The Secret of Jimmy X: And Other Stories of the Macabre

By Jason Fury

At last, a collection of brand new gay tales from the master story teller himself, Jason Fury. Terrifying, bizarre and eerie, all with a touch of tingling gay eroticism. What is the sinister secret of Jimmy X? Who is the serial killer of gay men in the ancient city of Wintersville? Why do the townspeople fear an underground disco where dozens of gay men were burned alive? A lone traveler comes across a group of handsome jocks playing football but he discovers something unwordly about their game. Three hustlers agree to appear in a porno film but find out the filmmaker wants it to become a real life slasher epic. A suicidal man moves into a mountain chalet, only to learn he has some terrifying roommates. These are only a few of the unforgettable characters in these extraordinary stories of the weird, the haunted and the doomed. A fitting companion to Fury's best-selling Eric's Body and smash-hit, His Eyes Were Dark, He Licked His Lips.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 30, 2000
• ISBN: 9781469705460

Jason Fury

Jason Fury is the pen name of cult author Jery Tillotson, whose tales of passion, drama and mystery have created fans around the world. His latest book, His Eyes Were Dark, He Licked His Lips, has become an international bestseller. He lives near the East River in Manhattan.

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All Rights Reserved © 2000 by Jery Tillotson

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

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ISBN: 0-595-14849-2

ISBN: 978-1-4697-0546-0 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

To the boy in green and the man in black I met in a wood on the outskirts of Asheville, North Carolina in the winter of 1901.

Contents

PART ONE 

The City of Shadows

You!

My Master

Liar!

The Hag

The Pirates of Black Swamp 

The Real World 

Little Fat Boys 

Endless Nights 

WYho? 

Old Bitch 

They Dwell in Darkness 

Brand X 

Death by Injection 

PART II 

Monsters and Things That Go BUMP in the Night 

The Visitor 

Honey Man 

Howdy, Dr. Mengeles 

Thr Secret of Jimmy X 

Squish 

White Teeth in the Dark

I Want to Live in Wintersville 

Lover, Come Back 

The Death of Summer 

Hes out There! 

Authors Note 

PART ONE 

The City of Shadows

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My city sits alone, atop the highest mountain in North Carolina. It looks down upon a vast abyss of swamp and forest.

People who choose to live here are different from all others.

Shadows flit along the narrow sidestreets, kiss the weathered old buildings where a face peers out of a dusty window, only to quickly withdraw into darkness.

Ancient structures fill the cityscape and much has been written about the eerie ambiance of the mist-covered streets of cobbled stone. Watery light seeps from the sky, silver and gray, that darkens when it snows. And the wind...it weeps along the gray pavement and around the bleak corners of brick and mortar monuments, stark from the gusts of a hundred years and more.

People who come to live in Wintersville are different from other visitors.

It is a city where only the dead can flourish.

City of Shadows by Jenka Trezetti

*                    *                    *

The streets were all deserted and very silent; the doors were closed, the shutters fastened. Not a soul astir. The hush of night lay over everything. It was like a town of the dead, a churchyard with gigantic and grotesque tombstones.

Ancient Sorceries by Algernon Blackwood

You!

114782_text.pdf

On the morning of February 3,1 went to the window, stared out as

I had done nearly every day for a year, and nearly dropped my coffee mug.

Across from me, five stories above Cloud Avenue, a golden skinned Adonis stood at his balcony, wearing only a thick robe against the frigid winds, staring below.

He didn’t see me and ran a hand through his tousled curls as he strolled aimlessly along the balcony. I remember pulling my curtain closed so I could spy on him even more. His robe was open, his chest revealed and suggested even more beauties below.

There he stood, a vibrant sliver of color against that gray and black backdrop, appearing out of nowhere. He lit up a cigarette, tossed the match into the air, and then ambled back into the apartment.

