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  Then one afternoon, while swapping DVDs at said porno shop, the clerk, whom I now knew as Samuel, dropped his magazine and called out to me by name when I entered the store.

  “Mr. P!” his face lit up with excitement. Samuel had taken a liking to me over the course of my descent into debauchery. Slowly, over the period of time I'd been visiting the store, I'd opened up to the young man. His dyed, spiky black hair, his ridiculously large gauged ear plugs, his seven lip rings, and his satanic pentagram T-shirts all added credence to the feeling that my lewd acts and obsessive pornography consumption were abhorrent and taboo. I wanted to feel abhorrent and taboo. Life was so much better when lived this way. So much more flavorful and satisfying.

  We'd discussed Susanna's death, my former puritanical lifestyle, my new found hobby of being shit on by prostitutes, even my teaching position at the university. Samuel approved of my Second Life. He fancied himself a bit of a writer. I'd offered to read some of his work as thanks for helping guide my path toward darkness and depravity. Mostly I think he was amused by the enthusiastic old pervert patronizing his store several days a week, sometimes twice in the same day, in fact.

  “Hello, Samuel,” I said, returning his smile as I set down the entire catalog of iGangbang DVDs -issues 1 thru 37- on the counter.

  “Dude! Have I got something for you! I almost called you this afternoon, but I figured you'd wander in here sooner or later.”

  “What is it, son?” I chuckled, always eager to see what new sex toy or movie he'd found for me to play with.

  “Well,” he said, writing me up a store credit for my returned movies. “You're not gonna believe this, but remember our conversation yesterday about how hard it would be to get in on an actual gang bang?”

  I'd vented my frustrations to him. He was my porno priest. Always willing to hear my deepest, darkest sins and desires, always ready to hand out retribution. Bless you my son, say five Anal bukkakkes, six Barely Legal Cum Sluts, four Big Black Buttholes, and all will be forgiven. Samuel was my savior and, finally, appropriately, my damnation.

  “I remember,” I said.

  “Well, after you left, I jumped online and checked Craigslist and several other forums trying to hunt you down a group of dudes willing to let you get your fuck on, but couldn't come up with anything. Gang Bang dudes are a picky bunch, apparently.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I got the gist of what he meant. The internet held no interest for me that I could not find in a book or journal. The thought of sitting in front of that artificial glow, squinting and clicking my life away made my stomach crawl.

  “BUT!” he said, features lighting up in excitement, “then a really, and I mean really creepy little dude came in here and posted this on the ol' pervert board.”

  The pervert board was a bulletin board that hung against a wall in the back of the DVD room. On it, people could post anonymous hookup messages back and forth until they felt comfortable meeting in person. It was populated mostly by messages from men and most of those men received mostly no response.

  But this was different. This was an advertisement. A flyer for a party. A gang bang party. It was written in crude handwriting, obviously Xerox copied. It read:

  Ever wanted to gang bang a real girl? Now's your chance. Call 555-8765

  Under the note was a stick figure girl surrounded by giant cocks with big smiling happy faces drawn on them. Obviously I was interested, but something was off about this flyer. Something that smacked of suspicion. And then there was that smell.

  “Like fucking cotton candy, eh?” Samuel said. “He didn't say a word to me. Just tacked up his little flyer and then scurried out of here like he was terrified to be noticed. And after he left, the whole god damned place reeked of cotton candy. It smelled like a carnival in here. I swear to god I went home craving funnel cake.”

  “I want to call him,” I said, and then added, “Should I call him?” even though I'd already made up my mind the moment I'd laid eyes on those smiling, happy cocks.

  Samuel shook his head, “Oh, no. No, no, no, Mr. P. I just wanted to show you the fucking thing!”

  I looked at him and smiled.

  “Oh fuck.” He understood his folly, then. Understood perfectly well that he could have told me he'd seen the man positively identified by the FBI on the six O'clock news of serial murdering perverted old school teachers and it wouldn't have softened the steel boner in my pants in that moment. My happy, smiling steel boner.

