Dreams Such as These
When Lindsey McDonald was
fourteen, he had a dream. A startling dream, which ended the way most of
his early teenage dreams ended: his sweaty palm gripping his rigid cock
beneath the threadbare covers of his bed in the closet his mother called a
In the dream, Lindsey was
walking home from the pool hall, Corner Pocket, where he spent most of his
free time shooting the shit with his friends and sneaking sips of Eddie
Belder’s warm Coors.
Eddie was 18, but he looked 21
and he had fake ID. Lindsey thought Eddie was as cool as shit. He
particularly admired the casual way Eddie leaned against the peeling wall
of Corner Pocket, one lock of his dirty blonde hair hanging in a shaggy
curtain across his forehead. Eddie rolled his own cigarettes and it was rumored
he fucked girls in the men’s bathroom.
In Lindsey’s dream, Eddie’s face
was the last thing he remembered seeing before he left Corner Pocket and
started down the shitty main street towards home.
Dream Lindsey walks with his
head down, his hands shoved in the loose front pockets of his Levis 501’s.
There’s a John Cougar Mellencamp song in his head: Lonely Ol’ Night he
thinks and he hums a little bit, not too loud because he wouldn’t want
anyone to hear him; he wouldn’t want anyone to know he thinks John is kinda
At the town’s only traffic
light, Lindsey turns right. He passes the bakery and the Laundromat and a
few blocks down, the little elementary school he went to. Fuck, he hates
Dream Lindsey wishes he had a
smoke. He crosses the empty street and cuts through the cemetery that
separates his house, or shack to be more precise, from the rest of this
one-horse town. His mother won’t be home; she works at a truck stop on the
highway. His father is gone. At least this month.
The sky is lifeless. There isn’t
a single star to guide him, but Lindsey has passed this way before. As a
kid he could get from school to home in seven minutes flat with his eyes
closed. And his hands tied behind his back. He pauses to topple a crumbling
angel with one sneakered foot. Fuck it. It was goin’ in that direction
He’s pretty much in the middle
of the cemetery when he hears the noise. He stops and for a minute all he
can hear is his own breath in his ear. He twists his head trying to find
the noise again and catches something out of the corner of his eye, a flash
“Dickwad,” Lindsey mutters under
his breath. “I know you’re there,” he says a little more loudly. It’s a
lie. IHe doesn’t have a clue who’s doggin’ him. He takes a step forward,
rounding the edge of the Bishop Family Tomb. It’s the biggest monument in
the cemetery because the Bishop family practically owned everything in this
county and the next. Big feeling in life, dead like everyone else in the
Shelley Firth. She is standing
just past the Bishop’s tomb, where he wouldn’t be able to see her until
Shelley Firth is the most
beautiful girl in town and Lindsey has whacked off to the thought of her
luminous skin and candy-pink mouth on more than one occasion. Her tits are
like two little Dixie cups, small and pointed- all nipple and no flesh. She
has boy hips and a sweet ass and Dream Lindsey is hard the instant he sees
“Hi, Shelley,” he says. He looks
left and then right. Usually when there is a Shelley there is an Eddie. But
that wouldn’t make sense because he’d left Eddie at the pool hall.
“Yeah, well, I gotta get home,”
Lindsey says and takes a step forward.
“Are you going to be able to
walk?” Shelley smiles a little and looks down at Lindsey’s crotch.
She can see his hard on? In the
For a second Lindsey considers
his options. Shelley is obviously way older than her years. If you believe
the rumors- and Lindsey is inclined to- she’d sucked off the entire
football team by the time she was thirteen. Sadly, Lindsey wasn’t big
enough for football.
“I won’t hurt you,” she says,
“Like you could,” Lindsey says.
He isn’t tall, true, but he can scrap. Not that he has any interest in
‘scrapping’ with Shelley, but if Eddie finds out about this he’ll be
wearing his asshole as a hat.
Shelley falls to her knees on
the grass in front of Lindsey and starts popping the buttons on his fly.
Dream Lindsey’s dick emerges- a long hard powerful instrument of
Shelley coos with pleasure.
Lindsey sighs and closes his eyes. Anticipating his buckling knees, he
reaches one arm out to rest against the Bishop’s tomb.
