The Death Van free porn video

THE DEATH VAN

By

JASON

He was young. He was cute. He was hitchhiking. The perfect combination,AKA thought as he pulled over and waited for the shirtless, mop-haired teenagerto make his way to the side of the van. AKA's Death Van. It had been a giftfrom his parents. Not that they knew about the highly secret use AKA put itto, of course. "I'd really love some wheels," he had responded when his dadasked him what he wanted as a graduation present. He deserved something special,right? After all, he had graduated summa cum laude ,first in his whole fucking college class. "Not a fancy car, though," AKA hadquickly added. "Just a new Ford van I've had my eye on." One with a quiet butpowerful engine, darkly tinted rear-windows, and plenty of wide-open spacein the back for whatever "fun and games" AKA could manage to find on the road.And he had found plenty. This particular kid--he had finally made it to thepassenger door, with a broad, rather dopey, wide-eyed grin on his face--would,if all went well, be the fifth in as many months.

"Hi. Where you headed?" AKA asked when the kid--he looked to be about seventeen,maybe eighteen--finally managed to get the door open.

"'ome . . . I guess."

The boy shrugged, grinned another dopey grin, then clumsily hoisted himselfup and into the vehicle. AKA caught the pungent reek of beer-breath as he huffedand puffed and settled himself in. So the kid was soused, was he? All the betterfor launching the ultimate--in every sense of the word--fun and games!

AKA waited for a moment, then smiled and said, "The door?"

The kid was apparently too blitzed to think ofclosing it.

"Oh . . . yeah," the boy grunted and turned totry to pull it to.

He almost tumbled right out the van. Fortunately,AKA managed to catch him by his hard (surprisingly hard and well-developed)bicep. No flabby couch potato, this one. The boy's flat firm muscle-flexedtummy said as much as well.

Beer Brain, the name AKA immediately wanted togive him, giggled and slumped back in his seat.

Shaking his head, AKA reached across and closedthe door himself. Not that he minded. It gave him a chance to make physical,cock-arousing contact with the kid's smooth, impressively cut, sweat-tackychest.

His mission accomplished, AKA licked his lips andsettled back behind the steering wheel.

"My folks would be the shit out of me if I came home like that," he saidin a friendly, older-brother tone of voice. "You sure you wanna run the risk?"

If AKA was right and the kid was, say, seventeen, then there was only afive-year difference in their ages, so the older-brother act was not reallya stretch. No, not a stretch at all.

The boy lifted both hands, palms up, and once again giggled.

"Won't be . . . first time!"

"What you been doing? Partying with friends?"

The kid flung his head back. "Pool party!" he cried. Then turning to launchyet another goofy, beer-soused grin in AKA's direction, he added in a lower,more mischievously confiding tone, "Good shit . . . too!"

He wasn't referring to the beer, of course. Althoughthere had obviously been lots of that.

So some pretty decent pot had been on offer poolsideas well? Perfect! thought AKA. That would make his own proposal that the twoof them head for a nice, quiet, isolated spot AKA "just happened" to know aboutand share a few friendly late-afternoon joints that much more acceptable.

The kid took a big, deep breath. His bronzed, teen-tightchest expanded in an expansive don't-worry-be-happy heave of contentment.

He was relatively short. Maybe only 5-5 from thelook of him. With a wasp-waist of about . . . what? . . . 26 . . . if that.But he was obviously plenty strong, if those unusually prominent pecs and bicepswere anything to go by.

"You wanna hang out with me a while?" AKA askedin his friendliest, warmest, best-buddy voice. "I mean it, you don't wannago home with that much beer on your breath. Hell, your eyes are practicallyspinning from the high you're on! I've got some pot I wouldn't mind sharing.It's not as good as what you just had maybe, but it'll at least take some ofthat beer stench out of your mouth. I mean, you reek, man! You fucking reek!"

They both laughed. The "both" was important. Itmeant that AKA was halfway home. The kid was definitely going to accept theoffer of pot.

"Bring … 't'on," the boy not so much saidas sang. His slim, bare feet--he was barefoot as well as shirtless AKA nowsaw--arched up in anticipation as his short toes curled down into the thickblack pile of the carpet. "Hell! I do'n care if I never get . . . 'ome."

That's good, AKA thought. Hell, that's damned good!Because you sure as shit aren't going to. Not if I have anything to say aboutit, that is.

AKA fished the first of the special, prefab, arsenic-lacedjoints out of his shirt pocket.

"Be my guest," he said as he handed it over.

"Yeah!!!" the kid enthused as he fumbled the largejoint into his hands.

They were very nice hands, AKA observed. Compactand glowingly sun-burnished. With clean, clear, pink-shiny nails and relativelyshort, but strong-looking fingers good for either sucking or breaking or both,depending on how the spirit moved one.

"Don't have . . . no matches," AKA was informed.

AKA punched the cigarette-lighter.

"Give it a minute," he said. "What's your name,by the way?"

Not that AKA really gave a fuck what the boy'sname was. He was just a piece of ass. Soon to be a piece of fucked DEAD ass.That's the only thing that really mattered. But the faked personal interestnot only passed the time, it also oiled the deceptive wheels of trust thatmade the initial--and arguably most important--stage of THE GAME that mucheasier to accomplish. Get 'em relaxed, get 'em trusting, and the all-importantsequel was--usually--a piece of cake!