For long minutes, I remained there, peering like any common voyeur, for by now I had gotten out my binoculars. Although the silk drapes covered the windows, I could make out dark blurs moving behind them.

Well, I smiled, refilling my mug. Maybe life will become more interesting here at Cloud Towers. For I had lived in my small but cozy studio apartment for an uneventful spring, summer and now fall. I chose it because it was quiet and the rent reasonable. I could walk along the fabled streets of Wintersville and imagine I was Jenka Trezetti, the cult writer who lived in his huge chateau only twenty blocks away.

Or that I was Sjorstrom Sudermann, the Swedish painter who had returned to Wintersville in the early 1970S. Since then, he had turned out his masterpieces of eerie fantasy, with his paintings now selling in the millions of dollars—’The Mountain Picasso", as he had become dubbed.

And luckily for me, my stories of fantasy and the macabre were becoming popular, appearing in such publications as Twisted Marvels, Dark Dungeons, Castle in the Swamp.

Yes, I had chosen this solitary life deliberately but as someone still young, considered handsome and exuberant, I really did miss the fleshpots of Manhattan, where I could meet other sensual, exuberant men—but never get any writing done.

Since I had moved into my creative cave, as one of my few friends, Zane Campbell, called it, the building across from me had housed nothing, shadowy people who I rarely saw.

A woman in a housecoat watering a solitary fern, a portly man in his jogging suit, another matron in a quilted robe, dark glasses, holding her cat as she peered over her balcony into the empty street below. These were the unsurprising denizens of the building across the street.

What I really missed was male beauty. I knew there had to be some striking hunks in this mountain city, but I had been too industrious and driven to really explore it. Since I had stopped drinking, I had no desire to frequent such kicky bars in Wintersville as the Buck Stop, the Male Man, Misty Cafe, all of them located in the new shopping malls near the Ondoo Valley.

Now, seeing this vision of glory made me realize how much I wanted to go to bed with a healthy male, whose body I could enjoy at any time with no worries of disease.

Reluctantly, I forced myself to head to my work area, clicked on my computer and tried to lose myself in the sinister world of Xiliga. This was my creation of a world where the sun never shines, where each

monster is more hideous than the one before but which cannot vanquish my hero, Sun Rise.

He had proven a hit in my previous novel, Shadows Over Xiliga. My agent wanted a sequel and if this one proved a hit, then I could sit back and receive nice checks as I wrote more volumes while contemplating my big American novel.

At two o’clock, I shut down my laptop and took my daily walk around the area. It was boring, since I rarely brought anything, but it was soothing—to window shop at the very expensive stores and boutiques along Cloud Avenue.

I even ventured into the haunted area of Luckie Street.

This was where the strange and empty parking lot still remained, after a mob of vicious skinheads set fire to the lower tiers twenty years before. More than fifty-one gay men, who used the nether regions as their place to orgy, were burned alive. Their ghosts were rumored to haunt the ruined area. People swore they could hear shrieks and sounds of tinny disco music there on the weekends.

Since it was so freezing, I was glad to get back into my cocoon, fix a light lunch of steak and spinach, a Diet Pepsi and then prepare for a nap beneath my electric blanket.

But for once, I couldn’t sleep and of course I knew what the problem was. Hating myself, I grabbed my binoculars and peered through an opening in my curtains. I whistled for now it was even better than before.

It was nearly dark. Draperies of the balcony windows were pulled back, giving me a perfect view of the apartment’s interior. My bronzed hunk sprawled on a sofa, wearing just a pair of very brief bikinis, while behind him an older man massaged his friend’s impressive pectorals and nipples.

The hand glided down the chiseled stomach and beneath the waistband of the briefs. My beautiful warrior kept sipping wine in a glass, watching the TV set, and didn’t blink when his admirer crawled in front of him and peeled the briefs down.

The man was flabby and pale, probably in his mid-fifties, with thinning hair and a wet, red mouth. He threw the skivvies over his shoulder and without further ado, buried his face in the lap of the beauty.

