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

in them. "Usually the problem's simple," he continues. "I'm not what you expected, or maybe you're nervous or shy ..
    "No." I shake my head. "You're exquisite. I mean, there's this mental transition you have to make-and I'm not saying you specifically, I mean the collective `you' or whatever when you've experienced someone as an image and suddenly he's sitting here talking to you. You have to reevaluate him, but I've done that. And you're great."

    "Mm," Pierre says, glances at his watch, which is all he's wearing apart from a thin, gold bracelet. "But, uh, fourteen minutes are already up." I nod vaguely. "It's not always the case," I add. "Certain people don't translate. Like that pretty brunet in that porn video, Pleasure Mountain? Scotty was so `me.' Ever see it? But when I actually bought him, well ... maybe he'd just gotten older but. . .
    Pierre lies back on the bed, entwines his fingers, cradles his head with them. "Mm-hm." I turn sideways, stare into his crotch. "Like, kids want to befriend their favorite cartoon characters. I did. Well, my dad took me to Disneyland so I could meet them. He aimed me at these huge walking toys and, well, I tried but ... they couldn't even alter their facial expressions.
    "That Scotty was similar. I mean, he looked vaguely like the star of the video I'd loved, but there was something wrong in his-" Pierre feels a grin sneaking up. "Weird," he says. "Anyway, why don't you suck my cock." He hates spouting cliches like that. Still he checks my expression to see if it's worked. I'm shaking my head. "Or lick my ass," he adds. "Fuck me with a condom, uh..."
    "Your skin, you mean," I mumble. Pierre raises his head. "What?" I reach down, pinch an inch of his thigh, jiggle it like a faulty house key. "Skin," I repeat. "I get to use your skin, and the little areas of your skeleton I can feel underneath, and whatever I manage to squeeze or suck out." Pierre feels confused, which must look ultra-unappealing. So he relaxes his face.
    Then he props himself up on his elbows. "Yeah, uh, okay." "Well. . . " I lean down, sniff his crotch. "That's information. Crotches smell pretty identical from guy to guy, if they're clean." I sniff again. "But because you're a beauty, the smell's more profound. Still, what does it tell me that a hundred other men haven't already learned. No, the profound stuff's in here." I poke his stomach.

    Pierre's face gets confused again. Shit. "Go on." He hopes I'm too spaced out to care. "Well, if I think you're one of the most extraordinary boys I've ever seen, and I do, then logging your tastes, smells, sounds, textures isn't enough somehow, for me at least. I want to know everything about you. But to really do that, I'd have to kill you, as bizarre as that sounds."
    "Maybe." Pierre squints at me. I look calm, but if the slightest insanity distorts my face, voice, he's ready to leap for his clothes. "So that's what I'd do, if I was courageous-kill you. I'll dream I'm killing you while I go over your body. I'll seem like your usual sex fiend, but I'll actually be far away in a place where your life's meaningless and your body's carved open."
    Jesus, Pierre thinks. "You know," he says, "I do this a lot, fuck for money. I just came from another guy, in fact. But it's true that the way men deal with me is like I'm a kind of costume that someone else, someone they've known or made up, is wearing. The way they look in my eyes and the way they look at my skin is completely different. Is that what you mean?"
    I'm looking intently at his cock, which I've stretched very taut. It looks like a fat, misshapen rubber band. "No." I let it go. It lands, wobbling, on his thigh. "Really, you should just know that you fascinate me so much that in a perfect world I'd kill you to understand the appeal. If there's any way you can take that as a supreme compliment, do."
    "I'll try." Pierre glances at his watch. "So, are you planning to pay for a second hour?" he asks. "Because otherwise ..." I nod,