Mr. Monroe’s wife called him a degenerate when she found his young stud porn collection. He worked at a shelter for troubled youth and his wife came to the obvious conclusion. She always looked sympathetic but uncomfortable when he would relate the lurid details of the boy’s stories. He was going miss that look but it just wasn’t getting him off anymore.
He left out the porn for her to see. He made it look accidental, the corners of the magazines sticking out from beneath the mattress, forgetting to clear the browser history. Her reaction was superb. He would replay it in his head when he needed a lift.
He would have to find a way to get her back though. She left to stay with her sister. He already called her and promised to go to the church counseling group, Strength Against Porn, or SAP. She came over for an hour on Saturday to watch him burn the porn collection in the fireplace. They hugged afterwards.
Since she was away, Mr. Monroe decided to go a little further. It just stopped being fun unless you went a little further. He scored some X from a filthy tweaker at the shelter. It was risky scoring where he worked but the risk was part of the high. The more you had to lose, the farther you could fall, the more people that it shocked and hurt, the better.
He dressed in jeans and a clean white t-shirt. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Mr. Nice Guy. He was handsome, but not too handsome, like a male model in a Sears catalogue. That made it easier to fool people. His square jaw, caring eyes and warm smile made him the perfect youth pastor, counselor, sensitive husband. He had been gifted a trustworthy face.
“I’m a trick,” he said to himself. “I’m your trick.” He thought about his wife and how she would find him violating some pretty boy in there marriage bed. Not yet but soon. Then what? A new town and a new name, a new wife? Maybe a single mother with young boys.
The X started to hit him as he approached The Hip Pocket, a teen club where boys turned tricks out front. Would he be recognized? His cover story was that he was trying to get these kids off the street. He was starting to feel very good as he pulled up to a boy who stood far from the pack. The kid was obviously frightened, maybe it was his first time.
He had a mane of long blond hair and big blue eyes. Even with his strong nose and a wide mouth, he had an angelic innocence about him. His hands were jammed in the pockets of his low slung jeans and his T-Shirt was bunched around his waist displaying a strip of his flat stomach.
“Hey, need a ride?” Mr. Munroe asked.
The kid’s eyes darted left and right before he wordlessly got into the passenger’s seat.
“What’s your name kid?” Mr. Monroe asked genially.
“Gabe,” he said in a rough whisper. It sounded like he had been screaming or crying.
“Perfect,” Mr. Monroe answered and pulled away from the curb. Mr. Monroe was wondering if the kid was under 18. He decided not to ask. He liked the idea but he wanted to save minors for later. It was no good if you committed all your violations at once. It was best to savor each transaction until it lost its flavor then move to the next rung below.
“You want some X, Gabe?” Mr. Monroe pulled out a small vial. Anything went wrong he planned to say the kid gave him the vial. Mr. Monroe smiled at his own cunning.
“Can’t. No. X opens doors, lowers defenses,” Gabe said shaking his head.
“How about something to eat then?”
“A milkshake? I’ve never had a milkshake.”
Mr. Monroe frowned briefly. He didn’t believe the kid had never had a milkshake. He didn’t like the kid lying. He was supposed to be innocent. That was not very innocent of him. They pulled into Dick’s drive in. “What color shake do you want?” he asked Gabe.
“The regular color normal people get,” Gabe answered.
Mr. Monroe’s smile twisted a little. He was going to give this kid a rough up for playing with him. He recovered from his dark thoughts. “Chocolate for me and Vanilla for you,” he answered.
His favorite combination of emotions were boiling up, anger and lust. He went into the bathroom and mixed the vial of MDMA into the Vanilla shake. “That’s what you get, you dirty little bitch,” Mr. Monroe mumbled.
The kid slurped the shake down in a few swallows and then screamed holding his head against the brain freeze. “It will go away in a second, Gabe. You drank it too fast.” Maybe the kid had never had a shake before. “Hah, can’t hold your ice cream,” Mr. Monroe joked. The kid looked embarrassed.
By the time they pulled into his driveway, Mr. Monroe was euphoric. “How are you feeling Gabe?” He looked into his eyes and saw they were fully dilated, as big as dimes and black as coal.
“Fucked,” Gabe answered.
`Mr. Monroe gave him a fatherly hug and brought him into the living room. The boy was glowing brightly. Mr. Monroe noticed the lights were off and it was almost midnight, still the living room was brightly illuminated.
“Wow, I am tripping balls, man,” Mr. Monroe said
Gabe wasn’t listening. He was looking around the room frantically. “They found me. I know it. I can feel it.” Gabe grabbed Mr. Monroe’s lapels and pulled him closer. “I want to be like this, can’t they understand?”
“It’s O.K. son, no one is coming to get you.” Mr. Monroe reached for Gabe’s crotch concentrating on what the buttons would sound like when they popped against the denim. He was momentarily distracted by the undulating sheet rainbow that was obscuring the ceiling.
His hands hesitated at the waistband of Gabe’s jeans and his flesh sizzled. His hands were burning. He put them in front of his face and stared at them. Both hands had patches of blistered red flesh. He looked at Gabe. Sparkles came off him and his face looked weird. His blue eyes weren’t right at all. A crack appeared in Gabe’s skin at his forehead and ripped down to his chin. It looked like lava was pouring from him. A huge white muzzle emerged from the molten mass.
Mr. Monroe was knocked back onto the shag carpet surrounded by glittering sparks. He could hear noises outside. The curtains caught fire and a group of Unicorns were rearing up and hitting the glass with their hooves, shards sprayed into the room. The carcass of boy Gabe gave way to an angry unicorn colt. The bones and flesh plopped next to Mr. Monroe, as he began to scream. There were people outside too.
They had pointed ears and pointier teeth and dressed like they were going to a Ren-fair. They let themselves in through the front door and surrounded Mr. Monroe, nudging each other and laughing. One of them lowered his rough trousers and pissed on Mr. Monroe’s head making them laugh even harder. A busty woman in a leather corset stomped on his head. Mr. Monroe blacked out.
Mr. Monroe came to with a cops gun to his head. The corpse of Gabe was hastily reassembled on the couch in a sitting position and Mr. Monroe had a butcher knife in his hand. His collection of recently burned porn was now as good as new and arranged in a semi-circle at Gabe’s feet.
“Fucking Sparkle Rainbow Elves,” Mr. Monroe cried as the cop roughly jerked him to his feet. His head was spinning and he tried to collect his thoughts. He needed to use his words. He was always so good at getting out of trouble. He needed the right words to make the cops sympathize with him but his head wasn’t working right. He was never at a loss for the right terms to explain away his behavior. As if in answer to his plea, he suddenly remembered the correct term for a group of Unicorns.
“It was a Blessing! It wasn’t me, it was a Blessing!”
Mr. Monroe was the only one who could hear the peals of laughter from the fireplace.