My lust object didn’t change his expression as the head bobbed up and down in his lap. Finally, the sucker took a break and changed his position, allowing me a stunning glimpse of the impressive erection.

The gobbler prepared for another go but now the young man suddenly stood up, mashed out his cigarette in a tray and sauntered out of view, his white ass undulating like that of a prize stripper.

The old geezer struggled to his feet and stood still, pulling at his own gray length of manhood, his face crumpled up into despair. Then he went in search of his arrogant Hercules.

Wow! Later that night, back in my own bed, listening to the wind whistle around the corner of the building, I imagined this sex object was with me, keeping me warm instead of my electric blanket. I did not like making love to myself, considering it a selfish waste to mankind since there were usually others who wanted to do it for me.

But that night, it felt good, as I fantasized my invisible bed partner covering my body with kisses and finally his lips becoming fastened on my own hardness.

Sleep wouldn’t stay with me. It was early in the morning when I awoke, feeling tired, irritable. A cold glass of milk and a sleeping pill might help things.

I took my milk to the window and pulled back the curtain. Light was just beginning to turn the world pale outside but.. .he was there, naked, his arms on the balcony, looking directly at me. I was too startled to do anything except stare back and he smiled, as if enjoying my expression of shock. We were alone up here, five floors above the sidewalk, less than fifty feet apart from each other.

It was an extraordinary moment in my life: a powerful surge of electricity surged between us because no one else in the world was

communicating the way we were at that moment. An invisible bridge had instantly formed from my window to his balcony.

A lonely biker glided below, a newspaper truck followed after him, a woman in a heavy coat was walking to the corner coffee shop. They were totally unaware of us.. .here, in the sky above them, as if we were on a cloud, cut off from the real world.

He winked and lifted a hand in greeting before turning around and walking back into his apartment.

He was naked, even in that chilly air, and his miraculous rump looked even more scrumptious, the type that invites someone to bury their face deep into the cleft. Then he pulled his curtain.

Somehow, he knew I was aware of him.

We met the next afternoon.

#

I was returning from my usual walk, bundled up in black, from my head to my boots, when I saw him approaching me on the sidewalk. There was no one around and even while seeing this dream man, I wondered again about the desolate quality of this place, the washed out hues, where color was non-existent, with the world a cocoon of gray, charcoal and metal.

But this note of brooding was quickly pushed back into my mind as I beheld this vibrant creature moving ever closer to me. He looked even more out-of-place in this sepia world: his heavy overcoat was of thick, expensive tweed, the color of cinnamon and cocoa, his muffler a rich slur of amber silk, and his turtleneck sweater glowed like burning embers. On a leash the color of crushed emeralds, he guided an adorable little puppy.

Hi, he smiled. I believe you’re my neighbor across the street. My name’s Roman.

Roman! That’s a great name. My name is Sunny St. James and I must say, I did enjoy your performance last night with your, eh, roommate.

His brows went up quizzically, then he understood my meaning and grinned. Looking up at him, for he was well over six feet, I couldn’t take my eyes off his white teeth, the full lips. But that wasn’t what I found most attractive about his face. It was his eyes. Wide-opened, as if he were perpetually surprised, they were a light blue and made me think of a young boy, even a child. To look so innocent, he sure to hell knew how to work that body judging from last night’s performance.

I’ll have to remember to pull the curtains, he teased.

I grabbed his arm, delighted at its hardness. Please don’t. I’m one of those shy, very retiring writers, who gets so little excitement in this dead burg. Are you just visiting or planning to stay awhile?

The wind blew his black curls and he studied the Big Mac hamburger wrapper scuttling along the sidewalk. My friend up there, Leo, flew me down from New York City. Wants me to stay here with him. I don’t know. It’s like a morgue here. What kind of writing do you do?

I write about naughty young men doing naughty things with other naughty men—both young and old.

