Brothers
By: Johnboy

One

Sometimes it's funny the way your mind can choose not to remember certain things. Or maybe it's not a matter of choice -- maybe you forget things out of necessity. Out of self-defense. Because I guess some memories could drive you crazy...

I was at the hardware store over on Dupont not too long ago, looking for a new deadbolt for my front door. In the next aisle I could hear someone talking with one of the employees; the guy had a deep, rough voice that seemed somehow familiar, although at first I don't think I was consciously aware of it.

But then he said something that for some reason caused me to prick up my ears. It's not so much that there was anything special about his words... maybe it was more in the way he said it: "Okay bud, that's cool. Thanks."

I'm not sure how, but I suddenly knew who it was.

Heavy boots were clomping down the aisle, turning the corner, heading towards me. I could feel my feet turning cold. I realized I was holding my breath as I waited for the man to come into view...

It was Roger Fulton.

He looked quite different from what I could remember, but I still recognized him immediately. His beard was mostly grey now, and his head was completely shaved. It looked like he'd packed almost 100 extra pounds on his huge, 6'6" frame, and his massive arms were now covered with tattoos. But it was definitely him.

Roger was walking directly towards me -- he even looked me right in the face with those icy, pale blue eyes. But then he sidestepped me, saying, "'Scuse me, buddy." And he walked on.

He hadn't recognized me...

As I watched him leave the store, the cold sensation slowly creeped up my back and into my neck. The memories of that summer weekend from twenty-odd years ago were flooding back all at once, overwhelming me, and I felt dizzy.

Once I was fairly sure he'd driven away, I went out to my car and just sat in it for about half an hour. I didn't know what to do -- I was shaking, almost in a daze. I wondered, how had I managed to erase those events from my mind for so long?

I was 24 at the time, and Roger was a year older than me. We'd been buddies since Junior High, although some of my other friends wondered why I ever hung around with such a big jerk. Well, I thought he was kind of a jerk too; he was loud, crude, somewhat obnoxious, and often a bully. But I liked him anyway, even though at times I was a bit scared of him...

Truth be told, I had a crush on Roger.

Back in those days he was sculpted like a young football player, ruggedly hand- some, with a thick, dark Fu-Manchu mustache flaring at the ends, and a shaggy mop of hair (remember, this was the 70's).

That summer we'd both gotten jobs with the city doing road repair. He would often work with his shirt off and I couldn't help but look at his big, hairy, meaty pecs, the wide, muscular shoulders, the "happy trail" leading down to the considerable bulge in his jeans -- I'm sure he must've noticed me staring sometimes, but he never said anything.

Anyway, Roger's older brother Scott sometimes worked with us also (driving a steamroller), and one weekend they asked me to come up to their hunting camp to do a little fishing. The previous fall I'd been invited for the deer hunt, but I declined -- I'm just not into shooting animals.

If Roger was huge, then his brother was absolutely enormous...

Scott was about five years older than Rog, and a few inches taller than him too. The guy was like a redwood tree... thick and solid and massively built, with a round, hard gut and biceps bigger than cantaloupes. He had no neck, just a big, square head attached directly to monster shoulders. If I had to guess, I'd say he weighed 420. Scott always looked unshaven even when he'd shaved, and he had flat-top haircut, making his head look even more square. I used to call him The Sarge, but never to his face, of course -- needless to say, he scared me even more than Roger did.

But a weekend out in the woods sounded cool (especially if it meant I could be around Roger), so I agreed to go.

It was a two-hour drive up to Heron Lake. There were a couple of others coming with us too, some guys named Mitch and Andy -- both friends of Scott. They follow- ed in a separate car, while I rode with Rog and Scott in the elder brother's pick-up.

I sat between the two of them, squished by their huge bodies and hoping that Roger's closeness - and the bumpy ride - wouldn't give me a boner.

The big guys were drinking beer, one after another, while they joked and laughed and insulted each other. They seemed unusually excited. I wasn't too concerned about the drinking; I figured it would take a hell of a lot of beer to impair the driving of a guy the size of The Sarge.

At one point Scott reached across me and slapped his brother on the stomach, hard.

Roger coughed up some beer and belched deeply. "Hey," he growled, "watch it, fuck-head."

Scott chuckled. "Man, lookit that puny gut. Shit -- yer way too skinny, Rog! You need to eat more. Just lookit this." He thumped his own large belly.

"Yeah, I know what YOU'VE been eatin'!" And they both laughed again.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Scott was looking down at me -- I turned to face him, and he gave me an exaggerated wink.

I can recall now that several times during the trip, Scott made similar comments about Roger needing to put on some weight. And other comments too, that seemed as if they were meant to be suggestive but at the time I didn't quite understand how.

The hunting camp was not actually on the lake, but near a pond: a big, shallow, marshy area with a fairly wide expanse of open water. The pond was at the end of one long bay, connected to the main body of the lake only by a narrow channel. The guys said there were some pike to be found here. It didn't seem like a very good fishing spot to me, but what did I know? I didn't really care, anyway. Everything was wet when we arrived; it had rained recently, and the woods were thick with mosquitos.

The place was just an old, dilapidated cabin with a more recent (but poorly con- structed) addition on the side, extending back, giving the whole thing an L-shape. A large, open livingroom and a small kitchen, separated by an archway, made up the main part of the structure, while the long room attached contained a row of cots with two bunkbeds at each end, sleeping a total of eight.

The cabin smelled musty, with undertones of old socks, cigarettes and stale sweat. There were bottlecaps, pull-tabs, dirty ashtrays and a few ancient issues of Field & Stream littered about. The carpet was wet in some spots... I guess the roof leaked. It looked like the building was almost falling apart; you could actually see outside through some of the cracks in the walls.

Still, I knew it would be kinda fun. I'd slept in worse places (though not much worse). In fact, the rustic, manly atmosphere seemed fitting -- just us guys, fishing and drinking beer, having a good ol' time. I was almost getting a hard-on just think- ing about it.

I can recall it so vividly now...

Two

But thinking back, I find it harder to picture Scott's friends, Mitch and Andy. I never really got a chance to talk with them much that weekend, never got to know them at all, and so they're kind of blank to me, and unreal. Almost like they never even existed.

Ghosts from the past... I shuddered to think about them.

I remember Mitch was a fairly big and burly guy, though of course next to The Sarge he looked pretty small. He had a blond beard and a potbelly, and he didn't seem to talk very much. I don't think he was shy, just quiet. He was the oldest in our group -- close to 45, I guess. I assumed he was one of Scott's hunting buddies.

The other fellow, Andy, was a strange one: just a short, little scrawny guy, probably barely over a hundred pounds. He had thick glasses, thinning hair and a craggy smile. Though in a weird way, he was kinda cute. I mean like the way a frog is cute. I don't know what kind of accent he had but when he talked I could hardly under- stand a word. (I think maybe he was speaking Hillbilly.)

The sun was starting to come out, banishing the bugs. We decided to have some lunch, then we'd check to see if the fish were biting.

Roger and Scott ate like pigs, hunched over their plates and shovelling it in as fast as they could -- it seemed like they were just gulping the food down in huge mouth- fuls with little or no chewing, only pausing long enough to heave out the occasional giant belch and refill their plates. I'd seen Roger eat like this many times before, I was used to it. But somehow to be sitting at a table where they were both doing it was... unsettling.

