Iceman

Vega, 1964

He was draft-exempt, he felt sure, but he was reaching that age when you started worrying about the future. He could make a lot of money. He didn't need some bullshit Uncle Sam coming along and pissing all over his plans. Ruining his career before he got started. He had learned from another boy how you could fuck with the draft-board jerks. He could show them his scars and tell how he'd been hurt when he was a little kid and how it made him crazy so he had to quit school and that. He laughed to think about it.

He had his stepsister facedown in the sweet-smelling grass in back of the old Colman house. Nobody could hear her if she decided to let out a scream before he could clamp a hand over her mouth. He could never understand why she got him so excited. She was ugly in the face and her body wasn't anything too great. Hell, he'd had her a hundred times. Yet every time was a turn-on.

“I love to fuck you, you ugly cunt,” he told her. She was motionless under him. Trying to freeze her mind until the ordeal was over. “I'm talking to you, bitch,” he said, yanking her short hair and twisting her head cruelly. “Answer me, goddamn you."

“Ouch,” she said in reply when he pulled her head back. “Please—"

“Yeah, beg me real good. I'll show you some mercy.” But she said nothing more. He had her milk bottle from school and shook out some milk on his hand, rubbing the warm milk on his erect penis. Then he poured some over her rectum and pushed against her until he could enter. “Howzzat feel, cunt?” He rammed it in his stepsister's butt, but he was so excited he couldn't hold back and shot his wad after what seemed like only a couple of minutes. He rolled off her and lay back in the grass, spent, and she pulled her clothes up silently and walked away, like always, head down, saying nothing.

He loved being mean to her as much as the actual sex. Fucking with her mind. Teasing and bullying and torturing her, making her life a nightmare with no escape. He laughed to himself as he dropped off the stone wall in back of the Colman place, moving through the overgrown weeds running as fast as his strong legs would take him, running down Fifteenth and cutting up Pierce, four blocks out of the way, running at breakneck speed so that he could be hiding in wait for his unwary stepsister as she neared the house.

He was out of breath, gulping for oxygen, as he ran up the front steps of their home and hid behind a large bush. Just in time as she turned the corner, moping along, her head down, walking slowly toward the house. Just as she came up the steps, he lunged at her from behind the bush screaming at the top of his lungs and pushing her into the grass again, “GOTCHA!” He screamed, mauling her, but his screamed word and laughter were drowned out by her ear-splitting screams of terror as something snapped inside the girl.