Well, he snorted with his childish eyes dancing, I’m a very naughty young man and maybe you’ll write a story about me.

If I did, it would demand thorough research.

Then let’s get your research started right now.

He took my hand and pressed it against the soft material covering his crotch. My expression must have pleased him for he guided my fingers upwards, beneath his red sweater so I could feel his nipples.

Wow! Are all these goodies for real?

Come with me, my writer of naughty tales, and let me show you how real I am.

Picking up his little mutt who he called Donut, my new encounter

took my arm, escorted me down the street to his condo building.

#

The doorman nodded his head at us, greeting my companion with, And how was your walk, Mr. Adair?

Very nice, Sam. I met an old friend.

The uniformed man, wiry and darkly messy in his shabby uniform of gray and white, gleamed false teeth at me. I had seen him several times when I went for my walks but he was one of those blurs who never really registered. He had always been a vague shadow peering out from behind the doors.

On the fourth floor, we got off and Roman ushered me into Apartment 400. I was impressed with its obvious wealth and decor. A fire burned in a large fireplace. White furniture was scattered comfortably around the den and a carpet of thick white shag invited one to shuck off their shoes and sit down before the flames.

Roman turned on the immense color TV and Fay Wray screamed as her hairy boyfriend, King Kong, held her high above Broadway back in l933.

We had thrown off our coats and gloves and hats and Roman pulled me down beside him on the sofa.

So this is where you gave your Oscar winning performance last night, I drawled. I loved watching your ass move when you fucked your friend in the mouth.

Did you now? he muttered as he stripped off his sweater, slacks and boots. Within seconds, he was naked except for a pair of bikini briefs of blue satin.

His body was startling, because torsos such as he possessed were rare in Wintersville. I had looked for them in the health spa, the Y gym, and occasionally in bed when I might actually pick up a man at the gay movie theater. Mountain men tend to shun the sun and tanning salons.

Roman was bronzed all over, except for that ravishing area of white around his hips, which made his manhood startle by the way it sprouted out from his trimmed pubic area. It was a thick, suckable phallus, with a trimmed head, shaped like a large fig. His balls were abnormally large and bulged as he scooped them up in his hand and held his sac out for me to admire.

I couldn’t resist running my hands over his thick nipples, caressed the pectorals which looked abnormal in their perfect roundness and firmness.

His flat stomach sank in when I began sucking his tits and my hand moved down his abdomen to grasp his privates. They felt hot, heavy and that inflamed my lust even more.

Your ass, I muttered. I want to eat it up!

He lay on his stomach and the glorious twin wonders of his rump rose up to greet my face. My hands parted the dimples so my tongue could tickle his hole. Again, he was beautifully fragrant and clean and his twitchings and gasps indicated that he was growing stiff again.

Soon, he was completely within me and I held onto him, thrilling to the sensation of having this magnificent Apollo joined to me. Roman was a skilled lover and I tried to fantasize him doing it to other men. His white ass bobbed up and down and then his gasps suggested he was spent.

We lay there for several minutes, saying nothing, Roman still inside me, with him licking my face and throat like a playful puppy.

Uh oh, he whispered, it’s nearly four. Gotta get ready for Leo. He wants me to have supper and drinks ready for him when he gets home.

What does Leo do?

He was a top executive with Mount Pleasant Computers, which was planning to open a large plant there in Wintersville.

I met him in New York and he begged me to come here for a vacation and just see if I like it, Roman explained as we dressed. Lighting up a cigarette, he poured us mineral water into crystal goblets. He gives me a big allowance each week. Gives me credit cards, charge accounts at all the stores. He’s got a beautiful apartment in Manhattan and another one in London. Travels all over the world. He wants to adopt me.

Am I missing something? You say he wants to adopt you?