Mitch spoke up: "You boys keep goin' like that, you're gonna explode."

Andy, who was between them, gave a weird little laugh -- but I noticed he'd pushed his chair back a bit, almost as if he was afraid to get too close to the guys while they were eating. I couldn't blame him.

When they were finished, they didn't even seem like they'd had their fill. They'd only stopped because there was no food left.

Scott drained the last of his beer, straightened up in his chair with a groan, and rubbed his belly. "Alright men, let's go catch us some dinner." He laughed loudly. As we were all getting up, I suddenly noticed something:
Roger was staring right at me.

There was such a look of burning intensity in his eyes... I'd never seen an expres- sion like that before. It only lasted a couple of seconds, and then he turned away. But it kinda freaked me out. I didn't know exactly what it meant -- I almost wonder- ed if somehow I'd done something to give away the fact that I was attracted to him.

But I had another idea, too. The look he'd given me was, in a way, familiar. It almost seemed like... hunger?

Rog and I were in the canoe, way down at the far end of the marsh, near a thick bed of reeds; the other three were in a rowboat closer to the centre. It was turning out to be a pretty hot day. We'd been on the water for nearly two hours, and neither of us had gotten a single bite.

We weren't talking much. I don't know what was on his mind, but I was still think- ing of that look of hunger I'd seen...

Had it been more than hunger? Maybe... lust? Was Rog interested in me too? Why suddenly now, after all these years? Why here? But come to think of it, he never really dated girls all that often. I wanted to talk to him about it, but couldn't imagine how I'd bring it up. He still kinda scared me.

Across the pond we could hear Scott's loud, baritone voice echoing in the stillness. He sounded drunk -- he'd been drinking almost non-stop since we'd left the city. I'm not sure what he was going on about but he wouldn't seem to shut up. At times he could be even more obnoxious than Roger was.

"I think The Sarge is scaring away all the fish," I said.

"What fish?" Rog snorted.

"Right. Why don't we go to the fuckin' lake?" I liked swearing around Roger. I guess partly because I was trying to impress him.

"Buuuhh-" he burped, "Paul, I got a better idear."

"Why don't we go inside and have a beer?"

He grinned. "Ya read my mind!"

I put down the rod and reached for my paddle, saying, "Let's go to shore first, I need to take a leak."

"Just go here."

"What? How?"

Rog's face screwed up. "How?? You stand up and piss."

"I'm not standing up in a canoe."

"What a fuckin' wimp. Here," he shifted and started to get up, flicking his cigarette butt over the side, "I'll show ya how it's done."

The canoe wobbled, almost tipping. "Oh crap!" I gasped, "Don't--"

But somehow he managed to stand completely and balance himself without putting us both in the water. It was surprising, for a guy so big and so tall. Roger unzipped and pulled out his cock.

I think my jaw must've dropped; my eyes probably bugged out too. I couldn't believe it...

He had the biggest dick I'd ever seen in my life. The thing had to be at least nine inches long... and he wasn't even hard. It was thick too, almost as big around as a beer bottle, with ropy veins and a head like a big, pinkish plum.

A strong stream of piss abruptly began pouring out in a wide arc, noisily gurgling into the pond, and Rog let out a relieved sigh, "Ahhhhh..." He could've turned a bit to hide himself if he'd wanted to, but he didn't. In fact, if anything he was sorta piss- ing in my general direction.

I watched, trying to make it not seem too obvious that I was watching. I doubt I was very successful -- but clearly he was putting on this show for me, wasn't he? Or maybe he didn't care who saw him. More likely, I thought, he just wanted to show off the size of his endownment. Yeah, that must've been it... Anyway, he pissed for quite awhile; it seemed to go on for almost a full minute.

Roger carefully sat down again after he'd finished up. "You get a good look?" He was smiling.

This startled me. I turned away from him, re-positioning myself to face the front of the canoe. I'm sure I must've been turning red, and I didn't want him to see. Raising my paddle, I mumbled, "Let's just get going."

"Okay bud, that's cool." He chuckled faintly.

Fortunately by the time we returned to the cabin, my erection was gone.

Now I was more sure than ever that Roger was on to me. Actually, when I thought about it, it seemed strange that it had taken him this long to figure it out. But what was his game? Was he giving me an invitation of sorts? Hoping for me to make the next move? Or was he just leading me on and waiting for the right opportunity to bash my brains in?

I'd seen him beat people up before, it was terrifying.

When the others saw us returning, they decided to call it quits too, and I was relieved. Being all alone with Roger in the cabin at that time would've been incred- ibly uncomfortable for me.

This was when things started to get weird...

Three

A bit later, Mitch, Andy and I were sitting at the wobbly table; Mitch was going through a deck of 53 warped and water-stained cards, trying to figure out which was the extra one, while the little guy was counting out piles of poker chips. Rog and The Sarge had gone outside for some reason...

Andy was talking to me, something unintelligible; apparently, he'd just asked a question and was waiting for a reply. The only words I'd picked out were my name and "yesterdee". I looked at Mitch for help, but he only shrugged, so I just nodded my head and said, "Yeah."

I decided to check the place out a bit. I went into the next room, the sleeping area, and laid down on one of the cots. It was as uncomfortable as it looked. Then I tried one of the lower bunks -- pretty lumpy, but I guess not too bad. I could smell mouse pee, though.

I went down to the far end to try the one of the other bunks. This one was about the same. What a dump, I thought... oh well, at least it had electricity (which was actually surprising, given how isolated we were).

Next to the bed there was a bottle-opener hanging from a string which was nailed to the wall. I could see it moving slightly; the wind was seeping in through a gap. As I was wondering what it would be like that night, with the mosquitos able to fly right in through all the cracks in the walls, I thought I heard a branch snap somewhere outside...

Now I could just make out a voice too, speaking in low tones. It sounded like Scott. The two of them had gone around the back of the place, apparently to have a private conversation. As they got closer, I made out the last part of a sentence, spoken by Roger:

"... been friends for a long time, though. Man, I dunno."

Then Scott: "Don't worry, ya get used to it. You'll like it."

"But I didn't know this other dude Andy was coming. Is three gonna be a problem?"

"Naw, I think I can take care of it."

Roger snorted. "Bullshit."

"Hey, remember Pop? He did two guys at once all the time. Fuck, sometimes three."

"Yeah, but he was bigger'n us."

"Trust me, I can take 'em."

I wasn't sure what I was hearing. It almost sounded like they were planning on... well, raping us or something.

Scott was speaking again: "Well, if yer not sure..."

Rog inhaled deeply. "Aw, I really fuckin' wanna take him, but maybe he's too much for me."

"Okay. So then take the small one."

"I guess..."

"But ya better take one of 'em -- we're not leavin' here 'til ya do. I mean it, Rog. I started when I was 19, fer chrissake."

"Yeah, that's why you're so fat now." There was the sound of a soft thump.

"Yer way behind, man." A gruff chuckle. The two of them were starting to move off now...

Roger asked, "How many you up to now, anyway?"

And Scott's reply: "78."

I was confused... and kinda scared. What exactly had they been discussing?

It sounded pretty weird. If they were talking about assaulting us in some way, well... what did Scott's weight have to do with that? And what did the number 78 refer to? The conversation I'd heard hadn't really made much sense... at least, not at the time it didn't.

I sat out the poker game -- there was too much on my mind. I needed to be alone for awhile so I went for a long walk up the road.

