Fragments.ws is devoted to adult-themed, SCI-FI and Speculative Fiction. In most of these stories, men are turned into statues, animals, mythological creatures, and other transformations.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Gypsy's Curse (WT 11)
Posted on the Website The story of a gypsy curse on a thief. The tattoos on his arms actually transform him into a snake.
Here's the entire idea just as I wrote it for the first time.
Curse of the Gypsy
“So you thought to rob Maria Espansia, Queen of the Gypsies?” “Uh, Uh, Uh,” {he’s gagged, naked and tied to a post in the middle of the warehouse} “Well young man, I, Queen of the Gypsies curse you to become as the snake you are.” They pull the gag out of his mouth and let him sputter. “Curse me, look old lady, if your faggot sons are going to fuck my naked ass then go away and let them. I can take anything you dish out,”
He later recounts this to the narrator. He’s been dropped off on the narrator’s doorstep bound and gagged. The gypsy sons are young, well built, fleshy even and illustrated with reptilian tattoos. They press red-hot branding irons to his forearms and calves and leaves four, six-inch snakes burnt into each of his limbs. “We will send you to your friends and in a month he can bring you back to Nico and Dmitri. They will know how to take care of you after the curse is fulfilled. My sons and I await you…” They pack him into a van, blindfolded and throw him out in front of his buddies house.
Names: Gary Everett Delicato?, Kieth Segretti, Keith Kleber
If ya don't believe me, I have the handwritten journal to prove it.
Bernita, I noticed that I changed tattoo to brand. I was in a restaurant with a small black notebook and a pen when it happened. I was just trying to get the idea written before the waitress came with my hamburger or I forgot the story.
I've decided that the person talking in this blurb is only going to appear as a snake. A friend of his (a record producer) will be explaining his "pet snake" to a visitor/friend/lover{?}.
The Cursed One was thrown onto his doorstep and he witnesses the change over a few days. That will give me a chance to change the "red hot branding irons" into something more like a tattoo. Perhaps small, baby snakes that are simply pressed on his arms and legs.
The Cursed One has tobe in doubt, denial and then rage against the curse as it slowly changes his body. The friend is obviously going to garble the story in its retelling.
I'm thinking that maybe the listener makes a stupid visit to gypsy just to learn the truth. That might make the story too long.
As for homoerotic, yeah, I noticed that. This is a story that I think will benenfit from no blatant sex, just implied sexuality. Gotta think on that some more.
of course I could set this in a hump-hump bar in Amsterdam and make the friend the madame of a whorehouse and all the characters would turn into authentic queers and phony virgins.
Curse of the Gypsy “Watch this! Watch this,” George sounded like a little kid with new toys—a 90-inch plasma screen, a pet python and a new Rap group in his stable of rock, rap and SKA. I loved George’s penthouse with its expensive and plush materials contrasting with his pimped-out, brassy and utterly pretentious rock producer style of decorating. I tapped the glass on the terrarium to see if his new pet snake, Reggie, was hiding in it. “It’s my new group, the Sploogy-Woogies,” George screamed. A group of scruffy, ill-mannered, foul-mouthed teens in black eye makeup cracked off a thunderous opening capable of raising the dead, deafening the ears and creating small earthquakes. The penthouse shook. They began to play, if that was the word for what they did, the worst rock music ever written for three guitars and drums. I abandoned my defenseless body into the care of the purple sequined cushions and pink leather sofa. “I have to get them to change their names to something more palatable. I plan to launch them in Britain for Christmas.” I rolled my eyeballs sarcastically when I felt something rub against my leg. “For Christmas? Why don’t you call them the Heebie Jeebies, or the holy, motherfucking SNAKE!” I screamed like a little girl and nearly jumped off the sofa as George’s new pet, a fifteen-foot python introduced itself to me. It liked my face with its long tongue and slithered over my body. I shook like a leaf and my mind screamed at me to get away from the big, bad, cold, slimy snake. “You’ve got a snake in the sofa,” I think I said. The snake just slithered around and over my body and wound around George’s arms and shoulders. “Meet Reggie, my new pet. He won’t hurt. He’s friendly. Just a big, sweet snake, aren’t you boy. You met Reggie once before, you know,” George petted the snake’s head. It flicked its tongue in my direction. “Isn’t that right Reggie, he just doesn’t recognize you.” “I never met no snake here before.” I looked around for a weapon. “Yeah you did. Do you remember Raul Hernandez