Roman smiled, explaining, Yeah, because that way he would have a way of making me stay faithful to him. I’d inherit his estate. I mean, although I’m nineteen, people still think that I must be a high school kid because I’ve been told I have a kind of goofy, naive look about me. And he is a nice guy. But, ugh, having to ball with him, that’s a different story.

Dahling, I think I could fake balling with a man like Leo if he supported me in the style he does you.

But he’s the crazy jealous type. Doesn’t want me even saying hello to that shitty little doorman down there. If he knew I’d had you up here, he’d flip out.

Roman wanted us to get together again, though: I would know it was safe to if I saw him out on his balcony, naked, smoking a cigarette.

I squeezed his basket again and gave each of his delicious nipples a final kiss before going to the door. I can see why your sugar daddy would be jealous of you. With your body, your basket and your ass, you could write your ticket anywhere in the world.

His eyes widened in a childlike way and he actually said: "You really

think so?"

#

Roman enjoyed taunting me, I discovered, for that night, he gave a sizzling repeat performance of the afternoon only this time, instead of me receiving his goodies he had a paunchy, middle-aged man as his adoring partner.

With the curtains pulled aside, and lights fully illuminating the den, I watched Roman fuck his old paramour steadily for several minutes and then pulled out to splash his semen on the sexless, hairy chest.

I wanted to scream in frustration as I saw the jowly Leo begin sucking Roman who lay on his back, his thighs spread and his partner gobbled and drooled all over him.

At one point, my afternoon loverboy actually turned his back to me, showing me his scrumptious butt and made his companion suck him from in front. Through my binoculars I saw the purple, wet mouth stretched to a grotesque angle as it tried to accommodate the stud’s impressive endowment.

And after ejaculating, Roman turned to face me, pulling the curtains but throwing a wink in my direction. That hot-blooded brat! How dared he tempt and taunt me?

There was no question of my getting any work done the next morning. A creature of routine, I usually dutifully scurried to my work area with my coffee mug and settled in for a morning of pounding my computer.

That morning, I gave up, after sitting there, staring at the screen of my Macintosh Powerbook, and creeping to the window every few minutes to see if my handsome bull was ready to welcome me.

It was after one o’clock, after two pots of strong coffee, some bagels, that I saw him. Roman was posed mockingly naked, like a statue, putting his cigarette daintily to his lips and I burst out laughing. He saw me, shook his privates at me and jerked his head for me to join him.

Sam, the doorman said nothing as he nodded his head slightly to me as I told him I was visiting Mr. Adair.

He is in his apartment, the doorman concurred and leaned into the elevator to push the number four button. He repulsed me with his greasy uniform, stained with oil spots, dandruff spattering his shoulders, his hair gleaming dully with lotion.

Roman was naked when he opened the door and pulled me inside. It was warm and fragrant with cherry incense and in the background, Laura Nyro wailed one of my favorites, Brown Earth.

His little puppy playfully barked and pranced around. I picked him up and rubbed its head and he leaned up to lick my face. When I put him down, he looked up at me with a yearning expression and then padded over to the hearth where it lay down.

My new lover pulled me against him and danced with me over to the bar where he had already prepared us goblets of mineral water with lime wedges. But when I sipped the drink, I coughed and sputtered for Roman had made us powerful gin and tonics.

You told me you don’t drink anymore, he smiled, but I thought that with me, you could break down a little, enjoy yourself.

Uh oh, there goes my dry spell, I sighed. But you’re right. This is a special occasion. So, I’ll just let my hair down and have some hot fun.

We danced in place, still leaning hard against each other, as we sipped the powerful drinks.

You’re the one I wish were over here, whispered Roman, and not that wrinkled old horses ass.

But I don’t have the money and he does so be wise, young man, and decide which of two worlds you want: money or happiness?

My hands were traveling over his firm terrain more hungrily than before for all night I had relived our first coupling and it had grown into a miracle in my mind. But even reality couldn’t cool my ardor and once more, we fell to the floor and groaned and gasped and we both worshipped his wonderful sword of sexuality.