I tried going over their little talk again, trying to figure out what it could be that the brothers had in store for the rest of us, if anything... but I came up with nothing. Roger's remarks were puzzling. I still found it hard to believe that he'd do anything to hurt me (although I wouldn't have put money on it). But what about Scott? I didn't really know him all that well. Something about that guy seemed dangerous. A paranoid thought occured to me: perhaps Scott had found out that his two friends were queer, and brought them up (and me) so that he and Rog could have a major fag-bashing? Make a weekend of it? But no, that seemed a little too far- fetched. Who would go to that trouble?

I wished I knew what the hell was going on.

When I got back, I could hear the boys were making quite a bit of noise. Sounded like the beer was really flowing...

I went around the back to take a leak. As I was finishing, I heard someone coming out onto the porch. By the way the boards were creaking from the weight, I guessed it was probably The Sarge. A huge, gutteral belch suddenly thundered out: "Ruaaa-AAOOOOORRRrhff!!" Yup, that was definitely Scott. Roger could really let 'em rip sometimes, but his brother was the master.

Not really wanting to be out here alone with him, I headed for the front to go inside... just as he came up the path that lead back to the outhouse. He was heading right for me. I nodded and was about to step aside to let him pass, but he stopped in front of me.

"Hiya Paul. Hey, we're goin' into town to get more beer. Wanna come?"

He wasn't wearing a shirt. His broad chest looked like it was about two feet wide, and it was densely covered with curly, black hair. The man was just so fucking massive... almost three times my size. "Um... nah, I think I'll just stay here," I said. I was nervous to be this close to him.

"Okay - urp - whatever." He was standing too close, leaning down towards me. I could feel his warm, beery breath blowing into my face. He seemed more than a little inebriated... but even so, there was something very alert and focused about the way he was looking at me. It was disturbing. "Where the hell were you, anyway?"

"Nowhere. Just walking around."

I think at that point he realized how anxious I was. I couldn't hide it.

"Oh yeah?"

"I was... uh..." I trailed off.

Scott began to study me more intently. Could he tell that I knew something was up? Except that I didn't know what was up. I didn't know WHAT was going on.

I think I took a step back, but he stepped closer. His big, furry gut was only about a half inch away from me now, and I noticed then how much noise it was making: assorted groanings, bubblings, rumblings and churnings.

I looked up into his large, heavily stubbled face and realized with a start that he was giving me that same odd, unblinking stare I'd gotten from Roger earlier. I was frozen. I couldn't move, or speak, or even look away -- I felt like I was about a foot tall.

His huge face seemed to get closer and closer, filling my entire field of vision, and I could see minute details in perfect clarity: the pores on the bulb of his large nose, the tiny, oozing beads of sweat on his forehead, a crescent-shaped scar near the bottom of his chin, and the flecks of gold and grey in his irises.

A bizarre idea suddenly formed in my head: He wasn't even human. He was some kind of monster disguised as a human, and the hungry gaze he had fixed on me was actually that -- HUNGER. I meant nothing to him, not as a person; I was just his prey, and he'd think absolutely nothing of killing and eating me.

I saw his lips slowly part... his wide mouth began to open...

But then Mitch was coming up behind him, asking Scott which vehicle they were going to take, and the spell was broken.

Four

Only three of them went -- Roger stayed behind. I didn't want to see him. But I knew I couldn't just stay outside all day; besides, the sun was getting low in the sky, starting to disappear behind the trees, and the bugs would be coming out again soon.

Finally, reluctantly, I went in. Roger was laying on the couch, apparently having a nap.

I was shaken by my strange encounter with The Sarge, and decided that I needed to get drunk. What I really wanted was to leave, but it seemed like I was stuck here for the whole weekend.

Quietly, I got a rum and coke from the kitchen and then went into the back room. About fifteen minutes later, as I was sitting on a bed and flipping through some magazines, Roger came in, looking sleepy.

"Hey man, where you been?" He was slowly scratching his stomach.

"Oh... hey Rog. Just out." Even though I was still upset, I found myself thinking about that magnificent cock in his pants.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

He sat down on the next cot. "You look pissed-off or somethin'."

"No, I'm fine."

He eyed me suspiciously for a moment... then he shrugged.

I was getting a buzz already -- I usually get drunk pretty easily, and I'd made that drink kinda strong. Feeling brave, I tried to think of some way to ask him about that discussion I'd overheard earlier. "Uh," I started, "what did Scott--"

Suddenly Roger said, "Fuck it's hot in here." He straightened up and peeled off his T-shirt. I tried not to stare at his exposed torso, but I couldn't help it.

"I..." I couldn't remember what I was trying to say anymore. I was mesmerized by the way the hair swirled around his nipples.

Roger slowly got up and sat beside me. I mean right beside me -- he was actually pressed up against me. I could feel the intense heat from his body, feel his sweat soaking into my shirt. I could smell his muskiness, his manliness. Rog put his big arm around my shoulders and pulled me in even closer, then his other hand took hold of my chin almost gently, and he turned my face towards his. My heart was pounding so violently, I thought it might burst from my chest. I could hardly believe what was happening...

He planted a big, wet kiss right on my mouth.

I pulled away. "Jesus, Roger!"

"Hey, what's wrong, man?"

I struggled to get up off the bed. His muscular arms held me firmly in place for a moment, but then he released me.

"What the hell are you--?" I spluttered.

"You want it, don't you? I can tell, Paul. I'm not stupid, ya know."

"No... I mean, yes, but... shit." I was so nervous I could hardly think. I'd fantasized about kissing him a million times, but now... it just didn't feel right. I mean, it had felt FANTASTIC: the way his lips were soft but firm at the same time, just how I'd always imagined they'd be... the way his bristly mustache had brushed my nose... the hot taste of his saliva...

But this was not Roger; something was wrong here. Everything was wrong. He stood up. "So then what's the problem?"

"Well, jeez. You coulda given me some warning!"

A grin spread across his face. He stepped closer to me and said, "Where's the fun in that? Heh heh."

"So then... what? This is just a game to you?" His grin disappeared.

"Rog, if you knew that I-- oh crap, just forget it." I walked past him and went into the main room.

"Hey, come on. Wait." He came up behind me and put a strong hand on my shoulder.

"Fuck off," I said. It was the first time that I'd ever said that to him and meant it. I knew it was a very risky thing to do - the average person does not tell Roger Fulton to fuck off and get away with it - but I didn't care.

His hand tightened on me almost painfully. "Paul, I'm not foolin' around with you. I mean it, buddy."

I turned to look at him... and saw the most incredible mix of emotions on his face. There was that odd stare again, but now it was mixed with other stuff too. It's hard to describe. I thought I could see something like guilt, maybe even regret, along with an almost desperate longing. He wanted me... and yet he wasn't sure. I'd never seen such intense feeling, such openness, in Roger's expression before.

He put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed. "Come on," he said, "Let's do it, man. We might not get a chance to later."

I realized that Roger was completely serious. He really did want me.

Slowly I reached up -- my fingertips had barely brushed his skin when I noticed that I could hear something outside. A vehicle was approaching. We both turned to the window, and saw Scott's truck bouncing up the dirt road.

"Aw, FUCK!" Roger snarled, and he stomped back into the bedroom.

It was starting to get dark. On the crackling radio, Patsy Cline was falling to pieces...