the drugged out little hustler who used to hand out with all the bands? Well, ever since the gypsy’s curse we don’t talk about Raul anymore. We call him Reggie. Don’t we, my gold and green beauty.” “There’s no way that’s Raul. I knew Raul and he had a great trouser snake but no scales like this beast.” “You knew Raul, didn’t you. In fact, didn’t you live with him?” “Live with him, um yes, we did. I always wondered what happened to Raul. I still have his stuff.” George pointed to the TV screen. “Watch this! Watch this, the band is about to do one of their stunts. Wait until you see it gimmick,” George bounced with delight and pointed to the huge image on his TV. All four boys in the band video stopped playing suddenly and made the most sickening retching noises. In ten seconds, they launched onto the stage and when the music started again, they stamped across the stage splattering as they played. I sat there stunned. The snake didn’t help. It kept trying to wind its body around my legs. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking how despicably vulgar, how juvenile, how decadent. Why this is all overdone, but I have to tell you, the audience will love that shit. You should hear their renditions of classic 40’s love songs. It would rip your heart out.” Reggie, the snake succeed in trapping my legs and lay it’s head on my chest. Its unblinking eyes stared at my face and flicking its tongue while its head moved up and down with each of my breaths. “I don’t know what to say, George. They sound like just another bunch of screaming teens to my ears.” I tried to be calm but I hate snakes. “Aw you’re just being silly, Look, I know it’s all just a little too, too outre’ for most people’s tastes but they aren’t the ones who buy records. Besides, it’s really fake vomit. Maybe in ten years I’ll let them pull that stunt. It’s I don’t want them to peak too fast. What do you think of the name Pimples Scarred Butts? Reggie and I like it but they don’t. They want M’Tumbo M’Beke’s Shadow Force but I wouldn’t let them, they’re too white for that name. I just need your opinion.” He could see my growing panic as the snake kept curling around my body. George went over to the bar. “You are going to burn in hell for this, George. Do you know what? Get this snake off me or get me a drink, goddamit George. It’s cold. It’s slimy. You’re new group is a pathetic pile of untalented shitheads and your snake is scaring the bejesus out of me. Crap George, I don’t wanna yell and scream like this. Get me a drink, a big drink.” The snake licked my chin and slithered around my neck. I tried to grab the snake’s head but it dodged. “Now just because you’re Scotch-Irish, don’t go all religious on me. I happen to know that you’re one of the biggest heathens on the planet.” George prepared two large margaritas, one for each of us. “I call these sacrificial virgins because there’s enough alcohol in them to make you forget you’re being thrown into a volcano.” I drank it all. It had too much fruit, too much sugar but just enough alcohol to calm my nerves. “You likey?” George asked. He refilled the drink. “Better, better, Look George,” I drank, “I’m listening to some rap crap by untalented assholes and letting the biggest damn python I’ve ever seen in my life crawl on my body. Why did you aske me over here?” George laughed and picked up a remote control. At the click of a button, the awful rap noise switched to Rod Stewart singing golden oldies. I didn’t care much for golden oldies but anything was better than the previous noise. Reggie tasted my margarita with its tongue. I thought its eyes crossed. I just closed mine and finished the glass wondering if a drunken snake would fall asleep. George filled the glass again. “There, does that calm your poor delicate senses? They say music hath charms to sooth the savage beast.” George set two pitchers of margarita mix on the coffee table and joined me on the couch. “Please don’t play that stuff you played earlier,” I said as I drank. The alcohol let relax me. I even got use to Reggie’s scaly skin against my soft pink skin. He didn’t feel repulsive or disgusting anymore. Ah the wonders of tequila. The damn snake kept sneaking sips of the booze. I could see it getting progressively drunker. Rod Stewart and a drunken snake; a night to remember, a night to tell your grandkids. “What’s the reason you wanted me here?” I asked. George giggled. I set the dregs of my margarita aside and picked up the second. “I told you, Raul and the gypsy’s curse.” “…the gypsy’s curse? You are so pathetic when you lie. Honest George, if your life depended on it, you couldn’t lie your way out of a paper bag.” We both giggled for a couple minutes. Reggie’s head drifted over to it and licked the glass. “Wait, wait, now that the snake isn’t looking, it can’t hear you,” I giggled again at my idea of a deaf snake. “Tell me the truth. Why did you get a pet snake and don’t try to pass it off by telling me