to be rewarded with such a well-deserved pleasure after a usually well-fought battle. The battle of course being the boy’s struggle to get away. And it was the struggle that made it all such great fun; It was the struggle that gave Curtis Bolio the rush of exhilaration he so desired on a daily basis. But how nice it would be if he could just find someone to play the rape game with him on a regular basis so he wouldn’t have to go through the killing process afterward. Curtis Bolio had boys like that but he grew tired of them after a while and had to ‘set them free’. “So what do you say we both go that way together?” he smiled and looked over at Goiter.
“Wherever. I don’t care. Just get me out of here.”
“Going through a bad spell?” The man looked over at Goiter and eyeballed his crotch, raising his eyebrows happily as he did. “Growing up isn’t easy, especially when you’re different than everyone else. And that’s the core of it all, isn’t it? You’re different and they don’t understand how to play with you; right?”
“Something like that,” Goiter nodded his head. “How’d you know?”
“It takes one to know one.”
“Know one what?”
Ignoring his question, the man continued, “But every once in a while we get sent a reminder from God that….you believe in God, don’t you?”
“Sure…why not? Sounds good.”
“No why nots about it. He’s here……and he’s queer.”
“Ha-ha-ha….Huh? Say what?’
“You were saying something before though.”
“Right…every once in a while God drops us little reminders to let us know that we’re not alone in our suffering. That there are others who share similar pains and doubts about who we really are and where we’re going. If nothing else, it’s comforting to know that we are never alone in our loneliness.”
“That’s deep. I know a guy in Norford who talks like that.”
“He’s a poet…or a rock musician….or something. Ha! Actually, right now he’s just a drunk. Ha-ha-ha-ha.”
“You like to laugh. That’s good; it’s good to have a sense of humor. Hold on to it, you’ll need it.”
“Hmm.” The man once again ignored his question and stared at the highway ahead, pretending to be thinking long and hard. “You wanna play a game?”
“A game? Hey man, I ain’t funny like that.”
“Oh I assure you this isn’t funny.”
“Oh okay; alright, lay it on me then.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
© 2016 Mark Rogers
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The Passenger: The hairs on your neck stand if you’ve ever hitched a creepy ass ride. I recalled a similar stiuation where the conversation turned into propositions for companionship with an older creepy wrinkled nosed ex-football player named Bill, who apparently wanted to just perform the sexual favor for his victims and then take care of himself later…I can’t share anymore than that, and atleast I’m still here to complain about it, because I ditched at the very next stop light. Hahajajaajahaha.
You need to post that on the FB thing !
If you do, I have an answer.