We were all sitting at the table having a late supper (it was salmon steaks -- from the store, of course). Strangely, Roger and Scott weren't really eating that much; they were just picking at their food. I guess I could see how Roger might've had too much on his mind to eat, but I couldn't understand why his brother wasn't hungry.

Mitch even commented on it, but all Scott would say was, "I'll have somethin' later." And he grinned and nudged Rog with his elbow.

I noticed a few times during dinner that they'd exchanged curious-looking glances with each other; something seemed to be passing between them. It probably would've had me concerned earlier, but now all I could really think about was that kiss...

It was incredible. In the ten years that I'd known him, I'd never seen any hint that he felt the same way about me as I felt about him. A part of me still suspected that this must be a trick -- a guy like Roger couldn't be queer. Still, I was excited. And I hoped that somehow we'd have a chance to be alone again.

Afterwards we played some cards. A few mosquitos had gotten in, buzzing around us, as I'd thought they would.

At one point Andy slapped at the side of his face so hard that he almost knocked his glasses off. He muttered, "Fuckin' skitters... git lost!" It was probably the first time that I'd understood a complete sentence from him.

Roger was fairly quiet -- I worried that maybe he was having second thoughts about "doing it" with me. But The Sarge was his old self: loud and jovial, laughing roughly at everything, punching Rog in the shoulder and thumping Mitch on the back (luckily I wasn't sitting next to him; he would've knocked me to the floor). I can't even guess how many beers he'd guzzled down by then.

Actually, we were all drinking quite a bit, even me -- the alcohol was really starting to go to my head. It was becoming harder and harder to resist staring at Roger; I wished that I could touch him... I wanted him, more than ever now. But I knew I'd have to be careful about what I did or said around the others.

I felt good, though. The fear and confusion was melting away. It seemed like everything was going to be alright...

Five

I was getting pretty drunk. I didn't even know what game we were playing anymore. I kept putting cards down and the guys kept yelling and throwing them back at me. I thought it was pretty funny.

Rog chuckled, saying, "I think Paul needs a beer." He got up, staggering slightly. "I'll get us another round, guys."

"No," I started, "I need--" but then I suddenly yawned (I always get so tired when I drink).

This caused Scott, who was sitting across from me, to yawn too. It was an eerie sight: Scott's mouth was HUGE... it seemed to stretch wider and wider, becoming a deep cavern, while his thick tongue curled up and he let out a massive, nasal groan. "Yikes!" Mitch said.

I was transfixed. Shit, it almost looked like I could fit my whole head in there! I could see right to the back of his throat, see the way his uvula glistened and waver- ed. For a moment, I thought again of how Scott reminded me of some kind of monster... but I was a bit too intoxicated to feel frightened by him.

Andy cocked a thumb at Scott and made a comment to the effect that his mouth looked big enough to fit (something) inside; this cracked everyone else up, and by the raunchy way they laughed I assumed it was a sexual remark.

Then I noticed that Scott had that look on his face again -- the intense stare full of hunger. This time it wasn't directed at me though; he was looking at Mitch, examin- ing him up and down, almost like he was sizing him up.

Fuckin' weird, I thought.

I stood up, holding onto the table. "I hafta go lie down for awhile," I said. Then I started laughing. Moby's Dick. That's what he'd said; you could fit Moby's Dick in there.

As I drifted into the back room, I heard an explosive, deafening belch behind me: "YAAAARRG!!"

And Mitch saying, "Whoa, I think ya got some on me with that one, Scott."

Man, what a pig...

I must've fallen asleep for awhile. Or passed out. I was on one of the lower bunks, on my side, facing the wall... when I realized I could hear someone breathing. The cot behind me creaked. Then a finger poked me in the shoulderblade. "Hey, bud..." It was Roger.

I turned towards him. Even though I was laying down, I felt really dizzy. I guess I'd drunk a lot more than I thought. "Hi Rog," I said, smiling weakly.

His big face seemed expressionless, partially lit from the lights in the next room. The blue eyes looked black, each with a tiny, glittering point of white. For a moment he just stared, then he grinned at me. "You're wasted, man." His voice was kinda hoarse and rough. It sounded very sexy.

"So are you."

He made a sound like a low grunt, kinda like a caveman... then he moved forward, kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, and his face came in close to mine... I could hear his belly growling, and he suppressed a burp.

He put a hand flat on my stomach, down low, below my navel.

"Roger..." My voice was barely above a whisper.

I could see his eyes growing wide. It looked like there was some drool shining on his lower lip. His chest was heaving with each breath he took. He moved in even closer. I could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath.

"Someone will see," I mumbled. I didn't really care, though.

"I want you, man. Fuck, I wanna take you so bad..."

Did that mean he wanted to screw me? I couldn't even imagine the thought of that huge dick of his up my ass. He'd kill me with that thing!

"I don't--" I started.

"I want you inside me... but I think ya might be a bit too big for me. I dunno if I'm ready." There was that phrase again. What did he mean? I was confused now.... Was he talking about my penis size? As far as I knew, he'd never even seen it.

Before I could ask him about it, he grasped me firmly by the wrist and pulled my hand close to his face, inhaling deeply. He appeared to be smelling me. Roger's eyes seemed to roll back. He let out a low moan and said, "Ohhhh... nice."

I think I giggled. It seemed kinda strange, but he was getting turned on by the scent of my flesh.

I put my fingertips near his mouth -- I wanted to touch his thick mustache. Rog suddenly opened up and lunged forward, taking four of my fingers into his mouth past the second knuckles. He started to suck on them noisily. Then he took them in even further... my hand was starting to go in...

Now I was the one moaning. It felt hot, wet and squishy in there, but it was also strangely erotic. Actually, it felt really nice. Roger was pressing my thumb inwards, while he stretched his mouth wider. I watched in surprise as he engulfed my entire hand. He'd done it quite easily. I thought, well this is slightly bizzare, isn't it? What was he trying to do?

I could feel his teeth just barely scraping against the top and bottom of my wrist. Then he was grabbing my forearm close to the elbow and, with a heavy grunt, he pushed me in still further. I could feel his throat actually opening up as my hand was bent downwards and forced into it. My arm was beginning to slide into his gaping mouth, rather quickly too. The look on his face was one of total ecstasy.

"Holy crap." I almost laughed... he was eating my arm! How the hell was he doing it?? I guess if I hadn't been so out of it I would've been fairly alarmed by what was happening. "Uh... Roger, you're gonna choke or something. Stop. Shit... hey, Rog..." Roger's eyes were squeezed shut. He slurped at me hungrily, as his lips eagerly worked their way up my forearm, inch by inch. I could feel the contractions of his throat -- peristalsis, trying to swallow me down. His other hand was tightly clamped onto the waistband of my jeans, holding me in place on the bed.

His mouth and throat felt like they were coated with unusually slippery saliva. There was a great deal of it. And his jaw seemed to be almost unhinging somehow. It was surreal... he was nearly up to my elbow now. His excitement seemed to be growing with each gulp he took.

My head was spinning. I knew I must've been hallucinating or something. There was no way the guy could be doing this; it was physically impossible! But he wasn't stopping, or even slowing down. It didn't feel nice anymore. Drunk as I was, I started to experience the beginnings of real fear. I reached up and put my hand on his forehead, trying to push him away, but he continued taking me in.

"Roger, cut it out... I mean it, man. Goddamit!" I was about to hit him when I noticed that I could hear shuffling footsteps approaching.