And this is the point in the
dream that freaks Lindsey out. Because his hand doesn’t touch cool stone,
it touches something distinctly human. He feels the crisp cotton of a
shirt, the hard muscle that flexes under his palm. Lindsey turns to look
and watches, dazed, as a shadowy figure brings Lindsey’s wrist to his
Dream Lindsey couldn’t have told
you what the man looked like. Years later the face that his mind would
conjure up was Eddie Belder’s. So when he remembered the dream (and he
often did)- it was Eddie’s pale grey eyes slanted down at him, Eddie’s
thick fingers cradling his fragile wrist, Eddie’s teeth sinking into his
skin and sucking. Sucking.
And in the dream, Lindsey comes
before Shelley has even put her lips against the head of his cock.
There’s a knock at his door and
Lindsey looks up. Lilah Morgan is standing there.
“Burning the midnight oil?” She
asks leaning into his office.
“Yeah. You, too.”
She steps into the office,
smoothing the jacket of her Versace suit. “It’s quieter now.”
“And you haven’t got anyone to
go home to.” It’s not a question.
She parks her ass on the edge of
“Pot meet kettle,” she says.
“Yeah. Look, I was just about to
go get a drink.”
“Why, is that an invitation, Mr.
McDonald?” Lilah says in her best Oklahoman drawl.
“It’s the best offer you’re
likely to get tonight,” he says, pulling his jacket off the back of his
chair and tugging his tie back into place.
“Well, alright then.”
They complain about the Senior
Partners through the first third of the bottle of Glenlivet. By the time
they start the second third, Lindsey’s tie is off and so is Lilah’s suit
jacket. Her silk blouse gapes open and Lindsey can see the firm curve of
one breast above the demure lace edge of her bra. By the time they’re
finished half the bottle, Lilah has stopped re-applying her lipstick and
started to pepper her sentences with expletives. She smells good, like
honey and the slick centre of peach-flesh.
“And that bastard Angel,” Lilah
is saying, spilling a little of the remaining scotch on the table and
dragging her fingers through it before bringing them to her mouth and
licking them clean. “If it wasn’t for him we’d be senior management right
“I guess,” Lindsey says. His
head is back against the leather banquette. His eyes are closed.
“Don’t be so goddamn blasé,
Lindsey. We have to do something about him.”
Lindsey opens his eyes. “He’ll
sabotage himself, Lilah.”
“How do you know?”
“The good ones always do.”
When they finish the bottle,
Lindsey feels drunk and Lilah seems sober.
“I can hold my liquor,” she
says. “It’s a skill.”
He puts her into one cab and
gets into another. At the last minute he changes his mind and gets out.
He tells himself he just wants
It’s easy enough to find Angel.
For a guy who doesn’t like the spotlight, he’s ridiculously easy to track
down. Or maybe Lindsey just knows all the right people to ask or into whose
hand he needs to slip the cash.
From this vantage point he can
see Angel helping the helpless.
If there was a kitten that
needed rescuing, Lindsey had no doubt Angel would be up for the job. But
right now, he’s crouched down in front of a young girl. Lindsey can’t hear
the words, but he knows how they’ll sound to the frightened victim:
But this isn’t what Lindsey came
to see. So he’ll just wait.
It’s the middle of the night
when the fight breaks out. Three rather impressive vamps drop from the sky-
although Lindsey realizes that’s impossible- and Angel sets about the
business of killing them. Show time.
Lindsey waits for it, his mouth
dry. He’ll never know what pushes the demon forward, but when Angel’s face
morphs, Lindsey is so hard he can barely move. By the time Angel has dusted
the third vampire, Lindsey’s hand is pressed hard against the wedge of cock
trapped in his trousers.
When he opens his eyes, Angel is
standing across the alley watching him.
“You’re pathetic,” Angel says.
“You know that, right.”
Lindsey slides his back up the
wall; it’s the only way he can make it to his feet.
“Isn’t this a bit downtown
for you, Lindsey?”
Lindsey smiles coldly. “Just
doing some research.”
Angel’s smile is colder. “Oh, is
that what you kids are calling it these days?”
God, Lindsey hates this fucker.
And he wonders what it would be
like to be pressed against him, just for an instant..
“I’m goin’ home,” Lindsey says.
“Good idea. There’s all sorts of
crazy people on the streets,” Angel says. “I wouldn’t want anything to
happen to you.”
“I appreciate your concern,”
Angel narrows his lips and then
disappears deeper into the alley.
In bed he remembers that night
in the cemetery.
He sees the slow fall of the
angel monument. He sees Shelley drop to her knees. He holds out his arm and
turns his head to look for the figure in the dark.
Only it’s not Eddie’s face he
It hasn’t been for quite some
| Fiction Index | Home
Page | Back |