James' Dirty Thoughts

The knock on James's door sounded urgent. Who would be coming by at this time of night, James wondered. It was almost 11:00, and James was actually thinking about going to bed. And now here was someone knocking at the door? James put down the book he was reading, crossed the living room of his apartment, and opened the door.

"Hey, come with me, man. I've got something to show you." It was Butch Henderson, and he seemed very agitated. What was up? Had he been drinking? James didn't think so; he didn't smell the telltale liquor smell, and besides they had both gotten pretty smashed the night before. James knew he couldn't even think of drinking tonight. It had been all he could do all day to coax himself to even eat anything. He still felt lousy.

"Come on! You've got to see this!" Butch was still standing in the doorway, almost to the point of yelling.

"Okay, okay, hold on," James said. "Let me grab my shoes."

"Yeah, whatever. Just hurry!" Man, he was acting strange. Maybe some other drug was involved? James wouldn't put that past Butch. Butch made no secret of the fact that he experimented with certain substances. It wasn't really a subject that James was comfortable discussing with him. Not that James was a fuddy duddy or anything; he could drink with the best of them, and he'd smoked some grass a time or two, or three. Sometimes, however, James saw a definite change in Butch's personality. Butch was always a bit on the edgy side anyway, but there were times when James almost feared him. He would get loud and belligerent, and he'd actually come close to starting some fights for no apparent reason.

Tonight, he seemed to be in one of his moods, and the last thing James wanted to do was go anywhere with him. But he also knew that it really wouldn't be a good idea to refuse. Besides, Butch was a good guy at heart. He was one of the few people James had ever felt comfortable unburdening himself to, particularly where feelings regarding the female persuasion were concerned. Just the night before, he had talked with Butch about his feelings toward one of his classmates, Monica Scott. She had always been really sweet to him, but he had felt so shy around her. During their barhopping the night before, James seemed to remember talking at great length about his very secret feelings toward Monica, feelings he hadn't even dared write out anywhere. Had he? Had he told Butch those things? About wanting to look at her while she was nude? About feeling her skin? God, had he...

"James!" Butch was yelling now. Butch hurriedly stepped into his shoes without putting on socks and headed for the door. "Um, Butch, we're not, we're not driving anywhere, are we?" James asked. He knew full well that, in Butch's current state, or at least the state he seemed to be in, riding in a car with him driving would be akin to a suicide mission. James couldn't help but wish that he could see, so he could at least read Butch's expression, how his eyes looked. But his blindness kept him from reading these cues. He had to go on trust.

"No no, it's not far to walk," Butch said. James locked the door behind them and latched onto Butch's arm. Where were they going, James wondered. What was so urgent that he had to go look right now?

They walked out of the apartment building and turned left down the sidewalk. There were no cars, hardly any sound. They crossed the street to the right, and headed up the next block. They crossed another street, and kept going. Butch was moving pretty fast, and breathing sort of heavily. What was going on here? James was somewhat unfamiliar with this area. He rarely, if ever, walked this direction. He knew there were some abandoned buildings down this street, but that was pretty much all he knew. The sidewalk was uneven, and more than once he half stumbled over cracks. They turned right at the next corner, and about halfway up the block Butch left the sidewalk and led James through a mass of tall grass and weeds. Then they went up what felt like wooden steps. James was now aware of a strong smell of must. Where were they? What was this place? What was going on?

Butch pushed open a door that creaked very loudly. It seemed ten times louder in the stillness and quiet of the night. The musty smell was almost overwhelming to James now. Obviously, this must have been one of those abandoned buildings. Why was Butch bringing him here? James felt icy chills creeping up his neck. If he could have, he would have just turned around and run back down those steps, through that thicket of weeds, and back home. But he had no cane with him, no way to know how to get back home. but this setup was feeling creepier by the moment.

Butch shut the door behind them, and led James through what felt like a foyer of some sort. "It helps being a native of these parts," Butch said in a whisper that sounded very sinister to James. "I've known about this building for a long time. I come here a lot. Just follow me."

Well, what choice did James have but to follow? They walked through a rather large and empty area, the wooden floors echoing with every step they took. They walked down a hallway, and about ten or so paces down Butch stopped. "Here we are," he said, and opened a door, leading James inside a room. He closed the door behind them.

They appeared to be in a room that used to be an office of some sort. James noticed some bookshelves by the door that must have been built in. Of course, they were empty. The must and dust didn't seem nearly as prevalent in here. But James's nose detected another smell, one he couldn't recognize. And yet, it rang some deep, dark and distant bell in his mind. What did it smell like? He couldn't define it. And why did he feel his crotch begin to tingle?