  “Jesus. Just be careful Mr. P. You have no idea what kind of crazy shit you're about to get yourself into.”

  Had I only listened to his warning. Had I only heeded that simple bit of advice. But of course, I did not.

  ***

  I phoned the number as soon as I got home, after waving to Mrs. Marsters who scowled at me disapprovingly from her garden sanctuary. No answer. I left my name and number on the voice mail. Much to my surprise, the phone rang back almost immediately.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Pillinghast?”

  “Yes. That's me.”

  “You called inquiring about the... party?”

  “Yes I did,” I said with no hesitation, my penis becoming engorged at the very thought of actually fulfilling my most perverted desire.

  “We have very... difficult standards to meet, Mr. Pillinghast. Our parties are extremely exclusive.”

  “Money is of no concern. I'll pay whatever.”

  “No, Mr. Pillinghast. Our parties are free of charge. Our requirements for participation are much more... specific.”

  “I'll do anything,” I said, my hands shaking. I had to be a part of this “party”. Had I been thinking rationally, I may have caught the blatant warning signs and red flags that the mysterious caller was showing. But I had tunnel vision and rational thought rarely extends past a man's raging boner. I had to make this happen.

  “Meet me at Cutter Park at Noon tomorrow.”

  He hung up before I could reply.

  ***

  I showed up at the park at 11:30 giddy and eager. At 12:05 I became nervous. At 12:45 I began to doubt the mystery man's intent to show for our meeting. At 1:15, as I put on my jacket to leave, a small, squattish little man exited a filthy, beat up old RV in the parking lot next to my bench where I sat. The RV had been parked there when I arrived.

  “Mr. Pillinghast, I assume?” His voice was even weirder in person than on the phone. But that voice had nothing on the rest of his appearance. He resembled an overgrown frog. His eyes were huge, saucer shaped things that jutted out of his oversized balding head. They had an odd sheen to them, almost... plastic in appearance. His nose was a pathetic little turned up knob, while his mouth was so wide set it suggested an almost legitimate deformity. His arms and legs were short, barely protruding from a brown suit that was too tight at the waist and much too long in the sleeves.

  “Yes. I was... about to leave. You told me Noon. Have you... been here this whole time?”

  “I had to test your commitment to our party,” he said, grinning. “So many men are eager to join in on the fun, but get cold feet at the last minute. I like to weed out the weak as soon as possible.”

  “I see,” I said, sitting back down on the bench. My strange companion joined me. As he spoke, I could not help but notice that odd smell Samuel had mentioned before. Almost like... cotton candy.

  “Are you married, Mr. Pillinghast.”

  “No. Well...Widowed.”

  “Condolences. Children?”

  “No. We never had any children of our own.”

  “Live alone?”

  “Yes, but,” I said, feeling slightly agitated by his line of questioning. “What's any of that got to do with your... “party” as you keep calling it? I am interested in joining your group sex session. My personal life is irrelevant. I assure you, if discretion is your concern, I have not told anyone of my plans to attend the event and would not consider telling anyone. Your secret is safe with me.” I hadn't, after all, ac
tually told Samuel I was going to meet with him, so I wasn't technically lying.

  The little man smirked, unfazed by my sudden burst of anger. “We operate in a very specific way, Mr. Pillinghast. I assure you, our discretionary tactics are in place for a reason. Please relax. If, however, you feel uncomfortable with my invasive questions, we can always end this interview now...” He made a move to leave.

  “No, no. I'm sorry. I- yes, I live alone, and unmarried and have no dependents. I don't even so much as own a dog that will miss me while I'm gone. I am very interested in joining your group. What other information can I provide you with?”

  “I will need a current negative test for sexually transmitted diseases and a record of your criminal history. When you've obtained these items, send them to this address and await further instructions.” He handed me a slip of paper with a PO Box number. With that, he stood.