It just won’t stay soft, he sighed proudly and I made sure it had no chance of becoming flaccid during this visit. I grew drunk sucking on it and drawing out its juices and even more exhilarating was to sink my face again into the exotic cleft of his rump. It was alike entering a wondrous world where I had never traveled before and knew I wouldn’t again for only Roman had an ass of such magnificence.

Before I left, my host gave me a brief tour of his home. Except for the den, it all looked barren, a place where the occupants are just passing through. The bedroom was neat but sterile, the large bed neatly made. Another room was used as a cluttered study where Leo worked on reports.

I started to open the door next to the study but Roman pulled me away, saying: That’s a private room. I don’t know what’s in there. Leo keeps it all locked up and only he’s got the keys. Sometimes he makes me go out for a few hours, to a movie or somewhere so he can be alone. And a few times, there’s a weird smell coming out of that room.

Maybe he keeps the bodies of young boys in there.

Young boys? Roman repeated, looking startled.

I was kidding. That’s my writer’s imagination going full speed ahead. But you know there has been a rash of guys suddenly vanishing here in Wintersville. Police think there could be a serial killer. But never mind about that. Let’s move on.

He took me out to the balcony where I first saw him. It was strange standing there, looking across the street at my window. I was startled by how much we could see of my apartment because I had left the curtains opened.

I can see your bed there in the corner, smiled Roman, and I can just make out your kitchen.

Isn’t it a magnificent spread? I joked. The typical palatial digs of a worldwide famous writer.

Come on, he said suddenly. I want to give you something.

Give me something? You’re all I want.

He vanished into the hallway and returned with a leather satchel, the type I drooled over in the windows of ritzy little boutiques which specialized in handmade goods.

Here, he smiled, handing it to me, Leo got it for me but I’ll never use it. You’re a writer. You can probably do something with this.

I ran my hands over the glossy surface, the gleaming brass buckles and studs. Roman, I can’t take this! It must cost a small fortune. Leo would kill you if he found out you gave this away.

You keep it, repeated Roman. Leo gives me tons of expensive junk I don’t need. Pens, pencils, books, crystal figurines, paintings, and I keep telling him to give me cashmere sweaters and leather coats but he won’t do it.

Well, if you insist.

Roman kissed me and guided me to the door. His little Donut ran up to me, squeaking and shaking its tail, causing me to pick him up and hug him.

Every time you use that satchel in the future, think of that wild, fucking machine, Mr. Roman Adair, smiled my new neighbor. Now, you better beat it. He’ll be home in a half-hour. If he knows I’ve had somebody up here, wooo, he’ll go crazy.

Will I see you tomorrow?

Just keep watching the balcony.

I was thrilled to receive such a gift from my sizzling boy toy. In just two days, he had changed my life in crucial ways and although I didn’t expect it to last, I was going to enjoy every second of it.

As I left the building, I felt the eyes of the scuzzy doorman following me. I had worried that he might be a snitch and tell Leo about Roman’s extra-marital activities but my sweetie pie assured me he paid the old man a nice tip each week.

That night, with my lights turned off, I watched the entrance of Byron’s building. I couldn’t believe that I had become one of those stereotypical Hollywood staples: the possessive other one.

Around nine I watched Roman leave the building, dressed up in his winter coat and muffler. On a leash was Donut. So they were going for a walk. But minutes later, I saw Leo’s dark car pull up and park. Looking around him, he hurried to the trunk. Curiously, he worked to remove a long, canvas bag. Throwing it over his shoulder, he half stooped as he entered his building.

Minutes later, the lights went on in his apartment. The man staggered in and threw the bag onto the floor. Then he hurried over to the windows where he pulled tight the curtains.

What was going on there? He acted like someone with something to

hide. And that big canvas bag. It was big enough to hide a body.

#

Roman told me the next day that Leo had called him the night before and asked him to take Donut out for a walk and not return until eleven. When I told him about the canvas bag, he rolled his eyes.