"Randy," the boy declared. "And I am . . . too!" headded with a suggestive chuckle. He clutched his crotch with his free hand. "Fivebitches and counting . . . notched on this here . . . barrel," he bragged. "Wetalkin' prime cunt . . . too. Not just droopy-tit smelly-assed . . . sssluts!No . . . waaayyyy!"

AKA immediately doubted the boast. The brag infact made AKA reassess the boy's age. Maybe he was only sixteen? Hell, evenfifteen? Because it was the brag of a younger and far-less-experienced-than-he-wanted-you-to-thinkkind of guy. It was also, and more interestingly, a potential come-on. AKAwas still in the process of learning his craft, but even his relatively limitedexperience at this point told him that a guy didn't usually grab his crotchin front of another guy and talk about fucking unless some mutual bi-sex actionwas at least being entertained as a possibility. The kid would surely resentthe accusation that he was queer. To be honest, he probably wasn't. There was,indeed, a rather convincing teen-macho manner about him, despite the thick,blond, girlishly full mop-top he sported.

"Randy, Derrick," AKA replied, extending his righthand in Beer Brain's direction. Derrick was not AKA's real name, of course,but he liked the idea of using the name of his first victim, his one-and-onlyschool friend--Derrick Rossiter, who, fortunately for AKA, had been into riskyerotic asphyx at a very young age. AKA had always thought of Derrick as "randy" too--ifnot in name, then certainly in spirit.

The boy lifted his hand and shook. It was a warm,hard, and, best of all, deliberately lingering handshake.

AKA gave a playful, happily accepted squeeze beforeletting go.

"Let's find a quiet place and chill out," AKA said,his voice suddenly gone thick with anticipation. "I know a really good one."

"Sssurrre!" came the heartfelt, if slightly slurredresponse.

As AKA pulled back out onto the highway, the dashboardlighter clacked.

Picking up speed, AKA reached down and pulled itout.

Randy young Randy clutched AKA's wrist, then directedthe glowing center of the coil to the long, fat joint he held in his somewhatunsteady right hand.

The size of the joint was meant to be enticing. "Ihaven't ever seen one that big before!" the most recent smoker (a freckled-faced,red-headed, small-dicked farm kid hitching into town) had exclaimed. But thejoint was also designed the way it was to make sure that the pot, which wasin fact top-notch stuff, masked the rather strong garlicky odor unleashed bythe slowly burning arsenic.

The first time AKA had tried this trick--this wouldbe the fourth time--the proportions had been bad and the guy, a rather strappingolder--in his late twenties--construction worker on his way home from a job,had sworn off the joint before the poison could do its relatively fast-acting,oxygen-depriving, lung-wrecking work. Not that AKA wanted the poison to betoo fast-acting. Not at all. No, he just wanted his victim to get relativelyunhealthy--and thus relatively disabled--sooner than later and, preferably,without too much of a struggle. AKA liked a certain amount of resistance, ofcourse, but only after he had basically gained the upper hand. The arsenic,which he had learned about from a very helpful crime magazine, had not beenhard to obtain or very difficult to experiment with, he discovered. More thana few cats and a couple of dogs had mysteriously "up and died" in and aroundthe apartment complex where AKA now lived. Even so, there had been a problemthat first time.

There might be a problem on this occasion, givenrandy young Randy's size. Despite his unusual brawn, the kid was basicallysomething of a runt, and AKA had designed the joint for a taller, bigger, heftierguy. On the other hand, Beer Brain seemed infused with that special kind ofanimal energy short guys often possessed, the kind of energy that seemed tomake up for what they lacked in height.

The kid took a slow, deep, lung-filling drag.

And coughed.

He was clearly ashamed to have done so, for heimmediately took a second, even deeper drag, and held it--despite the immediateflushing of his face and protesting heave of his smooth, shiny, hard-cut chest.

Well, he's got balls anyway, I'll give him that,AKA thought.

When the kid finally exhaled, there was a loud,raspy, rushing expulsion of air filled with the wonderfully relaxing, aromaticaroma of top-quality pot. The smell was definitely complicated, however, bythat unmistakable, if modest (or so AKA hoped) garlicky odor.

Modest or not, the kid--because he was so stonedor drunk to begin with, it was hard to tell--appeared not to notice the unusualsmell. But he did notice the immediate burning sensation in his lungs.

He struck his chest and coughed again.

Then again.

"Shit!" Cough. "My lungs 're on . . . fffire!"

AKA immediately cranked his window down a few moreinches. Even though he felt it would take a good bit of secondhand smoke tocause any real problems, AKA preferred being safe as opposed to sorry whenit came to his own lungs.

"Maybe my stuff's even better than what you hadat the pool. Go slow. It's great shit, but you don't want to overdo it rightoff the bat."

The kid held the joint out so AKA could have histurn.

"You," he hasped.

"Not yet," AKA replied. He tapped his shirt pocket. "Ihave more here. Enjoy yourself. Then, once we get where we're going, I'll havemy fun."

Indeed I will, thought AKA.

The kid returned to the joint to his lips and tooka shorter, and intentionally much more shallow drag.

