Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

It was a week to the day that the guy—Warren Copely, I'd been told—had assaulted me in the park. And I was out, running again, in the same park. I still hadn't resolved what I wanted. But above all else, I didn't want my life limited by where I could and could not go.

And then there was the fucking Copely had given me. Yes, it was rough. But it brought me to heights I'd never gone to before. That was what was wrong with this selling of my body. With each paid fuck, I was becoming less sensitive to arousal, more needing to control myself, to pretend. With Copely it had been pure animal. He'd surprised me, and he'd handled me—took all control out of my hands. For some reason I found that arousing—and liberating. And the size of him. Overuse was making me slack. He filled me to where I knew I was being fucked. Even the choking was exhilarating. The lack of oxygen gave me a rush, hardened and lengthened me, made me gush.

All of these thoughts were going through my brain as my feet took me on the path across the brook and railroad tracks even though each and every morning for the last week, I had resolved that I would stay to the main nature trail.

He popped out from behind a tree as I entered the narrow woodland trail. I saw him in my peripheral vision. He was wild eyed, grinning. He reached out for me as I passed him, but I struggled away and began to run in earnest.

Another dozen yards and I veered off the path and started crashing through the underbrush.

I was panting, and so was he. His panting was getting nearer and nearer. It was like we were in a jungle and he was a lion bringing me to ground. He leaped onto my back as he caught up with me, sending us both crashing into a bed of ferns.

He flipped me and backhanded me twice, once in each direction across the cheeks. Still I tried to struggle up from him, tried to break away. He made a fist and reared back and socked me in the cheek, under my eye. My head snapped back and I sprawled back on the ground, surprised and in pain. Dazed. This couldn't be happening. I'd made the sex good for him. I'd give him good sex. he didn't have to do this.

I lay there whimpering, totally cowed. He was straddling me, knees on either side of my waist, me putting up zero resistance. He pulled my head up with a fist in my hair and backhanded me again with his hand. Then, as I just fell back into the ferns, he went up in a crouch beside me and jerked off my running shorts and jock strap.

He stood over me and removed his own shorts and jock. He was hung like a horse. Even in half erection he had the biggest equipment I can remember ever seeing.

He came down again with knees straddling my chest and grabbed my head by the hair and pounded in up and down on the ground a couple of times.

Why was he doing this? I wasn't putting up any resistance. I could show him a good time—I had already shown him a good time.

I gagged as he forced his cock beyond my lips and face fucked me. He was saying something, but, with the ringing in my ears from the beating, I could barely . . . just barely make it out.

"I said I'd be back for you. The second man."

His knees pushed up under my buttocks and his cock pushed inside me. He bottomed and then started fucking me hard and deep. I was too far gone to go with the fuck—to do any of those things I'd done before to give him pleasure and to want have me going with him. I just lay there, moaning and whimpering at his full, cruel possession of my channel. His hand went to my throat, and I was fighting for breath and consciousness.

When he came, he let out a victory yodel.

That, undoubtedly, was what saved me.

The next thing I knew, we were surrounded by blue uniforms, and Copely was being pulled away from me and being dragged off.

The guy who had been in the dark sedan the other day was there, and he was pulling me up, and helping me put my running shorts back on. The waistband of the jock strap had been snapped in Copely's run to get it off me, so it was of no use.

The guy helped me over to the picnic table and had his handkerchief out, dabbing at the blood at the corners of my nose and mouth.

"I'm Detective Madison. Henry Madison. Sorry we didn't get to you sooner. If he hadn't pulled you off the trail—"

"Sorry. That was me," I said. "I left the trail. You from Vice?"

"No, Homicide."

I moaned at the recognition of what that meant.

"We had planned to take him before he did this to you. Sorry about that. If you'd ID'd him the other day . . . but your description of the truck helped us narrow it to Warren Copely."

"You've been watching for him?"

"Every day. Every day you were running. You were the second man. We figured he'd come back for you."

"The second man? That's what he said too . . . while . . . while he was taking me."

"That's was what linked the crimes. This guy had it out for homosexuals and targeted them. But, go figure, his way of punishing them was through sexual assault. So, you can figure what that said about him. Well, he had a pattern. He'd murder one man and then find a second man to have sex with."

"So, that first day, when the light was on in that house and the red truck was outside."

"Yes, we found the body of a young man inside. Copely killed him there. Those folks are on an around-the-world trip. The young guy was house sitting for them. Their neighbors called in the light being on and the truck in the driveway. It was gone by the time anyone responded, though.

"So, I was—"

"The second man that day, yes. I can understand you not telling me when I asked you about him. But if I'd known he'd attacked you that day, we would have been faster in pulling him off you today."

"And this second man?"

"On a subsequent day, the second man became the first man. That's what was happening today."

"Oh."

"Let's get you home now, if you live nearby."

"In the apartment complex across the railroad tracks beyond this development."

"Good. We'll get you cleaned up and when you feel like it, I can take your statement. We can see what we can put together that will keep you as much out of this as possible."

"You'd . . . you'd do that . . . for me?"

He went on, as if I hadn't spoken. "Then, when you felt well enough for it, we could see about working off that $50-tab I'm running with you."