Frisk: A Novel (Cooper, Dennis) by Dennis Cooper Read Free Book Online Page B

One time this cute `ex' of mine accidentally went home with him and. . ."

    Joe leaned close.
    (We're over Kansas, for the record. It's flat with a few scattered buildings and roads. The interior of the plane is more interesting. I don't mean the seats and stuff. I mean two rows ahead of me there's a Belgian or Dutch family of various ages and sexes, all clumped around one aisle seat, doting over its occupant, a boy, maybe twenty. I just noticed them. He has a great profile, sharp nose, full lips, big eyes, thick brown bangs. That's all I've been able to see as of yet. But it's enough. Weird how his family's fawning. He's my type, for sure, but I know from experience that my type's not standard, though most people admit that my type's pretty hot. Hmm. I'm in a window seat. There's no occupant on the aisle. Across the aisle some older guy and his wife are tipped back in their seats asleep. Great. See, I've gotten a hard-on just based on this glimpse of the boy. And planes make me horny in general, because they're so cramped or something. So I'm unzipping my jeans and removing my hard-on. There, great. It's one of those inexplicable things. The more I look at that pampered boy, the worse I want to do something intense to him. I don't like to use the word "sex" because what I'm interested in is more serious, though it resembles sex superficially. That's what happens when you're so specific about the kind of partner you want. It's not just hot stuff with cute guys who look vaguely alike. It means perfecting your feelings for them, or dissecting their seeming perfection, or ... Shit. Like right now, if I could coerce that boy into one of the jet's little toilets with me, I'd turn psychotic, I'm sure. Actually, it's more like my body would lose it, and I'd be observing the damage it does from a safe place inside.)

Friday evening
    Joe sprawled in Samuel's Datsun. They burned rubber. The freeway was empty. Occasionally one of Samuel's hands left the steering wheel, messed around with the crotch of Joe's slacks. Its wrinkles and creases would focus, unfocus, suggest other things, like a cloud did when viewers looked hard and long enough.
    Honk, honk.
    Samuel's apartment building was one of those beige stucco, two-story types rimmed with catwalks. He unlocked the door. 2E. Joe took a chair in the living room, hands folded casually in his lap. Samuel was hunched over next to a shiny mahogany cabinet mixing screwdrivers. Joe looked around at some artwork that didn't register.
    Samuel handed him one of the drinks, clinked their rims.
    Ding.
    "I know you like violence," Samuel said by way of a toast, "but does that mean you're into S&M?"
    Joe was taking a drink, which he gulped down in order to answer. "Well . . . " he choked.
    "Anything I'm interested in doing to you, basically?" Samuel smiled, took a sip.
    Still choking, Joe waved his left hand to mean Give me a second, then looked up to see if Samuel had gotten the message.
    Samuel leered, sipping.
    Joe set down his glass and tried to cough out the burning. No luck. He doubled up. When he felt a fist pounding his back, he made his lips mime the phrase, "Thanks a lot." Samuel kind of waltzed him through the furniture, down a hall, accidentally scraping walls, into an unlighted room. That felt dramatic.
    Slam.
    "I'll be honest with you," whispered Samuel's voice. It was moving around in the dark like a ghost's.

    "That's nice," Joe said, not particularly interested. His voice was still kind of raspy. He cleared his throat, pulled out a cigarette, lit up, took a drag. "There. Sorry about that." He belly-flopped on the bed, exhaled smoke. "Ready."
    "Okay, um ... here goes." Samuel's hands started scrunching and kneading the seat of Joe's slacks like they intended to sculpt something out of him. That felt okay, if a little monotonous. After a while they lifted.
    "One second, yeah?" Joe stood, smashed his cigarette out in what he hoped was an ashtray, pushed his slacks and underwear to his