"Here you go," Butch said, leading James across the room to a built-in desk opposite the door. The desk seemed to take up the entire wall. James felt his hands looking at it, almost unconsciously, as he did with any unfamiliar landmarks. And then, suddenly, his hand came in contact with something that made him jerk his hand back. What was that he felt? Had he imagined it? Or...no, he hadn't. He knew what it was. He couldn't believe it. It was a leg! A bare leg! He still had one hand on the desk, and that hand came in contact with what felt like a chain that led to something. James traced his fingers down it one way and saw it anchored to a bolt in the desk. And he went the other way and...oh my God!

James began to shake all over. "Butch, what have you, what have you..." He could barely even speak.

"This is all for you, buddy. All for you. I got her for you. Monica. There she is, and she's all yours."

"Butch, what have you done?" James heard himself scream.

"Hey, what's the matter, dude? Didn't you say, just last night, that you wanted to feel her nude? Well, I got her for ya. Don't worry, I didn't hurt her. Just drugged her good. She'll probably sleep for a long time. And I blindfolded her just in case. Hey, that sort of puts you on even footing, doesn't it?" He let go with a laugh that didn't even sound human. "Have at it, man. She's all yours."

So he had said those things last night! But any idiot, anyone in their right mind, would know he didn't mean it literally. There were things he could think about that he knew would never come true, couldn't come true. And this was one of them. Clearly, he didn't know Butch at all. What kind of depraved person would even think of doing this?

"Hey, what's with you?" Butch had that dangerous edge in his voice again. "I went to a lot of trouble to set this up. I haven't even heard a thank you."

James stood, almost paralyzed. He tried to find his voice. "Butch, this is not right," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Not this way. I can't do it this way."

"Oh come on! Do you honestly think she'd let you do this willingly? She wouldn't give you a chance. I've leveled the playing field for you. I thought you'd be a bit more greatful."

"No, no," James said, still not able to speak above a whisper. "Not right."

"Oh, fuck you then!" Butch was screaming now. "See if I ever do anything else for you! Some people just have a strange sense of gratitude! Well, you're gonna get a feel, whether you like it or not!" As he said this, Butch grabbed James's wrist roughly and forced his hand toward Monica. Butch was strong, and James couldn't fight him off. To his horror, he felt his hand get jammed down between poor, helpless Monica's legs. James's hand came into contact with a bushy patch of hair. He felt the moist heat rising from that area, and he couldn't help but notice that that was where that smell had been coming from. Once again, he felt his crotch tightening. He was revolted at himself. He felt like he was going to be sick. His hand was still trapped between her legs, and he thought he felt her jerk a little bit. She must be awake. Oh, God, she knew he was there!

"How was that?" Butch asked, in a voice that James didn't even recognize. At least he didn't have a hold on his wrist anymore. His hand was now out from where it had been.

James felt tears running down his face. He just felt so miserable. He couldn't believe Butch's treachery. But it had all started with his dirty thoughts. Those cheap, dirty thoughts!

"God, you're such a wuss!" Butch said, laughing tauntingly. "What kind of man are you? If I were you, I would have climbed up on that table and..."

James wasn't even aware of what he was doing, but he felt his arm draw back and then come quickly forward. he had no idea where he had hit Butch, but he knew he had made some sort of contact.

"Well, all right then!" Butch said between clenched teeth. "Find your own way home, you sonuvabitch!" Without another word, he walked to the door, into the hallway, slamming the door behind him.

James still felt the tears coming. What was he going to do now? He couldn't get home by himself. He was trapped. And what about Monica?

"James?" It was almost inaudible, but James heard her whisper.

"Monica? You are awake! Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I'm so so sorry!" James broke down, sobbing.

James then heard what sounded like the clanking of the chains, as Monica was probably trying to free herself. "The bolt. He just screwed it in. Try unscrewing it."

James did, and it came out relatively easily. He was also able to use the bolt to unlock the manacles that held her wrists and ankles in place. James still couldn't stop crying during this procedure.

After Monica was free from the chains that had held her, she hopped down off the desk. James collapsed into a sitting position on the desk and buried his head in his hands. He didn't know what to do. He'd give Monica his clothes if he could. He didn't want it. Not like this. He couldn't just take advantage of someone like that.

What was he feeling? Was that, could it be, arms around him?

'James, sweetie, it's okay. I know it wasn't your fault. I know this was Butch's doing. I don't blame you. yes, I was awake from the time he brought you in here. I don't blame you for your thoughts about me. In fact, I'm kind of flattered. It's okay. It's okay." She pulled James's head to her, so it rested on her bare chest. "I trust you," she whispered. "I've always trusted you. Butch hurt me, not you. I don't mind sitting here like this with you. It's all right."

James noticed that smell again, and it was stronger than ever now. Monica took his wrist in her hand, gently, not roughly like Butch had, and for the second time that night he felt his hand being guided in between her legs. Again, he felt the bushy patch of hair. But this time, he wasn't nearly as afraid. He let his hand rest there, feeling the moist heat, smelling the smell, feeling his penis getting hard. This is how it was supposed to be. Monica stroked the back of his neck. "It's okay. I need this now. Just enjoy yourself."