  “Wait. I don't understand, if this isn't about money, why all the secrecy? What are you hiding from?”

  “The young lady that employs me is not in need of any money. Her father is a wealthy and very prominent politician. So you can understand our need for discretion. He provides her with a lavish lifestyle and, in return, she makes sure that her... activities do not show her family name in an unfavorable light in the public eye.”

  “Oh,” I said, realizing that I hadn't, up to that point, given any consideration to the woman with whom I’d be sharing the encounter with. “I see.”

  “Mail the items to the PO Box, Mr. Pillinghast. I'll be in touch.”

  ***

  I did as requested. Samuel, upon hearing of the meeting, protested strongly against my participation, expressing regret at ever showing me the flyer in the first place. I paid no mind. I was a man possessed by the beast. Instead I waited in anticipation of a return phone call every day; always making sure to keep my phone near me during my regular masturbation sessions which now consisted of exclusively gang bang porn as I fantasized about defiling this prominent young aristocrat along with half a dozen other smiling happy cocks.

  After days of agonizing waiting, thinking surely that I'd spooked the little man in our meeting, or that my requested data did not meet his stringent requirements, the phone call came. I was instructed to meet the stranger at the north city bus station at 10 pm the next night with one change of clothing and nothing more. I was also instructed, once again, to not inform anyone of my business with “The Party Planner” as he called himself.

  I hung up the phone and whooped. Just before leaving for the station, I stood in my den and reflected over what my life had become. Used sex toys covered in shit and cum lay strewn across the room. Empty pizza boxes, fast food bags, and liquor bottles littered the floor and every surface. My office, the room in which I'd done so much work to shape and enrich young lives, had become a literal den of iniquity.

  I could not remember the man I'd been before Susanna had so abruptly left my life. But I knew for certain that I loved the man I'd become. I left my house that night entirely at peace with myself; full of confidence even, ready to have the best sexual experience of my life. Little did I know it would be my last.

  ***

  As I sat in my car at the bus station, I looked at my phone, contemplating whether or not I should text Samuel to let him know I was going through with it. In the end, I decided to comply with The Party Planner's wishes. I told no one.

  At 10 pm exactly, my phone buzzed with a new text. It read, Bathroom. Third stall. I exited my car and complied with the request. What I found was a set of directions and an address. It was really happening. My pulse quickened with excitement as I climbed back into my car, plugging the numbers into my GPS with childlike glee.

  The address in question was in a small town 50 miles south called Hopp's Hollow. I'd heard of the town and its nefarious reputation for being one of the most haunted small towns on Earth, but I'd never had a reason to visit. The residence itself, it turned out, was actually several miles outside of Hopp's proper, near the top of a wooded bluff overlooking the Mississippi River. Even with the help of my electronic navigator, it took me several attempts to find the nearly hidden unmarked drive.

  The narrow path was overgrown with vegetation and dense trees that made travel, even in my small vehicle, a tad bit challenging. Several times as I crept along, I wondered if I'd chosen the correct road. However, after a dozen yards, the tree line opened up and I saw that I was indeed in the right place.

  The house itself was...underwhelming. A centuries old farmhouse that made up what it lacked in aesthetics with considerable size, it was a huge three story structure, albeit severely dilapidated and in need of serious repair. The estate was quite large, considering. It had obviously been a farm compound at some point, maybe 150 years or more in the past. Now, it was an overgrown graveyard of rusted out farming equipment and old cars and trucks.

  The crude rock road wound around to the font of the house, ending in a circle drive where several other vehicles, including the weird RV I'd seen at my meeting with The Party Planner, were already parked. I took a spot behind the other cars shortly after 11 pm. Full night had set in along my journey, the long summer night giving way to a brooding darkness. I inhaled the country smells, cow manure, wild grass, and, somewhere in the distance, the burning of leaves. The Gothic surroundings set well with me. I felt at home at this backwoods haunt. I felt right. It was really happening. I was really here. My palms were sweating from excitement.

