Flaming Fruit

I always love the sound of a crackling fire. It soothes me, especially after a long, hard day. What I hate, though, is when some asshole ruins it by moaning and groaning and screaming, like dipshit in the corner over there.

It sure is funny to watch him, though. A big fella like him. I bet he plays football.

"Hey, dipshit," I yell to him. He just goes on screaming and wailing. Rude bastard. I pick up an empty beer can and throw it at him. It hits him in the arm, shocking him quiet. Damn. I was aiming for that pretty mouth of his.

"You play football?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he says, all whimpery. I knew it. I bet he won't play no more, though. Bet he won't be doing much if I let him get out of here alive.

It's hard to believe, but this guy was a cocky little son of a bitch before I got to him, all full of himself, strutting around like the big dick on campus. I came across him just like all the others. Truck stop bathrooms smell like shit, but you get used to it when you're waiting. Sooner or later some douche bag on a road trip wanders in to take a piss. This one happened to catch me spying his junk from the next piss pot over.

"Hey, eyes to yourself, faggot!" he said to me. "I ain't no flaming fruit!"

I knew then that he was the one. He had me at "faggot."

It didn't take much to knock his ass out. The muscly pretty-faced ones are extra stupid. Hell, he was even facing the mirror. He had to see me coming up behind him. But whether he did or didn't, big fella just wasn't fast enough. I grabbed him from behind and choked him to sleep. Once he was out, it wasn't hard to drag him to my truck and bring him here.

My palace, I call it. Boy, was I lucky to find this old warehouse a little ways off the interstate. I'll never understand why folks just up and abandon perfectly good places like this, but I'm sure as fuck glad they do. Where else would I bring my boys?

"Please let me go," he begged me. They all beg me. They think it'll work. They think it'll stop me from taking what I want. It never does.

I moved toward him real slow like I like. It scares them more that way. He looked like a trapped animal, his eyes all big. I could tell he was wondering what the fuck I was going to do to him. He had no idea.

I'll never forget the little yelp he gave when I pulled out my knife. Whatever he was thinking, it sure didn't include Old Slicey. I sharpened it that morning, and was sure as fuck glad I did. Made cutting the shorts off him a lot easier. Once I got rid of those, I saw what I was looking for. Nice and plump they were. And smooth! Not a hair to be found on either one. This motherfucker had damn near done my work for me! My stomach was growling watching them bounce up and down as he screamed his pretty head off. Usually I go nice and slow, but I was so fucking hungry, I just decided to chop those fuckers off and throw them in my pan as fast as I could.

They're almost done now. And I'd be able to hear them sizzling if that little bitch over there would shut the fuck up.

Can't be too mad at him, though. In fact, I can't seem to stop laughing. I keep thinking about what he said when he mouthed off to me in the bathroom. "I ain't no flaming fruit!" Well, now I got his berries in my frying pan. Guess things change.