Roger's eyes snapped open. He stopped what he was doing.

Andy came into the bedroom, weaving a bit. He was heading towards one of the cots -- he didn't even look towards us.

Rog relaxed his hold on me, and I immediately pulled my arm free of him; there was a thick sucking sound as it came out of his throat, and then he gasped in a great breath of air. He settled back, sitting on the floor, while I wiped my hand and arm off with my shirt in disgust.

Andy laid down face up, with his feet to the wall, his head hanging out over the front edge of the cot and both arms splayed out. I could hear a thin, buzzy snoring... he'd fallen asleep right away.

"Jesus Christ," I whispered, "you're fucking crazy, man."

Roger just sat there, staring at me, breathing deeply.

"How the hell were you doin' that, anyway?"

A smile slowly spread across his face, a very wide and rather sinister-looking smile. "Pretty cool, eh?"

Six

I needed to get outside -- I had to get away from him. I got up and grabbed myself a beer from the kitchen, then went to sit on the front steps (I think Mitch asked me something as I passed by but I didn't really hear him). The bugs were awful out there, so I stumbled over to Scott's truck and sat inside that instead. I noticed the front of my shirt was still wet with saliva. I felt disoriented and queasy... Roger had really freaked me out.

I heard the door to the cabin open a short time later. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw that it was him. He'd put a shirt back on, a black, sleeveless T. I watched as he had a long piss off the porch, then he stepped down. He seemed to be looking around... looking for me.

I crouched lower in my seat. It was pitch-black outside; hopefully he couldn't see where I was. But somehow he knew. He was heading right towards the pick-up.

I wondered if I should lock the doors -- then I thought, nothing would stop Roger. No keys in the ignition; didn't matter, I knew I'd never be able to keep the truck on the road in my condition anyway.

Rog got in beside me, slamming the door shut. "Goin' somewhere?" he asked.

I didn't say anything. I just looked straight ahead.

He turned on the overhead light. "I guess I scared ya, huh?" His voice was strangely flat. I could feel him staring at me, studying me.

I took a swig of beer. "You're fuckin' right you scared me. That was... just... weird. Man, it was weird!"

I couldn't quite look at him, but I knew he was smiling again. He reached over and put a big hand on my shoulder, giving it an almost friendly squeeze, and I cringed a little.

"How could you just swallow half my arm like that?" I felt like I wasn't quite talk- ing properly -- my tongue seemed to be moving a bit too slowly. I'm sure my speech must've been slurred.

"I dunno. I guess I was hungry."

"Quit kiddin' around. That's not normal, Rog. Normal people can't do that. I don't--"

"Hey," he said, "it runs in the family."

"What?"

"If you think THAT was somethin', then..." But he didn't finish. In a way, I was glad he didn't.

I closed my eyes and rubbed at my temple in slow circles, trying to calm myself, trying to get a grip on things. But everything that had happened was overwhelming me. "What's this all about?" I asked him. "I mean, what's going on here?"

He didn't respond to that.

I thought about how his face had looked when he was taking my arm in. "You... you were getting off on it."

Roger inhaled deeply. "Yeah. I like it." He took the half-empty can of beer out of my hand and downed a big swallow.

"Jeez, it's like you were trying to eat me or something."

A few seconds of dead silence passed. Then he gave a small chuckle and said, "No, I'm not gonna eat you, Paul... but ya better fuckin' watch out for Scott." I turned to face him. "What does that mean?"

"Well what d'ya think it means?" His pale eyes bored into me.

I didn't feel so good -- I wondered if I was gonna puke or pass out or something. "Rog..." I began, shaking my head. But I couldn't put words to all the jumbled thoughts rushing through my mind. Too much booze. I felt like I'd been transported to another planet, and nothing made sense anymore. I wished I could just go home... "Scott's a big guy, y'know," he said. "How do ya think he got so big?"

"I... don't know."

"I swear, that guy could eat a fuckin' buffalo. Mitch might not be enough for him."

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. "I wanna get outta here."

"He's pretty hungry tonight--"

"Shit, this is insane. Roger, I wanna leave."

"You can't leave." His voice was cold, emotionless.

"I thought you were my friend, man..." I pleaded.

Roger gave me a dark look. "Sheesh, don't do that." There was nothing the least bit friendly about his manner anymore, and with a sick, sinking feeling I began to realize that I didn't really know him at all...

Though I was trying not to think about it, the events of that weekend were starting to come together now: the way Rog and Scott had behaved, the odd comments I'd heard.

And they had both skipped supper.

Roger belched and lit up a cigarette. He sat there quietly for a minute or two, then seemed to come to a decision. Somehow, I knew he was about to tell me exactly what was going to happen to me. I didn't want to hear it.

He began, "There's sumthin'.... I dunno if I can explain it. It's like, when I get horny, I just get so fuckin' HUNGRY. Hell, maybe it's the other way 'round!" He laughed, and his stomach let out a big groan. "Shit, I'm starvin'. I always am. Y'know, when I--"

I started to reach for the door handle but Roger grabbed a fistful of my shirt and pulled me back towards him until my face was inches from his.

"When I look at you, man, all I can think about is swallowin' you up. Damn! I always tried to ignore it before, but... I just can't no more." His eyes were wild, almost bulging out of their sockets, pupils dilating, and he was turning red with excitement. He seemed enormous to me, getting bigger all the time, like he was inflating -- I felt dwarfed by his awesome presence, and absolutely powerless in his grip.

I could see it now: Roger was a monster too. Just like his brother.

"Fuck, I really want you..." he went on. He was practically smacking his lips, he was so ravenous. "I wanna feel ya deep down inside my belly, alive an' whole an' kickin'. I want it so bad -- I NEED it. I dunno why. But... I'm prob'ly not ready for someone as big as you yet." He let go of me and sighed. "It's too bad. Andy, he's just a little guy, I think I can do him... I know I can. Hell, I'm gonna try, anyways. Hmmm, maybe Scott's gonna hafta help push him in!" He laughed.

I covered my face with my hands.

"Oh man, can't wait to see what it feels like. You should see Scott do it, it's fuckin' amazing. One gulp.... well, I guess you'll find out."

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. People can't swallow each other whole, that's what I wanted to tell him...

But somehow I sensed that everything Roger was telling me was true, and I was terrified -- even though in the back of my mind I knew that if I'd been sober and sensible, I wouldn't have have believed any of it.

He shook his head. "I'd like to take you one day... goddam, I'd love it! But I guess I won't get the chance. The Sarge is in charge tonight, buddy, and he's gonna have ya. Right after he takes Mitch." Although he was grinning, he sounded kinda disap- pointed, almost sad.

"Jesus..." I croaked. This is all just a nightmare, I told myself, it must be. Every- thing will be alright in the morning. I just need to lie down. Yeah, that's it.

Roger moved in closer to me again, intimately close; I could feel his hot, beery breath blowing into my face. Then he reached down... and rubbed at my crotch.

"Hey," he said, "there's still some time, though. If you still wanna do it."

I got out of the truck, and this time he didn't try to stop me.

As soon as I stood up, I knew I was in trouble -- my legs were rubbery, my head felt like a balloon. I stumbled forward, not really sure where I was going. When I felt my feet starting to get wet, I realized that I was heading into the marsh. I turned around, trying to remember which way the road was, but it was too dark to see anything.