  A knock at my window snapped me out of my euphoric trance.

  “Hey, buddy. You here for the party?”

  I cracked my window a hair. “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, no. I was just bored, waiting for this shit to start.” The man stared, unmoving. It was clear he had no intention of walking away.

  I opened my door again and joined him in the vast front yard.

  “Name's Vern,” he said, extending his hand.

  I shook it. “People call me Mr. P.”

  Vern was a hair taller than me, just shy of six foot four. His head was shaved. He was very tan and wore a silver hoop earring in each ear and one stud in the middle of his lower lip in addition to a mustache-less goatee. He was small framed, but muscular and wore a tight fitting black tank top revealing half-sleeve tattoos down to his elbows. In short, he looked like a Rock-n-Roll Mr. Clean.

  “You ever done one of these before, Mr. P.?”

  “No,” I replied, reluctant to converse with my new found friend. Much like I'd previously failed to consider the woman involved in my gang bang fantasy, I was now faced with the reality that my fellow bangers were not simply crudely drawn cocks with happy smiling faces.

  “Oh man, you're in for a treat!” Vern said, slapping me on the back. C'mon, I'll introduce you to the rest of the boys. I met everybody already.”

  “Uh... I’d rather-” but he was already off, quickly walking toward a small group of men gathered on the huge screened in front porch of the crumbling house.

  Awkwardly, I followed Vern.

  The screen door slammed as we stepped inside. The porch was cluttered with knick-knacks and old furniture. It looked as though nothing had been added to the little room in at least thirty years. I found that quite odd considering The Party Planner himself looked to be no older than, at worst, late forties. But then, I was making a huge assumption in thinking that this was his house. For all I knew, it belonged to one of the gang bangers. Still, it didn't seem the kind of place one would find a kinky debutant with wealthy parents...

  “Mr. P., I'd like to introduce you to the gang,” Vern said, forcing my attention back to the business at hand. “Gang, this is Mr. P. He says he's never done a gang bang before! A noob!”

  “We get to pop his cherry,” a gigantic fat man said. He sat on what must have been a folding chair. I couldn't actually tell for sure because his obscene girth obscured the entire thing.

  “That's Fat Bob,” Vern said.

  Fat Bob gave a slight wave. Two hugely muscled men step
ped forward, each as ripped and defined as the other. They were obviously body builders. They wore no shirts; both had shaved chests with bulging pectoral muscles and perfectly shaped abdominals. They only thing, in fact, that set them apart from one another was that one had closely cropped blonde hair while the other kept his long and slicked back in a ponytail.

  “I'm Kirk,” the long haired one said.

  “And I'm Bruce,” added the other.

  I shook their hands. “Pleasure to meet you fellows.”

  “Oh, this is gonna be fun for you!” Kirk said.

  “Yeah, you lucked out!” Bruce chimed in with equal enthusiasm. “We're gonna show you big cumshots!”

  “Huge!” Kirk said. “We blow the biggest loads, don't we Bruce?”

  “Oh, yeah. We drink Cum Shakes six times a day in preparation for blowing our loads,” Bruce said.

  “Cum... Shakes?” I asked, puzzled.

  “An old family recipe,” Kirk said

  “A secret family recipe,” Bruce added.

  “So... you two, are... related?” I asked

  “Brothers!” Kirk said, clasping Bruce's meaty forearm.

  “Brothers in Cum!” Bruce said. “Our dick blasts will blow everybody else's out of the water!”

  “Yeah, because of our shakes and our all natural diet, our sperm is thick!”

  “The thickest!”

  “And pure pearly white. Not that sickly yellow shit little weak men blow.”

  “And it smells organic and fresh, not like ammonia.”

  “Ew, fuck that. And it tastes awesome, too!”

  “My brother's tastes like pineapple.”

  “His tastes like vanilla.”

  I couldn't remember who was Kirk and who was Bruce by now. “You... know what each other's cum tastes like?”