Even so, he was forced to steel himself againstanother cough.

He held the joint up in front of his face.

"You spike this? You know, add acid or . . . sssomethin'?"

The boy sniffed at the burning end.

The pit of AKA's stomach went cold.

Shit! Was there going to be trouble like the firsttime?

"A friend gave it to me. He didn't say anythingabout it being spiked, though."

Young Randy took a deep breath.

"Some . . . different kinda shit . . . ttthen," hesaid, and slowly brought the joint back to his lips.

Silence descended for a few minutes as AKA madefor the remote backwoods property his parents had recently bought. There wasa small getaway cabin on the eastern, riverside half of it, but the western, "wilder," andmore difficult-of-access area was basically untouched. Dense woods, interspersedwith a complex network of ridges and ravines, predominated the further in youwent. Such terrain was a made-to-order burial ground, as more than one deadkid had discovered by now.

The first guy buried out here had been a bagboyat the big supermarket two towns away. AKA had "courted" Grady--that was thebagboy's name--for over three months. Grady was one of those smart, "nice," teacher's-petkind of guys, with a complexion most girls would kill for. His body wasn'tbad either, attractively long and lean and lissome, with a rosy smooth-bottomedbutt most girls would have killed for too. A sissy at base, Grady was fortunatelystill "guy" enough--he actually had a rather attractive strong-jawed face--toremain interesting. He was ripe for the taking, a virginal gayboy-in-the-makingnot yet comfortable with the idea. Which explained why he had been cautiousabout "making friends" too fast. Thus the three-months "courtship." AKA hadactually "serviced" Grady twice in the van before he struck. "You want to handcuffme while you suck me?!" Grady had exclaimed, his smooth high-boned apple-cheeksgoing hot pink at the very idea. But the initial shock soon gave way to amused,if somewhat nervous compliance. "It does feel sexy, just like you said," theboy had finally admitted once the cuffs were on and his pants were off. Ifpossible, AKA liked to do guys with a piece of their own clothing--it was thingwith him at this early stage in his career--but on this occasion he had usedthe supermarket's very own logo-emblazoned blue plastic bag. It seemed so muchmore appropriate somehow. Grady never said if the plastic bag was sexy, butthen it is hard to breathe and talk and get fucked while your head was in aplastic bag and the bag was shrinking and tightening and then drawing downcompletely over your gasping, thrashing, fatally asphyxiating head.

Glances in young Randy's direction revealed thathe continued to smoke, if more slowly and more shallowly each time. His chestrose and fell in a very sexy, if somewhat uneven pec-tensing rhythm.

After a couple of minutes, he lay his shaggy headback against the passenger seat. He puffed once. Twice. Three times. Then hissensuously full, almost thick-lipped teenage mouth opened, closed, opened,and then went completely slack. His eyelids fluttered, drooped, then completelyclosed.

AKA could now examine the stupid little jerk withoutany fear of being observed.

What a hunky little hunk you are! he thought.

Because young Randy was built like the proverbialbrick shithouse. The kid clearly worked out to some purpose. What was he? Aweightlifter? A wrestler? A gymnast? All three? Not that AKA was an experton any of these activities--he had never participated in sports of any kind,if you didn't count grammar school softball--but he had recently watched someof the summer Olympics and had drooled over all those hot little male wrestlersand gymnasts in particular. This kid could easily have been one of them.

Just when it looked like the boy had actually goneto sleep, he jerked awake.

Startled, AKA recoiled in his seat.

He was even more startled when young Randy's fingerswent to the top of his jeans and fumbled to undo them.

"Help . . . mmme!" he said without even lookingin AKA's direction.

Startled a second and even greater time, AKA nonethelesscomplied.

He helped the boy work his zipper down--then, withmore difficulty, open and part the pants as well--trying not to disturb hisdriving--he sure as hell didn't want a cop pulling them over at this point!--andwas rewarded by the kid's grabbing his hand and shoving it down under the sky-blueswimsuit their combined efforts finally succeeded in revealing.

It was a relatively loose, even baggy swimsuit,quite unlike the tighter (they also seemed to be relatively new and stiff)pair of bluejeans.

"Oh yeahhh!" the kid wheezed as AKA's hand circledthe surprisingly big bone beneath. This kid might be short, but he was damnedwell hung! Not only was it an impressively long dick, it was an unusually fatone as well. Not grotesquely long or fat, mind. AKA didn't have his hands ona mule here. But what he was holding was certainly sizeable enough to impressany number of women and--why not say it?--make most guys--including AKA--morethan a little bit jealous.

AKA's appreciation intensified when the kid haltedthe hand-action in order to work the jeans and swimsuit down off his groinentirely.

Stunning! Both the newly freed cock and the smooth,taut, sun-baked thighs now uncovered for AKA's delectation!

"That's some dick," AKA said.

"So I've . . . been tttold," the kid replied withanother silly, but this time unabashedly x-rated grin.

Did arsenic work like an aphrodisiac on some people?AKA had begun to think it did. That freckle-faced farm kid had soon been hot-to-trotas well. Not that his slim little boy-dick could compete with Beer Brain'sbone.

There was a new, and even more violent coughingfit, but the boy did not let the coughing impede the pleasure he was obviouslygetting from AKA's hands-on "admiration" of his cock.