that it’s Raul and some gypsy cursed him or that those trash musicians you love so much gave you a gift.” George got up and brought over two pitchers of margaritas. “He showed up at my door one night, naked and frightened and crying and bleating.” George laughed. “Oops I said bleating, I meant bleeding. They really beat his ass, you know.” George closed his eyes as he sipped his drink. He half smiled, half didn’t. “Who beat him?” I asked. Reggie curled up under my shirt against my bare chest. It tickled and I laughed. The damn snake flexed and popped the buttons off my shirt. “You rotten son-of-a-bitchin’ snake, that was my best shirt.” I grabbed the snake’s head and bent it around. I think they call it drunken bravado, you know, grabbing a snake by the head. It wound around my waist and flexed. I let go of the snake and pulled my shit off completely. Reggie curled around my half-naked body. “Your body must be warm. Snakes like that. Just relax, he’s harmless and such a sweet snake. Ain’t you big boy,” George laughed and settled himself into the bejeweled cushions. I petted Reggie. He, wait a minute, here I am calling the snake, he. He curled up tight against my body. Not snake tight but caress tight. This snake never stopped he slithered around both arms and legs and still could hold his head up higher than mine. “Alright, tell the story. I’ll shut up.” “One night late, well after I Started my beauty sleep. In fact, as I remember, it was close to sunrise when the guards called me to the lobby. A car pull up in front of the building and two gypsy boys threw Raul’s unconscious body at the door then drove away. The security guards recognized Raul and called me. We carried Raul upstairs, washed him and put him to bed. He slept for over twelve hours.” He stopped talking and reached over to poke Reggie. The snake looked directly at George. “Hide for a while, please Reggie,” George said. Reggie slid off my body and into the cushions of the sofa. I felt cold and lonely. George pushed some buttons and images of a young man dancing in a nightclub appeared on the huge TV screen. “Remember Raul, the little four foot six petty thief who used his gymnastic skills to steal? Well, I caught him on this tape. He doesn’t like to see his former self.” George let the tape run for a several minutes. We drank. I could feel my body flush red from the alcohol. “I remember him now. He never seemed to gain weight or lose muscle definition. Good looking kid with a great build, curly black hair and as I recall, hazel eyes. I wondered how he could stay so drugged up and yet not have needle tracks.” George switched the video of Raul with videos from his current clients. “Not any more, he’s all green and gold with slit-shaped yellow eyes. Here Reggie, here Reggie.” The snake popped its head up as George fawned over it. It rubbed against me and started to curl around my arm but stopped and looked straight into my eyes. I tried not to cringe or show disgust or show fear. “He likes you. At least he likes to curl around boozed up bodies because they’re hot.” George giggled at my predicament. “Go ahead, snake, curl around me all you want,” I said. I swear the beast almost smiled at me. It curled around my arms and legs letting its head come to rest in the middle of my chest. I could move just enough to drink the margarita. “Well, when Raul woke the day after, he had four small tattoos on his body, one on each forearm and the other two on each thigh. Oh, he was beat up all right. It took two weeks for all the bruises to go away and Raul hid here and at my club during that time.” He stopped talking to drink. I shifted my body and the snake. “By the end of the second week I noticed that the snake tattoos had grown from six inches long to almost completely winding around his legs and arms. At first, he didn’t talk but then he admitted that at night, the snakes talked to him in his dreams just like they were alive. The more he dreamt, the larger the snake tattoos grew. Well, I had to ask him what happened that night.” “We are talking about this snake, aren’t we? A tattooed Raul isn’t going to pop out of your closet with a raging hardon declaring his love and hitting me up for drugs, is he?” Reggie the snake tightened against my body like a hug. “No, Raul don’t do drugs anymore. Now quit interrupting, you’re making me forget the story.” “OK.” “That night, Raul heard about bars of gold bullion passing through a warehouse and he made plans to steal it. As he told me the story, he had the gold out of the safe and into a backpack and ready to boogy when the old woman showed up.” George animated his talk with his hands and arms. “I am ka-ween of the g-g-gyp-SIES she told him with the worst gypsy accents he said he every heard. Now Raul might have been only five foot two but he was 165 pounds of solid muscle as you saw on the video. So he yells back. Old lady, you so ugly that even the devil don’t want your wrinkled and ugly body, even