Oh, Leo’s always buying stuff and bringing it home.

In a big, body-sized canvas bag?

Oh, you still think he might be butchering men and hiding their bodies in that secret room? Get off it! He’s not a killer. He’s too boring and stupid.

That’s what they said about Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne Gacy, too, hot shot. I want to see the door to the room.

Roman joined me as we stood before it. I sniffed the air. Doesn’t it smell strange, Roman? Like bleach, disinfect?

It always smells like that. Now come on and let’s have some fun.

We sipped cocktails, balled, paused to smoke a cigarette, drink some more and rolled around and panted on the floor. This time I performed an around-the-world trip on his fleshy terrain: my tongue explored his torso from the hairline down to his ankles. It was a fascinating voyage where I encountered only a few silken white shapes in the form of old scars. I can smell that exotic land, taste the unforgettable flavors even now.

Before I left, Roman went to his room and returned with a beautiful black jacket of suede leather. Here. I want you to have this. Every time you wear it, think of me.

Roman, I can’t keep taking things from you and giving you nothing back.

I want you to have something from me to show you how I much I love you.

Do you really?

I threw my arms around him and he kissed me so deeply I felt dizzy. Can I see where you live? he asked.

Why of course! But I can promise you, it ain’t nothing like this.

Let me see it, let me see it! I’ve never seen how a writer lives. Put on your new jacket so I can see how it looks. Hey, you’re Mr. Hollywood!

Since my building had no doorman, we met no one as we took the elevator up to my fourth floor and I ushered him into my room. I had lied when I referred to its plainness because I really did have a gift for decorating, for making any place I lived in look cozy, livable and warm.

Roman thought so as well because he said: Hey, I love your place. I like it a lot more than my cage.

He moved around, studying the colorful patchwork quilt on my bed, my own big color TV, my corner which served as my work area with a map of the United States above the desk, my computer, the stack of manuscript I was struggling to work on. My published books which Roman studied, remarking how impressed he was.

Will you put me in one of your books? he smiled.

You’ll be the main character in my new book. I’m calling it: The Roman Who Fucked the World!

He laughed and kissed me and I unzipped him and did him right there and when he came I looked up and saw him staring at his place across the street.

You really can see a lot from here, can’t you? he murmured.

#

On page one of morning newspaper, a blaring headline caught my eye:

Manhunt On for Missing Men

I forgot everything as I read how police were searching for three college males who had vanished over the past two weeks. Foul play was definitely feared. Photographs of the missing men showed handsome, smiling males who were known to frequent the bars and health spas of the new Wintersville Mall, especially the notorious Astor Cinema, a hot cruising spot for gay men. There were no suspects.

I’ve got to see Roman fast, I thought, and let him know he could be living with a lunatic!

But I didn’t see my magnificent obsession that day and I feared the worst. The apartment appeared deserted and I wondered if they could have moved out. But late that night, I saw a pale light glowing from behind the curtains, a figure moving around but Roman never appeared.

All that night, I thought the worse and was fully prepared to call the police by the next day if I didn’t see him. But to my delight, the golden boy himself appeared on the balcony around noon, completely naked and smoking a cigarette. Holding his little dog in his arms, he raised one of Donut’s paws and waved it at me.

But when I joined him, he was in a serious mood and I kept my hands to myself.

Stroking Donut in his arms, Roman said that he and Leo were leaving for Germany the next day and would be gone for a week. Would I keep an eye on Donut and see that he was fed and walked? Would that be too much to ask of me?

Oh, my God, Roman, of course not! I’d be happy to. But did you want me to come here—

Here’s a key, he said, giving it to me, "and just let yourself in. I’ve already arranged it with Sam downstairs and so he won’t give you a hard time. You can come and go whenever you want to. But—please, please don’t try looking inside Leo’s secret room. I know you’re very, very curious