"Yeahhh!" he murmured. Cough. Cough. "Yeahhh!"

AKA continued to pump but not so vigorously asto actually bring the boy. Randy young Randy was going to be a geyser, andAKA wanted to be in a position to enjoy the explosion when it came. Watchinga young guy cum, especially when it was going to be the guy's LAST cum, gaveAKA a unique charge.

The turnoff to AKA's parents' property was so hardto see that AKA himself sometimes had trouble locating it. Especially at night.Not this afternoon, though. The sun was well on its way down now, but a honey-goldenglow still suffused the air, keeping the potentially misleading shadows atbay.

AKA slowed and turned in.

He had to withdraw his hand from Randy's big dickas he maneuvered the van over the rough dirt path--it was hardly a road--butthe kid seemed not to notice. He didn't seem to notice because he was in themidst of another, and worst fit of coughing yet. This one had a totally differentsound to it, one that AKA had heard more than once now. It was a distinctlyphlegm-clogged hacking. That is one of the things the arsenic did, of course.Clog the lungs with phlegm. Randy would eventually begin to feel he was drowningin phlegm (and so he finally would in fact), but not so soon as to spoil allthe fun and games. Or so AKA hoped

As they bumped along, a still hacking Randy suddenlyflicked the still-burning joint through the lowered window.

"Hey!" AKA shouted.

That's all he would need, for the boy to up andstart a forest fire.

"That's . . . bad . . . shit!" the kid protested.He made a face and sniffed. Snuffled rather. From the sound of it, his sinuseswere beginning to clog as well.

He also seemed restless, anxious, and, last butnot least, hot all of a sudden. Indeed, sweat was gathering across his chestand brow as he took deeper and deeper breaths in an effort to ease his newlylaboring lungs. AKA began to feel rather anxious himself. Don't cork off onme now, he thought. We still have that cum to make you cum.

Randy finally managed to expel a thick wad of mucus.Fortunately, that seemed to clear his air-passages for the moment. The kidactually laughed, held out his hand, and said, "Looks like cum, don't it?"

It did. It was even white like cum.

"Rub it on your dick," AKA suggested, as much todistract the kid as anything.

Randy did.

"Don't shoot yet, though," AKA ordered. "I wantto bring you myself."

"Yeahhh!" came the reply, followed by a wrenchingcough.

AKA pulled off the path into a narrow defile, broughtthe van to a stop, and turned the engine off.

Feeling a sense of hurry if not exactly haste,given that the arsenic was clearly already at work in a fairly serious way,AKA said, "In the back," and, pushing the special-order opaque plastic dividerto the side, led the way between the two seats.

Not surprisingly, young Randy was not so coordinatedin his effort to bridge of the gap.

"You are still drunk as a skunk," AKA laughinglyreassured the boy as he caught and steadied and then maneuvered him into therear of the van as well.

Randy was becoming more disoriented by the second.That was another effect of the arsenic, of course. And it was the effect AKAmost liked to see show up. Such disorientation meant that the kid would, forall intents and purposes, now be putty in AKA's hands. Until the more seriouslysuffocating death-throes began, that is. Real panic could set in at that point,and the victim became much harder to control. For a while, anyway. Then thereal dying took over, and all serious struggle essentially ceased. If you didn'tcount the convulsions that usually attended the last, tumultuous half-houror so. That, anyway, had been the pattern with the others.

Randy was now bathed in sweat. AKA's hands literallykept slipping off the kid's body as he wrenched him into the position he wantedand propped him up against the cool van sidewall.

Randy was breathing deeply, as well as erratically,but with less phlegmy congestion than he had been. He certainly wasn't drowningyet, then. Even better, he still had his big hard-on.

AKA switched on the special-order overhead lightand went to work.

Because Beer Brain was barefoot, AKA was able toremove his stiff new pair of jeans pretty quickly. Then, easier still, offcame the kid's baggy old sun-faded swimsuit.

Jesus! What a cute little guy he is! Perfect inhis way! The legs especially!

AKA had this thing for legs, and Randy's were fantastic!Smooth and tight and muscular and perfectly proportioned to the rest of hisbody! The thighs and calves were particularly strong and hard. AKA was moreconvinced than ever that the boy was either a gymnast or a wrestler. Not afirst-class one perhaps--his upper body, good as it was, looked a little underdevelopedcompared to what AKA had seen on TV--but the kid was a serious athlete of somekind. The idea made the boy's nearly falling head-first out of the van a littleearlier that much funnier. AKA actually laughed.

"What . . . you laughin' . . . at?'

There was a slight trace of spume around the boy'slightly hissing nose. He sniffed. The spume was sucked up. He snorted. Thespume re-emerged. The arsenic again.

There was no time to lose. The coughing fits hadsoftened Randy's cock a little.

AKA bent forward and engorged the big dick in onefell swoop. This was not AKA's favorite thing to do, it should be said. Infact, when giving head, AKA usually gagged and gagged badly to begin with.Especially if the dick was as big as this one. But Randy's fabulous legs wereso hot to feel--and AKA's hands were slowly moving up and down them with everybob of his steadily sucking mouth--that AKA did not experience his usual repugnance.Not that he intended to take a mouthful of cum. He didn't. When the kid gotclose, AKA would pull away a safe distance and watch the throbbing geyser gush.