the rats run from your face. And then he turns his back on her and starts to run out of the warehouse.” George was up on his feet doing a good pantomime of the gypsy. I laughed hard and let Reggie twist his long body around my torso several times. He trapped my arms and began to slip his head down into my gym shorts and jockstrap. “You ignorant little pissant, I Olga Hezchekendorfer, last of the great gypsy ka-weens, keeper of the dread secrets of Czyczyk am not to be insulted by rude boy. Raul told me he almost wet his pants he laughed so hard. Here’s this crone about 90 years old, holding a crooked walking stick and screaming at the top of her lungs like a banshee. He just turned and ran right into her two sons.” “Ouch, ran into the two sons. That wasn’t too smart. I guess the old lady knew she was the distraction and outsmarted him.” Reggie tightened his coils around my chest. “Hey,” I squeaked, “stop that.” Reggie eased up. I pulled his head up to mine and wagged a finger at his non-existent nose. “You better behave,” I said. I wrestled the snake as it slithered and coiled around my body. Hell, I was so drunk; I let the damn snake undress me. The thing was that once it shoved that flat head under any piece of clothing, it just kept contracting and flexing until the clothing either ripped or slid off and its scales tickled. I laughed and George laughed at me while Reggie tickled my naked body for several minutes. “You have a nice set of muscles there Dude. Reggie likes muscles. But we’re getting behind and I got appointments,” George said as he poured another couple margaritas for me to drink. I waved him off but he insisted. I drank. “So the next time Raul wakes up, he’s bent over a sawhorse, legs akimbo, getting the shit fucked out of him by Nico and Dmitri both of whom together have the IQ of a kumquat. I mean mouth-breathers all the way. They just slobber and drool all over Raul while they’re having at him. He said they went on for hours and finally he passed out. When he woke, he remembers the old woman standing over him with baby snakes. I curse you thief, she says, I curse you with the curse of the snake and she puts a snake on each arm and each leg. Then her two boys, still naked and hard smack him upside the head and the next thing he remembers is hitting the ground in front of my apartment building.”
7 comments:
Here's the entire idea just as I wrote it for the first time.
Curse of the Gypsy
“So you thought to rob Maria Espansia, Queen of the Gypsies?”
“Uh, Uh, Uh,” {he’s gagged, naked and tied to a post in the middle of the warehouse}
“Well young man, I, Queen of the Gypsies curse you to become as the snake you are.”
They pull the gag out of his mouth and let him sputter.
“Curse me, look old lady, if your faggot sons are going to fuck my naked ass then go away and let them. I can take anything you dish out,”
He later recounts this to the narrator. He’s been dropped off on the narrator’s doorstep bound and gagged.
The gypsy sons are young, well built, fleshy even and illustrated with reptilian tattoos. They press red-hot branding irons to his forearms and calves and leaves four, six-inch snakes burnt into each of his limbs.
“We will send you to your friends and in a month he can bring you back to Nico and Dmitri. They will know how to take care of you after the curse is fulfilled. My sons and I await you…”
They pack him into a van, blindfolded and throw him out in front of his buddies house.
Names:
Gary Everett Delicato?, Kieth Segretti, Keith Kleber
If ya don't believe me, I have the handwritten journal to prove it.
Uh..brands are not tattoos, Dave..
Very homoerotic.
Bernita, I noticed that I changed tattoo to brand. I was in a restaurant with a small black notebook and a pen when it happened. I was just trying to get the idea written before the waitress came with my hamburger or I forgot the story.
I've decided that the person talking in this blurb is only going to appear as a snake. A friend of his (a record producer) will be explaining his "pet snake" to a visitor/friend/lover{?}.
The Cursed One was thrown onto his doorstep and he witnesses the change over a few days. That will give me a chance to change the "red hot branding irons" into something more like a tattoo. Perhaps small, baby snakes that are simply pressed on his arms and legs.
The Cursed One has tobe in doubt, denial and then rage against the curse as it slowly changes his body. The friend is obviously going to garble the story in its retelling.
I'm thinking that maybe the listener makes a stupid visit to gypsy just to learn the truth. That might make the story too long.
As for homoerotic, yeah, I noticed that. This is a story that I think will benenfit from no blatant sex, just implied sexuality. Gotta think on that some more.
of course I could set this in a hump-hump bar in Amsterdam and make the friend the madame of a whorehouse and all the characters would turn into authentic queers and phony virgins.
