Free Frisk: A Novel (Cooper, Dennis) by Dennis Cooper

reached the doll house. "Look familiar? Ever see that old "Twilight Zone" episode where nobody ever grew up? This was the main character's home. Warner Brothers was throwing it out, believe it or not." He inserted a key, turned it. "Two hundred bucks."

    The interior was painted black. A large X made of two massive pieces of wood, maybe seven feet long, one wide and deep, stood upright room center, decorated with handcuffs. The floor was an inch deep in whips, paddles, knives, etc. Joe stood in the middle, hands on his hips, peering around, impressed. "Wow."
    Gary balanced on one leg, removing a sock. "Thanks. Strip."
    Joe undressed, which took a fairly long time because stuff kept getting snagged on his scabs. Gary finished first and leaned back on the X, right hand jerking his cock, left hand pinching a cord that dangled from a light bulb perched up in the rafters. "Oh, by the way," he muttered, fingering the cord. "You don't look anything like Keanu Reeves." He yanked. Click, click.
    The room grew dark gray. Joe could still detect Gary, the X. "Do you want me against that?" he asked, pointing through Gary's chest.
    "Good guess." Gary stepped aside.
    Joe walked over, revolved, and made his nude body into an X. Gary reached up, snap, snap, bent down, snap, snap, securing things. Then he backed off a few feet and stood there, jerking off. After a minute or two, that looked boring, to Joe at least. He cleared his throat. "Ahem," he added.
    "I'm making a decision," Gary whispered.
    "Can I help?"
    "Not really." Gary backed into a shadow. "It's like this," he continued quietly. "I always fantasize murdering people I play with, but something usually stops me. I think it's beauty. But whatever it is, it's not there with you. I really want to kill you. It doesn't seem romantic at all. It feels like the practical thing to do."

    "That's interesting," Joe said. "But what exactly are you saying?" It was impossible to tell from the actor's expression.
    "What ... I ... just ... said." The phrase left Gary's mouth at a trudge, like it was physically deformed or weighed some incredible amount.
    "Well, um, you shouldn't do it, because I don't want you to, and I'm half of this." Joe tried to gesture emphatically.
    "If I don't do it," Gary said, "that'll be why. But it's the only reason, which is strange, because there should be others, right?" He crouched down, rummaging through the articles on the floor. Clink, bang, tinkle .. .
    "But you're not going to do it. That's what I need to hear you say.". . . Clunk, clang, ding, thump. Gary held up a knife, smiled. "Answer me, Gary," Joe said, almost yelling.
    Gary strolled toward Joe, still smiling, knife shaking wildly in one hand, cock scrunched up in the other. "I really think I'm going to kill you," he said hoarsely. "I can't fucking believe it."
    The knife stopped just short of Joe's right nipple. Joe gazed at the nipple. Then he gazed at the point of the knife. He raised his eyes to Gary's tight little smile. He lowered his eyes to the smudge of pre-come on the head of his own cock. When he shut his eyes a second later, the four things-pink nipple, knife point, crinkly smile, white smudge-were superimposed against the reddish darkness of his lids. It looked like a flower. "God, Gary, you know what?" he said. "I-"
    Stab.

     

SPACED
    1987-1989
    Pierre sits on the edge of the bed, gently kicking a wet towel. It's on the rug where he dropped it. First it looks like a twist of whipped cream. Another kick, it's discarded gift wrapping. Kick, a scroll. I'm perched to his right, elbows balanced on my knees, chin in the heels of my palms, staring down at the scroll or whatever. "Thinking?" Pierre whispers, kicks.
    "It's complicated," I say, turning to see him. My eyes zigzag down his chest, stomach, crotch like they're watching a tiny or distant rock climber. "If you mean me," Pierre sighs, "I'm easy. If you mean you, well, what can I do to help?" My eyes have drifted back to the towel, which glows