As it turned out, AKA almost blew it. His facewas still close enough to the kid's dick that when the moment came explodingsperm actually splashed right across AKA's saliva-wet chin.

"Aiiii!!!" young Randy exclaimed.

Sputum immediately bubbled up along the lips inthe wake of the ecstatically expelled air.

Clearly confused, the kid wiped at his lower face,then coughed again. That resulted in a fresh frothing at the mouth. Far frombeing horrified, however, the Beer Brain idiot actually giggled, as if thelung-whipped spittle was just a new spin on the overall wild and crazy fun.

"I bet you have never been fucked," AKA said ashe wiped the cum from his own chin.

Randy seemed not to hear. He was still fingeringthe unnaturally white, frothy gel that continued to ooze from his mouth andnose.

Settling back on his haunches, AKA grabbed theboy by his sturdy little ankles and proceeded to pull him away from the wall.

It was only when the back of his head bumped againstthe van floor that Randy seemed to realize he was now somehow prone, on hisback. Why?

He lifted his head.

"What?" he rather groggily asked as AKA hoistedboth ankles into the air.

The pressure on the kid's torso created by hissuddenly raised legs forced even more sputum up into and then out of his mouth.

He tried to speak but choked instead.

His face went a bright scarlet red as he struggledto clear his throat.

Extending his arms, AKA spread and then bracedthe fabulously muscular little legs up in the air.

There is was! As cute a bud of an asshole as hehad yet seen! And as virginal as they came too! No doubt about it!

Afraid that he would soon be engaged in a bit ofnecrophilia if he didn't hurry, AKA settled the kid's legs onto his shouldersand, freeing his dick and quickly lathering it with a scoop of handily placepetroleum jelly, moved in and bore down.

Vaseline or no Vaseline, the boy was going to bedamned tight.

He was.

It took three hefty heaves to actually bust theboy's cherry.

Frothy yelling accompanied each dick-hard, ass-splittingheave. AKA was forced to turn his head away to avoid the flying spittle.

Beer Brain Randy soon resembled nothing so muchas a ragdoll in the process of being violently electrocuted. The boy flopped,he kicked, he jerked, he slapped, he flexed, he spasmed, he twisted, he turned,but he remained well and truly impaled on the spit of AKA's cock. As a result,AKA didn't so much fuck him as let him fuck himself. All the while fresh foamfrothed at the radically gaping teenage mouth. All the while his noisy, fast-fillingteenage chest ramped and wried in increasingly desperate efforts to take inoxygen, any oxygen, no matter how small a trace.

The kid was still doing his rabid ragdoll routinewhen AKA came.

"Fuuuuuck!!!!" AKA exclaimed as he rose up andplunged his dick deep down into the upended, violently contracting, no-longer-virginal,indeed well-and-truly violated teenage asshole.

Beer Brain Randy was unconscious by the time AKApulled out. Spasmodic spasms rippled through the boy's body, across his shoulders,down his arms, along his flexed, tightly muscled young legs. His slim toestwitched. As did his attractively tidy, clean, and compact fingers. He wasstill in the land of the living, but clearly not for long.

Rubbing his cock, AKA sat back and watched.

The ragged, shallow, uncertain, froth-filled breathingcontinued.

And continued.

And continued.

Get it over with, AKA commanded. Enough already.

The other guys who had gone the arsenic-laced jointroute had taken a while to cork off as well. But then they had been biggerto start with. AKA had assumed young Randy, given his size, would be a fasterdie. Once again, however, the kid's small-guy reserve of energy seemed to havekicked in. There was also the amount-smoked factor to consider, of course.Now that AKA thought of it, Beer Brain had actually inhaled a lot less of hisjoint than his two immediate predecessors had. Still, he was definitely onhis way out, right?

Standing up as far as the van roof allowed, AKApushed his still aroused, but not-quite-ready-to-cum-again cock back down intohis pants and rearranged his clothes. He then gathered Beer Brain's pitifullyfew belongings and shoved them into a small plastic supermarket bag, an exactreplica of the bag AKA had used to asphyxiate bagboy gayboy Grady. There wasan extra one if Beer Brain didn't shuffle off the mortal coil relatively soon,but AKA decided he would give the arsenic a little more time.

A momentary depression rose up in AKA. This killhad been fun in its way, no question of that. Hunky little Randy had definitelybeen worth the risk. His brawny little sun-bronzed hardbody had just screamed,Kill me! Kill me! Please take me and kill me! But as he moved about the vanAKA suddenly felt a bit let down by it all. He decided he didn't really likethe poisoned joint trick. It was too easy. He wouldn't use that method again.He would go back to how he had done it at the start. Convincing a guy to lethim tie him up. Or, if aggression was required, taking control with a sharpknife and a pair of handcuffs. Unpredictable though this last approach was,it was a much more exciting way to begin THE GAME. AKA had tried the arsenic.Now he knew. Trial and error, comparison and contrast--they were a naturalpart of learning to play THE GAME after all.

The metallic rap on the side of the van made AKAjump in his shoes.

What the fuck?!