Gee, would that be a cheesy blast to write.
I thought about the tattoos and Bernita's comment about branding.
Absolutely correct. I agree.
The thief will have tattoos of snakes before he gets introuble with the gypsy. She see the tattoos and uses them as part of her curse.
Curse of the Gypsy
“Watch this! Watch this,” George sounded like a little kid with new toys—a 90-inch plasma screen, a pet python and a new Rap group in his stable of rock, rap and SKA. I loved George’s penthouse with its expensive and plush materials contrasting with his pimped-out, brassy and utterly pretentious rock producer style of decorating. I tapped the glass on the terrarium to see if his new pet snake, Reggie, was hiding in it.
“It’s my new group, the Sploogy-Woogies,” George screamed. A group of scruffy, ill-mannered, foul-mouthed teens in black eye makeup cracked off a thunderous opening capable of raising the dead, deafening the ears and creating small earthquakes. The penthouse shook. They began to play, if that was the word for what they did, the worst rock music ever written for three guitars and drums. I abandoned my defenseless body into the care of the purple sequined cushions and pink leather sofa.
“I have to get them to change their names to something more palatable. I plan to launch them in Britain for Christmas.” I rolled my eyeballs sarcastically when I felt something rub against my leg.
“For Christmas? Why don’t you call them the Heebie Jeebies, or the holy, motherfucking SNAKE!” I screamed like a little girl and nearly jumped off the sofa as George’s new pet, a fifteen-foot python introduced itself to me. It liked my face with its long tongue and slithered over my body. I shook like a leaf and my mind screamed at me to get away from the big, bad, cold, slimy snake.
“You’ve got a snake in the sofa,” I think I said. The snake just slithered around and over my body and wound around George’s arms and shoulders.
“Meet Reggie, my new pet. He won’t hurt. He’s friendly. Just a big, sweet snake, aren’t you boy. You met Reggie once before, you know,” George petted the snake’s head. It flicked its tongue in my direction. “Isn’t that right Reggie, he just doesn’t recognize you.”
“I never met no snake here before.” I looked around for a weapon.
“Yeah you did. Do you remember Raul Hernandez the drugged out little hustler who used to hand out with all the bands? Well, ever since the gypsy’s curse we don’t talk about Raul anymore. We call him Reggie. Don’t we, my gold and green beauty.”
“There’s no way that’s Raul. I knew Raul and he had a great trouser snake but no scales like this beast.”
“You knew Raul, didn’t you. In fact, didn’t you live with him?”
“Live with him, um yes, we did. I always wondered what happened to Raul. I still have his stuff.” George pointed to the TV screen.
“Watch this! Watch this, the band is about to do one of their stunts. Wait until you see it gimmick,” George bounced with delight and pointed to the huge image on his TV. All four boys in the band video stopped playing suddenly and made the most sickening retching noises. In ten seconds, they launched onto the stage and when the music started again, they stamped across the stage splattering as they played. I sat there stunned. The snake didn’t help. It kept trying to wind its body around my legs.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking how despicably vulgar, how juvenile, how decadent. Why this is all overdone, but I have to tell you, the audience will love that shit. You should hear their renditions of classic 40’s love songs. It would rip your heart out.” Reggie, the snake succeed in trapping my legs and lay it’s head on my chest. Its unblinking eyes stared at my face and flicking its tongue while its head moved up and down with each of my breaths.
“I don’t know what to say, George. They sound like just another bunch of screaming teens to my ears.” I tried to be calm but I hate snakes.
“Aw you’re just being silly, Look, I know it’s all just a little too, too outre’ for most people’s tastes but they aren’t the ones who buy records. Besides, it’s really fake vomit. Maybe in ten years I’ll let them pull that stunt. It’s I don’t want them to peak too fast. What do you think of the name Pimples Scarred Butts? Reggie and I like it but they don’t. They want M’Tumbo M’Beke’s Shadow Force but I wouldn’t let them, they’re too white for that name. I just need your opinion.” He could see my growing panic as the snake kept curling around my body. George went over to the bar.
“You are going to burn in hell for this, George. Do you know what? Get this snake off me or get me a drink, goddamit George. It’s cold. It’s slimy. You’re new group is a pathetic pile of untalented shitheads and your snake is scaring the bejesus out of me. Crap George, I don’t wanna yell and scream like this. Get me a drink, a big drink.” The snake licked my chin and slithered around my neck. I tried to grab the snake’s head but it dodged.