I took a few more steps, and next thing I knew I was laying face down on the ground.

And then I felt Roger's strong arms... picking me up...

Seven

Slowly I began to realize that I was back on the bed. I felt cold and sweaty at the same time, and my heart was fluttering, agitated by adrenalin. I had the feeling that I'd been dreaming about Roger, something arousing, yet frightening at the same time. I tried to lift my head but there was such a sickening rush of blood to my skull, I had to give up on that.

My nose hurt and there was some grit in my mouth. I noticed that I still had a bit of a hard-on, a remnant of the dream. In the next room I could hear the radio, nothing but static now. Close by, there was a faint snoring...

And then someone speaking, low and rough: "Okay buddy, it's time."

Carefully, I tilted my face towards the voice. I could see Roger, standing near the foot of the cot that Andy was sleeping on. He was simply staring down at him, his big chest heaving in and out, his fists clenching and unclenching. He seemed to be psyching himself up for something.

Rog dropped down onto his knees heavily, close to where Andy's head hung out over the edge of the cot. His hands lightly stroked the little guy's face, almost loving- ly. Licking his lips, he took off the man's glasses.

Then he crouched down lower, while lifting Andy's head up towards him. I knew what was coming...

Roger took in a deep breath and opened his mouth wide. I could see drool running down his chin. He put his lips on the crown of the guy's smallish head and pressed forward, while forcing his jaws apart. He strained and stretched, wider and wider -- there was a muffled pop as something seemed to dislocate, and then Roger's mouth increased in size dramatically. He began taking Andy in.

The top of the guy's head was actually sliding into Roger's gaping maw. From deep inside his chest, I heard Rog emit a tremendous groan, either from the effort, or from pleasure, or both. Roger's furry upper lip was passing over Andy's fore- head... now sliding over his eyes. His lower jaw worked frantically to stretch open even more and make room for this unbelievable mouthful. It was obviously not easy for him... but somehow, he was doing it.

I noticed then how hard Rog was getting -- inside his jeans, I could see his mon- strous cock swelling down one pant leg, almost halfway to the knee. I felt nothing as I watched all this; I knew I still had to be dreaming.

Roger's eyes were squeezed shut. His throat was expanding, filling out as Andy's head moved into it. His mouth was now already starting to cover the guy's chin, and Andy, no longer able to breathe, began to weakly struggle. I could hear his faint whimpers...

But then Roger suddenly stopped. Abruptly he pulled all the way back, releasing Andy's head completely. The smaller man began to cough and gasp, but oddly enough he didn't wake up. Roger's jaw made a wet, crackling sound as it returned to its normal position.

It had only been a practice run. Now I could see the look of confidence on Roger's face; he knew he could do it.

In the next room I could hear some drunken mumbling, sounded like Mitch. There was a low burp, followed by a fart, and then some chuckling.

Then Scott's voice: "I hafta tell ya somethin', Mitch..."

Roger ignored them. He was staring at Andy's slick, wet, shiny head with a voracious, wide-eyed expression, while he rubbed his hands together eagerly. He was ready to go all the way now, and nothing was going to stop him.

"Rog," I whispered.

He looked over at me. His stomach was rumbling loudly, continuously. He made a sucking sound with his lips -- the guy seemed barely able to contain the copious quantities of saliva that his mouth was producing.

"Don't..." I said.

But he only smiled at me.

Roger proceeded to tear Andy's shirt off. He didn't even seem to care whether he woke him up or not (but Andy was probably too drunk to notice anyway). Then Rog leaned over the little guy's body and let the drool flow out of his mouth... he smeared it over Andy's torso and arms with one hand, while with the other he un- zipped his fly and struggled to yank that big fat dick out. I could see precum was already oozing from it. Roger turned Andy onto one shoulder so he could get some slobber on his back, too. I thought, he must be lubricating him. He was working fast -- I could see how anxious he was to take him in.

Then Rog opened wide again, and this time Andy's head slid in much easier. Seemingly in one gulp, he'd taken him in right down to the neck.

I closed my eyes; I could feel my head starting to spin. It's only a dream, I kept telling myself over and over. But it was too real.

And I couldn't ignore those sounds...

Finally I had to look again: Roger was using both hands to scrunch Andy's scrawny shoulders together, while his mouth struggled to get around them. Andy was clearly awake now, kicking violently. I could actually hear him trying to cry out from deep within Roger's distended throat.

Rog gulped frantically, eyes bulging, as he worked his jaw from side to side almost like a snake. Somehow his lips continued to stretch wide, impossibly wide, now big enough to begin taking in Andy's torso, pinning his arms to his sides... As terrible as it was to watch, it was also rather astounding. Almost fascinating, really.

"Whoa..." I muttered stupidly.

Andy was starting to slide across the cot as he was pulled inside; he tried to grab at the sidebars, but it was no use.

Do something, I told myself. But no, how could I do anything? This HAD to be a dream!

Unable to move, I watched in a daze as Roger continued his work; he undid Andy's belt buckle and pushed his pants and underwear down, as far as his arms could reach. Then with one hand he began to pump at his own engorged cock, and I saw a long string of thick precum slowly drip towards the floor.

Rog couldn't really make any sound with how full his gullet was, but it was obvious that he was excited beyond words. In no time, he began to orgasm: a heavy spurt jetted out two feet under the cot and slapped wetly onto the dusty floor, followed by another, and another...

Seeing Roger shoot a load was a vision I would've killed to see before, but now, with a man stuffed halfway down his throat, struggling to escape, and Rog loving every second of it -- it was a horrible, obscene spectacle.

At that point I think my mind just refused to accept any more. I faded away...

A distant voice woke me up. I took a long, slow, deep breath and opened my eyes; it was still nighttime.

There was an awful, fuzzy taste in my mouth, and I could still feel the pounding in my veins, but it had lessened somewhat. My head actually felt a bit clearer. The terrifyingly vivid dream I'd had was still very fresh in my mind. But now I was awake, I was sure of it. Just a dream, that's all -- there was nothing to be afraid of any more.

I knew it must've been the alcohol; I rarely ever drank that much. And somehow I'd misinterpreted the things that I'd seen and heard and then overreacted, going off into some weird paranoid fantasy of my own. That was the only logical explanation. I wasn't sure at what point reality had ended and the "dream" (or whatever it was) had begun, but obviously I had NOT seen my friend Roger trying to swallow a man whole!

Jeez, I'd really lost it there...

I was starting to feel better now, and more in control of my faculties. I let out a relieved sigh. Looking at the little glowing hands of my watch, I saw that it was just after 2:00am. I needed to go outside for a pee.

There was the voice again; it was Mitch, in the next room. "Holy Christ, how... how you doin' that?" I heard him say.

Groggily, I sat up. There was a very large, dark figure laying down a few beds over. Must've been The Sarge.

I blinked my eyes and took another look...

Scott? No, it wasn't Scott... it was Rog. But something wasn't right. In the gloom, I could see that his stomach looked immense. Somehow, it had become an enormous, bloated ball, rising up like a mountain.

"What the--?" I started. I could feel a prickling at the back of my neck.

Roger was laying on the cot that Andy had been on, and Andy was gone. His gut was so unbelievably huge and distended that his shirt was stretched taut almost to the point of bursting at the seams. I actually rubbed my eyes and looked again, but the sight remained the same. And this time, I knew I was not dreaming. "Oh fuck..." I whispered.