He quickly looked down at the still prone, stillmotionless, but still breathing Beer Brain Randy. The kid's lungs produceda low hiss with each inhale, a low hiss with each exhale. But he was otherwisequiet enough, a limp nude bag of slowly dying bones.

The rap returned.

"Hey!" a voice called.

Craning his neck to look between the gap betweenthe seats, AKA detected motion just outside the driver's-side window.

Who the fuck was out there? And what the hell didhe want? This was posted property after all. Property owned by AKA's own parents.So who was out here trespassing, for God's sake?

"Yeah! All right!" AKA called back.

He quickly switched off the overhead, stumbledhis way forward--back through the divider, between the front seats--then tumbledawkwardly onto if not exactly into the driver's seat.

Although they had been in the same class in highschool, it actually took AKA a second to recognize Joe Wickham. They had barelybeen on speaking terms, it was true, but then AKA had had no real friends tospeak of--or to--back then. Joe had definitely been one of the in-crowd guys.Not the class president or star quarterback, but he had certainly been friendswith the one and best pals with the other. AKA had always rather admired Joe.From a distance, of course, since Joe's popularity, combined with his rathersharp-featured all-American good looks--not to mention his ideally slim andimpressively fit all-American body--made Joe a prince altogether out of AKA'sleague.

AKA saw at once that the last few years had beenvery kind to Joe. Very kind indeed. The good-looking all-American teenagerwas now an even better-looking all-American twenty-something. His facial features--stilla bit sharp, the nose in particular--had firmed up, noticeably matured. Hisbody--so far as AKA could tell anyway--was still admirably lean and fit butwith a new, flattering, slightly stockier manliness, especially in the upperbody. At least, that's what the sleeveless check shirt he was wearing suggested.

"You!" Joe exclaimed.

"Yeah. Hi," AKA managed.

A rather impressive camera dangled from Joe's righthand.

"Man, it's good to see somebody! Can you believeit? I got fuckin' lost out here! I've been walking in circles for three hoursat least, trying to get the hell back to my boat. Wherever the hell it is!"

"You've been taking pictures?"

Joe grinned a sexy, sparkling, heart-throbbinggrin.

"Yeah. Nature photography. It's what I do now.Well, I write some too, but I got into environmental studies in college andthen combined it with photography. Which I messed with some when we were inhigh school. Maybe you remember."

AKA didn't.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," he said. "So you have been outin the woods? Taking pictures of animals? Plants? That kind of thing?"

"All of it," Joe replied. "I'm interested in riverlife mainly--thus the boat I mentioned, the canoe I paddled downriver to gethere--but the woods looked so inviting I couldn't resist wandering in." Joeshook his head and grinned a second sparkling, heart-throbbing grin. "Yeah,go ahead and laugh. So I'm an environmentalist with a poor sense of direction.What can I say?"

There was a line of perspiration above Joe Wickham'supper lip, and his face, despite its deep outdoorsman's tan, was noticeablyflushed. Both the result of the unexpected round of exercise and its attendantfrustration and embarrassment, AKA decided.

A low whine suddenly came from the rear of thevan. It sounded more animal than human, but AKA had no doubt what it was. Shit!Was the little prick not dead yet?

Fortunately, Joe Wickham appeared not to have heardthe sound. But what was AKA supposed to do now? Give Joe a lift out of thewoods? With Beer Brain still dying in the back of the van?

"So . . . ah . . . where did you leave your boatexactly?"

AKA was buying time as much as anything.

Joe shrugged, half-humorously, half in irritation.

"You'd think I know, right? I mean I know I paddleddown three or four miles or so from where I'm camping, but the truth is I don'tknow this area for shit. If and when I get back on the river I will be ableto find the spot where I pulled in. I know that. But all I see to do now isget back to camp, get in the truck, and go get another canoe so's I can findthe first one." Joe shook his head. "My little brother's going to rag my assbigtime about this one!"

"Your little brother?"

"Yeah, Billy. Thirteen going on thirty-five. Youknow the type. Mom and Dad thought they were through with kids, then Billyup and came along. You probably don't remember him, his being that much youngerthan us."

"No. I don't think I do," AKA replied. "So howlong have you been out here camping?"

"Just since yesterday. Billy said he was gonnastay at the site, swim, and maybe explore around our camp. Funny, right? Iwarned him not to go and get lost if he did go exploring and here I am theone that up and fucking does it."

Despite the smile he managed to flash in AKA'sdirection, Joe's face reddened.

"So whose property are you camping on?"

"The Macleys. Friends of my dad's. Do you knowthem?"

AKA did. And thus knew what property Joe Wickhamwas referring to. It was a lot further away than three or four miles, though.By land anyway.

A second low whine suddenly came from the rearof the van. It was quickly followed by a muffled bumping, then a sharp andmuch louder yelp.

AKA was not so lucky this time. Joe Wickham hadheard. His eyebrows lifted even as his head turned to look in the general directionof the noise.

"You got a dog in there?"

AKA tried to stay cool.

Don't panic! he admonished himself.

He managed a nervous, rather unconvincing laugh.

"Damned mutt," he muttered. "Hold on a minute."

Turning about, he once again made his way to theback of the van.