“Now just because you’re Scotch-Irish, don’t go all religious on me. I happen to know that you’re one of the biggest heathens on the planet.” George prepared two large margaritas, one for each of us.
“I call these sacrificial virgins because there’s enough alcohol in them to make you forget you’re being thrown into a volcano.” I drank it all. It had too much fruit, too much sugar but just enough alcohol to calm my nerves.
“You likey?” George asked. He refilled the drink.
“Better, better, Look George,” I drank, “I’m listening to some rap crap by untalented assholes and letting the biggest damn python I’ve ever seen in my life crawl on my body. Why did you aske me over here?” George laughed and picked up a remote control. At the click of a button, the awful rap noise switched to Rod Stewart singing golden oldies. I didn’t care much for golden oldies but anything was better than the previous noise. Reggie tasted my margarita with its tongue. I thought its eyes crossed. I just closed mine and finished the glass wondering if a drunken snake would fall asleep. George filled the glass again.
“There, does that calm your poor delicate senses? They say music hath charms to sooth the savage beast.” George set two pitchers of margarita mix on the coffee table and joined me on the couch.
“Please don’t play that stuff you played earlier,” I said as I drank. The alcohol let relax me. I even got use to Reggie’s scaly skin against my soft pink skin. He didn’t feel repulsive or disgusting anymore. Ah the wonders of tequila. The damn snake kept sneaking sips of the booze. I could see it getting progressively drunker. Rod Stewart and a drunken snake; a night to remember, a night to tell your grandkids.
“What’s the reason you wanted me here?” I asked. George giggled. I set the dregs of my margarita aside and picked up the second.
“I told you, Raul and the gypsy’s curse.”
“…the gypsy’s curse? You are so pathetic when you lie. Honest George, if your life depended on it, you couldn’t lie your way out of a paper bag.” We both giggled for a couple minutes. Reggie’s head drifted over to it and licked the glass.
“Wait, wait, now that the snake isn’t looking, it can’t hear you,” I giggled again at my idea of a deaf snake. “Tell me the truth. Why did you get a pet snake and don’t try to pass it off by telling me that it’s Raul and some gypsy cursed him or that those trash musicians you love so much gave you a gift.” George got up and brought over two pitchers of margaritas.
“He showed up at my door one night, naked and frightened and crying and bleating.” George laughed. “Oops I said bleating, I meant bleeding. They really beat his ass, you know.” George closed his eyes as he sipped his drink. He half smiled, half didn’t.
“Who beat him?” I asked. Reggie curled up under my shirt against my bare chest. It tickled and I laughed. The damn snake flexed and popped the buttons off my shirt.
“You rotten son-of-a-bitchin’ snake, that was my best shirt.” I grabbed the snake’s head and bent it around. I think they call it drunken bravado, you know, grabbing a snake by the head. It wound around my waist and flexed. I let go of the snake and pulled my shit off completely. Reggie curled around my half-naked body.
“Your body must be warm. Snakes like that. Just relax, he’s harmless and such a sweet snake. Ain’t you big boy,” George laughed and settled himself into the bejeweled cushions. I petted Reggie. He, wait a minute, here I am calling the snake, he. He curled up tight against my body. Not snake tight but caress tight. This snake never stopped he slithered around both arms and legs and still could hold his head up higher than mine.
“Alright, tell the story. I’ll shut up.”
“One night late, well after I Started my beauty sleep. In fact, as I remember, it was close to sunrise when the guards called me to the lobby. A car pull up in front of the building and two gypsy boys threw Raul’s unconscious body at the door then drove away. The security guards recognized Raul and called me. We carried Raul upstairs, washed him and put him to bed. He slept for over twelve hours.” He stopped talking and reached over to poke Reggie. The snake looked directly at George.
“Hide for a while, please Reggie,” George said. Reggie slid off my body and into the cushions of the sofa. I felt cold and lonely. George pushed some buttons and images of a young man dancing in a nightclub appeared on the huge TV screen.
“Remember Raul, the little four foot six petty thief who used his gymnastic skills to steal? Well, I caught him on this tape. He doesn’t like to see his former self.” George let the tape run for a several minutes. We drank. I could feel my body flush red from the alcohol.