Eight

I felt my entire body growing weak with fear. But I had to get closer... I had to be absolutely sure.

Somehow I managed to stand up on unsteady legs; I was still a bit intoxicated. Staggering over to where Roger lay, I called out softly, anxiously: "Andy?" I looked around the room... Andy was not there. But on the floor I could see his glasses, his torn shirt, and the rest of his clothes.

I stared at Roger. His massive belly was slowly rising and falling with each breath; he sounded asleep. The bottom of the black shirt had pulled up to reveal a wide expanse of the lower curve of his belly. His jeans were open, and I could see the trail of hair that led down towards the waistband of his briefs... but the hair seemed sparser. I realized it was because the skin of his stomach was stretched so much. Almost on its own, my hand reached out -- I poked Rog lightly in the gut. "Andy?" I whispered again.

Roger's stomach was not quite round. I could just make out the lumpiness of what- ever lay inside it -- not enough bellyfat to smooth the outlines. It didn't take much imagination for me to see the curled-up form: the bumps of the knees and elbows, the curve of the back, even the head. A human being was in there. I started to wobble. An icy coldness seemed to be trickling down my spine all the way to my feet, which felt like leaden weights. There was no way for me to deny it now -- I was fully awake and aware, I knew I was. What I was seeing was absolutely real... and everything that had happened was real too.

Roger groaned and shifted slightly. His gut was making loud, liquid gurgling sounds and I could see it moving, undulating ever so slightly. But somehow I knew it wasn't Andy who was moving -- he had suffocated long ago, he must have. No, what I was seeing were the digestive processes going to work.

"Jesus, Andy..." I moaned, feeling sick.

I heard Mitch talking again, sounding drunkenly amused but also somewhat nervous: "Okay Scott... okay, I believe ya. You can lemme out now."

And I could hear something else, too... a thick, wet, slurping sound that was all too familiar.

"Hey? C'mon, big guy." Mitch giggled faintly.

Numb and barely able to walk, I forced my legs into motion and headed towards his voice. I was terrified of what I would see, but I knew I had to look. I turned the corner... and almost pissed in my pants. Scott was sitting in a chair almost in the centre of the room. He was leaning way back, face tilted up, with his mouth gaped open so grotesquely wide that his chin was resting on his bare chest. And Mitch was standing up inside him.

Mitch was naked; I could see his clothes and shoes on the floor beside them. Their bodies were both facing the same way, and Scott's lips were stretched around the guy's ample belly, just about at the navel. Mitch's lower half was completely inside Scott -- he was rapidly sinking in even further. Scott was just sucking him in with huge, noisy gulps, hungrily gobbling him up, while he grunted like a hog... His red face was shiny with sweat, and the veins were popping out at his temples.

Mitch noticed me standing there and actually gave me a crooked grin. He looked very drunk. "Oh... hey Paul. You passed out, huh?" Then he almost laughed. "Holy crap!" I gasped.

"Well, I guess I lost this bet." His belly was quickly disappearing into the huge mouth. I could see Scott's chest expanding as Mitch's bulk moved into it. "Fuck. Ain't that somethin'..." Mitch muttered, looking down at himself in awe. I don't think he really understood the magnitude of what was happening to him.

I could hear something behind me. Movement... a creak as someone got up...

Mitch's chest was sliding in; he was being swallowed at an incredible rate. Now becoming slightly more alarmed, he said in a strained voice, "Er... Scott, wait." He seemed to be finding it difficult to breathe. "Damn-- uuughh, stop. I think you made your point..." But Scott only put his big hands over Mitch's head, squeezing and pushing down on it firmly. Mitch in turn grimaced and put his hands over Scott's. From the next room, a low groan...

I mumbled, "Man, this can't be happening..." I wanted to close my eyes, but it was impossible not to watch. I knew I should've done something to try to save him -- but I just couldn't, I was rooted to the spot.

I was only dimly aware as slow, heavy footsteps began to approach me from behind...

With a deep swallow, Scott took Mitch's wide shoulders into his mouth, forcing the guy's arms to bend up. Another massive gulp, and Mitch's head began to sink in -- the last thing I heard him say was, "Wow." His eyes, wide with surprise, disappear- ed from view. Then his arms were being drawn in, his hands grabbing at the empty air. I could see Scott's hairy belly bloat outwards as Mitch's heavy mass slid into it, making a sound I can't even describe.

Scott suddenly shifted forward, and somehow he heaved himself up into a standing position. His jaw continued to work as Mitch's hands quickly slipped inside (gravity seemed to be doing part of the work too). Another great swallow, and it was over. Scott's unbelievably huge stomach distended even more as Mitch's body settled into it. I noticed that, like Roger, he'd left his pants undone to allow for maximum expansion.

A big paw rested on my shoulder, and squeezed. Roger was right behind me. The last time he and I had been in this position, that touch was meant to assure me that everything was going to be okay; now, it was to remind me that I was doomed.

I turned towards Rog as he said, "Don't worry, buddy. It won't hurt at all--" He abruptly let out an enormous burp, then rubbed his gorged stomach, muttering, "Uhhh, yeah..."

Scott was lurching towards me. I was amazed that he could even keep his balance with all that weight in his belly -- Mitch had been more than twice Andy's size. "Hey, way to go," Scott said cheerfully. "Ya finally did it! Right on!" I could still hear Mitch's muffled voice, see his half-hearted struggles inside that massive gut. A groan rose up through Scott's chest and he heaved out a great, gassy belch: "Uuu-UUOOOOOAGHhh!!" He chuckled and slapped his gut, saying, "Oof, hey that guy tasted kinda like Doug Peterson."

He was now so close that his stomach was touching me. I could feel Mitch shift- ing around in there. Roger, meanwhile, had moved in closer as well -- I was pressed between their full, bloated bellies. At this point I was shaking so bad, they were probably holding me up.

"So how was it, Rog?"

"Aw, fuckin' awesome! Even - urp - better than ya said it'd be." I looked up at him; he had a big, satisfied grin on his face.

Scott released another noisy blast: "Baaaarrp! Ah, jeez..." Mixed in with the hot, steamy smell of beer, I thought I could detect a hint of Mitch's Old Spice. "An' it just gets better every time! Okay, I think I'm ready for some dessert."

Rog laughed. "I dunno, man... ya look pretty damn full to me!"

"No way." Scott winked down at me. Mitch's faint cries, and his struggles, were becoming more urgent; I guess the horror of his situation was finally dawning on him. "Fuck, I think I coulda done THREE guys tonight!" Scott said. "C'mon, pick him up, Rog. You can feed 'im to me."

Something snapped in me then, and I knew I had to move...

For a moment I actually considered diving out the window. Instead, I tried to dart around Scott and make a break for the door. Scott reached for my neck and I ducked -- I almost thought I'd made it, but his meaty fist gave me a glancing blow to the head and I went sprawling to the floor, knocking the chair over. "Get 'im!" one of them shouted, laughing... I'm not sure which.

I scrambled forward towards the wood stove on all fours. The floor shook as someone came up from behind... Before I could get to my feet, his hands were on me. He was lifting me like I weighed nothing, turning me around to face him. It was The Sarge. With frightening speed, almost too fast for me too see exactly how he did it, Scott had both my arms in his mouth and he slurped them in almost to the shoulders. His face, just inches from mine now, was filled with intense, animal hunger... I think I was yelling at him to stop..