The sun was more or less set by now, the rear ofthe van darkening by the second, but AKA had no trouble seeing that a far-from-dead,totally nude Beer Brain Randy was up and kicking. Literally. First one, thenthe other bare foot began to slam against the rear doors even as young Randyhalf leaned on, half wrestled to get them open.

AKA looked about. He needed a weapon. And fast.Where was the fucking tire-iron? The extra-long one he had bought half-thinkingit might come in handy as a weapon some day?

It was suddenly in his hand. How, AKA didn't know,since he couldn't say he had actually seen it, much less picked it up.

Stepping forward, he drew back.

Whack!

Yelp!

Whack!

Yow!

Whack!

Bang!

AKA had hit the metal roof the third time, notthe writhing, arms-flailing, arsenic-debilitated young Randy at all.

"Hey! Hey! What the hell's going on in there?" AKAheard from outside.

Then the back doors opened. But not because randyyoung Randy had finally managed to do it. Indeed, he was as thrown off-balanceas AKA. Even more so, in fact. Indeed, he tumbled right out and into the armsof a totally startled Joe Wickham.

AKA lurched forward, even as Joe bent to lowerthe wailing nude kid's body to the ground. As a result, Joe never saw the liftedtire-iron, never saw the desperation in AKA's face as he brought it down onthe top of his head with all the force AKA could muster.

Crack!!!

It wasn't exactly an egg-breaking sound, but therewas no question that something pretty serious gave way in Joe Wickham's skull.He flattened out across Beer Brain's body in a single spasmodic jerk of hislegs, which flew out behind him, the toes of his boots trenching deep intothe leaf-moldy earth as he went down.

Breathing hard, AKA hopped down and raised thetire-iron for a second blow.

But he stopped the swing halfway through.

For one thing, it didn't look as if it was goingto be necessary. Joe's body was shuddering from head to foot, his right handflung free and flapping palm-down on the cool leaf-mulched forest floor. Theother was trapped underneath the body of Beer Brain Randy, who, blitzed andfoam-mouthed though he continued to be, was nonetheless engaged in a mightystruggle to get out from under the heavier, older guy on top of him.

"You," AKA muttered.

Dropping the tire-iron, AKA caught Joe Wickhamby his ankles and slowly pulled him off the boy.

Young Randy gasped to inhale as the weight wasremoved.

But one raspy inhale was all he was allowed.

Retrieving the tire-iron, AKA straddled the boy'schest, sat, and, having gripped the tire-iron in both hands, shoved it downonto the front of the boy's hard-working, phlegm-clogged throat.

The face immediately darkened in the increasinglydarkening light. In seconds, the tongue protruded in what looked like a finalfuck-you sneer as the kid went out. This time--thanks be to the Dark Gods!--allthe way out. AKA made sure. Only when he was certain the boy was indeed once-and-for-all,no-resurrection-possible fucking dead did he sit back and relax his hold, angryand aroused--both at once. He hated when this kind of thing happened. Talkabout a close fucking call!

AKA turned to look at Joe Wickham.

Blood was quietly pooling near the top of Joe'sskull. So his heart was still beating. Otherwise, there would be no blood-flow,right?

His face was turned toward AKA. There was a surprisinglynormal look on it. The eyes even blinked in a fairly normal way, not that therewas much to be seen in them. Because Joe Wickham was no longer "at home" really,whatever his fucking heart might think.

AKA stood up, then looked down at the sprawledfigure of his dying--already brain dead?--former classmate.

Joe's sleeveless shirt had risen up on his back.His bare, smooth torso tapered into the waistband of his butt-hugging jeanslike that of one of the sexiest magazine models alive.

AKA hardly had to make a decision. Of course hewas going to fuck Joe. He had dreamed for years of fucking Joe.

AKA knelt and removed Joe's scuffed and dirty boots.

First one, then the other.

Then the thick, green, sweat-pungent socks as well.

Moving up beside the body, he reached under andfumbled Joe's belt and pants loose.

The zipper gave him some trouble initially, buthe soon had it down, far enough to do the trick anyway.

Returning to Joe's newly bared feet, AKA graspedthe bottoms of the jeans and slowly pulled them off.

The jockey shorts came partway down in the process,exposing the top of the gorgeously smooth butt AKA remembered from so manyawkward--for AKA--post-P.E shower sessions in high school. AKA had had to endurea lot of teasing during those sessions, not because he was physically odd inany way--he was actually pretty regular looking when all was said and done--butbecause his own marginally geeky, virgin-shy manner made him vulnerable tomockery.

AKA soon had the jockeys completely off as well.

After that, the shirt. AKA didn't even bother toundo the buttons. He simply ripped it free of the torso by main force. It feltreally good to do that too.

AKA then rubbed his hands along the top of JoeWickham's back. He savored the hard boniness of his muscle-tight shoulder blades,the subtle shallow cleavage of the long straight spine, the enviably smoothand narrow waistline. Then, the sudden rise of the white, luminous, sun-starvedhips, the soft swelling of the perfectly mounded pair of buttocks, and thedark, vulnerable, deliciously inviting ass-cavity so neatly outlined in-betweenthem.

It felt like a dream actually. Maybe it was thelight partly. Or the slowly failing presence of the light. Darkness was nowcoming on fast. Whatever the cause, AKA fucked Joe Wickham with an intensityno previous fuck had ever come close to achieving. It was a totally uniquecombination of hyper-ecstatic cock-focused sensation and emotionally stratosphericmind-numbing rapture.