“I remember him now. He never seemed to gain weight or lose muscle definition. Good looking kid with a great build, curly black hair and as I recall, hazel eyes. I wondered how he could stay so drugged up and yet not have needle tracks.” George switched the video of Raul with videos from his current clients.
“Not any more, he’s all green and gold with slit-shaped yellow eyes. Here Reggie, here Reggie.” The snake popped its head up as George fawned over it. It rubbed against me and started to curl around my arm but stopped and looked straight into my eyes. I tried not to cringe or show disgust or show fear.
“He likes you. At least he likes to curl around boozed up bodies because they’re hot.” George giggled at my predicament.
“Go ahead, snake, curl around me all you want,” I said. I swear the beast almost smiled at me. It curled around my arms and legs letting its head come to rest in the middle of my chest. I could move just enough to drink the margarita.
“Well, when Raul woke the day after, he had four small tattoos on his body, one on each forearm and the other two on each thigh. Oh, he was beat up all right. It took two weeks for all the bruises to go away and Raul hid here and at my club during that time.” He stopped talking to drink. I shifted my body and the snake.
“By the end of the second week I noticed that the snake tattoos had grown from six inches long to almost completely winding around his legs and arms. At first, he didn’t talk but then he admitted that at night, the snakes talked to him in his dreams just like they were alive. The more he dreamt, the larger the snake tattoos grew. Well, I had to ask him what happened that night.”
“We are talking about this snake, aren’t we? A tattooed Raul isn’t going to pop out of your closet with a raging hardon declaring his love and hitting me up for drugs, is he?” Reggie the snake tightened against my body like a hug.
“No, Raul don’t do drugs anymore. Now quit interrupting, you’re making me forget the story.”
“OK.”
“That night, Raul heard about bars of gold bullion passing through a warehouse and he made plans to steal it. As he told me the story, he had the gold out of the safe and into a backpack and ready to boogy when the old woman showed up.” George animated his talk with his hands and arms.
“I am ka-ween of the g-g-gyp-SIES she told him with the worst gypsy accents he said he every heard. Now Raul might have been only five foot two but he was 165 pounds of solid muscle as you saw on the video. So he yells back. Old lady, you so ugly that even the devil don’t want your wrinkled and ugly body, even the rats run from your face. And then he turns his back on her and starts to run out of the warehouse.” George was up on his feet doing a good pantomime of the gypsy. I laughed hard and let Reggie twist his long body around my torso several times. He trapped my arms and began to slip his head down into my gym shorts and jockstrap.
“You ignorant little pissant, I Olga Hezchekendorfer, last of the great gypsy ka-weens, keeper of the dread secrets of Czyczyk am not to be insulted by rude boy. Raul told me he almost wet his pants he laughed so hard. Here’s this crone about 90 years old, holding a crooked walking stick and screaming at the top of her lungs like a banshee. He just turned and ran right into her two sons.”
“Ouch, ran into the two sons. That wasn’t too smart. I guess the old lady knew she was the distraction and outsmarted him.” Reggie tightened his coils around my chest.
“Hey,” I squeaked, “stop that.” Reggie eased up. I pulled his head up to mine and wagged a finger at his non-existent nose. “You better behave,” I said. I wrestled the snake as it slithered and coiled around my body. Hell, I was so drunk; I let the damn snake undress me. The thing was that once it shoved that flat head under any piece of clothing, it just kept contracting and flexing until the clothing either ripped or slid off and its scales tickled. I laughed and George laughed at me while Reggie tickled my naked body for several minutes.
“You have a nice set of muscles there Dude. Reggie likes muscles. But we’re getting behind and I got appointments,” George said as he poured another couple margaritas for me to drink. I waved him off but he insisted. I drank.
“So the next time Raul wakes up, he’s bent over a sawhorse, legs akimbo, getting the shit fucked out of him by Nico and Dmitri both of whom together have the IQ of a kumquat. I mean mouth-breathers all the way. They just slobber and drool all over Raul while they’re having at him. He said they went on for hours and finally he passed out. When he woke, he remembers the old woman standing over him with baby snakes. I curse you thief, she says, I curse you with the curse of the snake and she puts a snake on each arm and each leg. Then her two boys, still naked and hard smack him upside the head and the next thing he remembers is hitting the ground in front of my apartment building.”
I got inspired today and rewrote the story. It's almost finished. I didn't like the word akimbo. That and I punched up the silly factor.
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