Scott gaped wider to take in my head. As he did, his throat relaxed for a second and I used all my strength to pull one of my arms free. The other one seemed stuck somehow.

I realized it was because Mitch had reached up from inside and was holding onto it.

Scott was pushing on the back of my head, tilting it towards his mouth. As my free hand waved about, it banged against something on the stove. Instinctively, I grabbed whatever it was and slammed Scott in the side of the head with it. We both went down heavily. I heard Scott's belly slopping -- along with Mitch, there still must've been a lot of beer in there. Fortunately I'd managed to turn so that the huge man didn't land on me, but inside Scott's gullet, poor Mitch was still tightly grasping my arm... in fact, he was almost pulling me further in.

Scott was moaning. I looked over his shoulder and saw Roger standing on the other side of the room. He was just watching us, making no attempt to intervene. The expression on his face was almost one of curiosity.

On the floor beside me I could see the object I'd used to hit Scott: it was a cast- iron pot. I was about to reach for it again, but then Mitch's hold on me slackened. I immediately yanked myself free and got up...

Scott suddenly grabbed at my ankles and sent me to the floor again. He was dragging me towards him, his hands holding my legs painfully tight. I looked back and saw his giant mouth opening again as he tried to guide my feet into it (even with my shoes on -- he didn't care). I squirmed and twisted until I got a leg free, then I planted a good, strong kick right in his face. He let out a roar and released me.

I got up and raced to the door... but paused to take one last look at Roger.

He was still doing nothing to stop my escape or help his brother -- just looking at me. There was the faintest smile on his face.

I ran outside. It was the last time I saw him.

Nine

It took me well over an hour to get to the highway, and the whole time I was terrified that I'd hear Scott's truck coming up behind me... but with their enormous stomachs I don't think either of them could've gotten behind the wheel.

The road was totally empty -- I knew there'd be little chance of hitching a ride at this hour. It was starting to drizzle. I wasn't sure which way the nearest town was, so I took shelter under a bridge to wait for morning. I was scratched and bruised all over from having fallen in the darkness more times than I can count, and my arm was sore... the same arm Mitch had been holding onto for dear life.

I was totally exhausted, but needless to say I didn't get much sleep that night.

There's not much left to tell...

Eventually, I got home safely. I quit my job and checked into a motel for a few days, just in case they decided to come after me. I never told anyone about what happened -- really, who COULD I tell?

Basically that was the end of it. But I did have one more brief encounter with Scott:

On Monday I stopped into work only for a minute, to make arrangements for my last paycheck. I was still pretty queasy from all the booze. I went in very early, hoping to miss Roger and Scott on the chance they might be there... but as I was leaving I happened to see Scott's truck pulling up. I hid behind a dumpster and watched Scott get out; Roger was not with him.

Scott had a big bandage on the side of his head and a black eye. I looked at his stomach -- already it was almost back to its normal size. I felt a sickening chill as I thought, had he actually digested an entire person that quickly?

I wondered if he was looking for me. I wanted to know where Roger was -- I guess I even wanted to know if he was okay, if his brother had punished him or something for letting me escape. Strange, I thought, that I'd have such concern for the guy.

Of course I had no desire whatsoever to run into Scott, so I slunk away...

At first I felt fairly sure that he hadn't seen me, but soon after I got into my car I sensed a large shadow approaching, looming beside me. I turned to see Scott right there, hunched down and looking into my driver's side window. There was a blank look on his face.

My door was unlocked; I tried to reach for it but I couldn't seem to move at all -- I was frozen. Scott tended to have that effect on me...

In a moment, I knew he was going to pull me out and finish me right there, not even caring that we were right by a busy street where everyone would see.

But he didn't do anything... instead, he just gave me a smile. Not a dark, sinister smile meant to frighten me; it was more genuine. Something about it almost seemed to convey honest respect. I'm not sure but I think he was telling me that my daring escape had impressed him, and I'd earned the right to survive... for now anyway.

"Seeya 'round, Paul," he said simply, and walked away.

They left me alone -- I suppose they both must've known how ridiculous my story would've sounded if I blabbed. I have to say I was a bit surprised that someone like The Sarge wouldn't have retaliated, hunted me down... if for no other reason than that I kicked him in the face.

And what about Roger? I guess he must've had some feelings for me after all. He easily could've stopped me that night, but he let me get away. On the other hand, maybe it was just so Scott wouldn't have me. Maybe Roger was still hoping to take me himself one day...

Rog knew where I lived; he could've come after me if he'd wanted to. For months I dreaded his visit -- I even considered moving to another city. But he never came. He didn't even try calling me. Up until that sighting at the hardware store, I never heard from him again.

That number kept coming back to me: 78.

I thought of the name Scott had mentioned: Doug Peterson. He'd been a huge, fat guy who used to do roadwork with us. One day he simply hadn't shown up, and no- one ever found out what happened. Now I knew, of course. And I began to remem- ber some others as well, men who seemed to have just disappeared, mysteriously: Freddy, Lorne, Bill...

Eventually it all faded from my mind. I guess it's not so surprising that I could forget all that. I had to. I'd escaped, and they were no longer interested in me... but the whole thing was far from over. For Rog it was just beginning. And I just couldn't let myself think about that.

78. That's what Scott had said he was up to...

It was almost inconceivable -- and that was over 20 years ago. Was he still doing it? What would the number be today? And what about Roger? Was he catching up?

I've been kinda depressed since I saw him again. Despite everything, I have to admit that in a way I still have fond feelings for Roger. Even though the events of that time were blocked from my consciousness, and I haven't even thought of the man in years, somehow I don't think my crush on him ever really went away, if that's possible. It was always there, lurking... maybe waiting...

I'm slowly beginning to realize that a part of me wants to see him again. Just to talk to him. Maybe he'd like that? I guess I just want to know if he remembers me, if he ever thinks of me.

If he still wants me.

He HAD wanted me, after all... although not quite in the way I'd hoped.

Somehow I don't blame Roger. Scott was a horrible beast, eating guys up left and right only because he was hungry. But Rog did it out of passion, at least partly. I find myself looking at him and his strange appetite in a new way now. Roger Fulton loves men, I'm sure of that. He just has a different way of expressing it. Is that so bad?

I remember how he'd stared at me, how his face had looked when he was taking Andy -- I never felt that kind of passion for anything, probably not even for Roger. Or maybe I'd just never allowed myself to.

Looking back, I can see now that I wasn't the same person after that night. He'd taken something from me. Whether he realized it or not, he ate a part of me. Or am I just trying to find someone to blame for how things turned out? I think about my life so far... and I have to admit, there's not really much I can say about it: I have a mediocre job, few close friends... and I'm alone. I haven't had a partner for some time. I'm just puttering along aimlessly, and nobody cares or even notices. No... I guess I can't blame Roger for all that.

I've never given myself over completely to someone... but now I think, well, maybe I'm ready. Maybe it's time to take the plunge. What do I have to lose? It's starting to become more clear to me...

I need to find him. I want Roger to want me, and I'll offer myself to him in what- ever manner he's willing to take me. And I believe he WILL take me. It doesn't matter now; I just want us to be together, to share something special, and become a part of each other. He only had a taste before; it's time he finished me off. An old saying comes to my mind... I'm smiling now as I think of it: "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

I guess sometimes it's really true.

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