God!

God!

God!

God!

Despite the intensity of his passion. AKA was somehowaware when Joe finally died. He was in fact aware to the second, he felt. Itwasn't just a matter of blood-flow. Or, at that point, the final complete lackof it. Nor was it a matter of the suddenly stilled lungs, which had continuedto draw shallow breaths from the spongy bottom of the forest floor. No, ithad more to do with something very mysterious giving up deep inside Joe Wickham'sfabulous, long-desired body itself.

It was an emptying unlike AKA had ever quite experiencedbefore. The spirit finally leaving? It felt like that certainly. Yet it wasprofoundly physical too. As if the intestines and the heart and the lungs andthe liver and the kidneys and everything else that made Joe Wickham uniquelyJoe Wickham suddenly gave up the ghost at once. As, AKA guessed, they had.However you explained it, the sensation of a loss beyond loss, of a life-abolishednothingness made magnificently, viscerally manifest, suffused AKA's own bodyas he came to climax.

Spectacularly.

Soundlessly.

Worshipfully.

AKA hated to pull out, hated to break the spell.Indeed, he lay atop the imperceptibly cooling body beneath him for what seemeda long, long time. Minutes for sure. A full half-hour perhaps. He even driftedoff at one point, blissfully cushioned on the deliciously skin-soft yet muscle-hardyoung corpse below him.

He buried them together, of course. It made nosense to dig separate graves. Besides, it was titillating to fashion an eternal69 in which a face-down Beer Brain Randy eternally blew an upturned, heaven-directedJoe-Boy Wickham. Joe deserved that much, right?

AKA kept the camera. He even later--much later--developedthe film. Joe had been talented. Very talented. There were beautiful panoramicriver shots. Handsomely framed forest photos. Stunningly sharp close-ups ofvarious both familiar and unfamiliar plants and trees. There was even one shotof a calmly grazing deer, the animal completely unaware that a handsome younghuman voyeur was silently recording his quiet, remote woodland meal.

There was no funeral, of course. But there waseventually a memorial service once the family finally accepted that Joe's bodywould never be found. Neither it nor the canoe, as it turned out. AKA spentmuch of the next day looking for that canoe. He had to. It was important thathe determine that it wasn't on or even near his parents' property. The lastthing AKA wanted to see was a huge search party stomping through the woodswhere his secret cemetery was to be found. It was good he did look too. BecauseJoe had in fact pulled up not that far from his parents' cottage. The canoewould have been discovered. There would have been a highly dangerous scouringof all the land thereabout. Thanks to AKA, however, there was nothing to directanyone to the location at all. The canoe went into AKA's van for a while, theninto the basement of his parents' house. "Yeah, it belongs to a friend," heinformed his father. "He's gone on a long trip and asked me to store it forhim. Do you mind?" About a year later, AKA removed it and sold it for a surprisinglynice sum.

Randy Gantham Crudup--that, as it turned out, wasmop-topped Beer Brain's clumsy-sounding name--merited a small picture plusa brief front-page article in the local newspaper, mainly because he had beena star wrestler at one point in his short, useless little life. He was indeedseventeen the paper revealed, but, except for a few "Missing Boy" posters postedhere and there, he soon dropped out of sight (not to mention mind) altogether.And good riddance too, AKA thought.

The coverage of the unfortunate "drowning" of JosephMartin Wickham had been more along the lines of "promising young career cutshort." The very well-attended memorial service had been of the all-trumpets-blaringangels-and-saints variety. Okay, Joe had been a nice guy. Hell, even a talentedguy! AKA was willing to believe all that too. But give me a break! he had thoughtas he sat slumped in his pew. Nobody's THAT damned good!

More interesting was the glimpse of young BillyWickham AKA got at that service. AKA had gone to bed the night after killingJoe wondering about Billy, alone out there in the dark, waiting for an olderbrother who was never going to return. He was only thirteen, Joe had said.Could he drive the truck Joe had mentioned? If so, how long would he wait beforegoing for help? As it turned out, the kid did drive the truck away. But notuntil midmorning the next morning. A delay that helped AKA locate and thenhide the canoe.

Thirteen going on thirty-five, Joe Wickham haddescribed his little brother. Well, at least at the memorial service he lookedmore like the thirteen-year-old he actually was. A handsome kid, though. Wellon his way to being even better looking than his brother, if AKA was any judge.

Five more years would pass before he came AKA'sagain. Having run out of gas all by his little lonesome out on a dark backroadin an entirely different part of the county one post-date late-night Saturdaynight. And, yes, he had indeed turned out to be even better looking than hisbrother had been.

AKA would always remember how Billy Wickham staredwhen AKA told him what had happened to his older brother. Words really couldn'tdescribe the stunned horror that slowly filled those sexy, sea-green, eighteen-year-oldeyes. Eyes which were eventually as empty as his dead older brother's had been,thanks to a deliciously prolonged, up-close-and-personal manual strangulation.But not before a securely cuffed young Billy--like any number of other kidsbefore him--had been well and truly fucked in the back of AKA's hell-on-wheelsDeath Van.

THE END