Thank you so much Anonymous!
On closer inspection the hair on the back of neck stiffened and goose bumps came up. My cop sense had been spot on. I knew who this kid was even though we had never met. He looked at me with eyes I remembered well. This kid had his father's eyes an unusual blue-grey stood out against his olive complexion. I never forgot his father's eyes because I was inches away when the life went out of them. “Good afternoon” he said with a slight Eastern European accent. “My name is Roman......”
I cut him off and finished the sentence, “Blavatsky. I knew your mother” I said hesitantly. “You look just like her. Except for the ...”
“The eyes” he in-turn cut me off, “Yes, she told me that much and the eye color is unusual for my people. I have several questions I would like to ask you regarding my...” hesitating to find a diplomatic word... “beginning or conception. I take it you were there.”
My back stiffened, and I said, “I would really rather not discuss those matters. You should take all of your questions up with your mother. She planned the event, and everything unfolded according to her plan.” I wanted to close the door, but some force stopped me from moving.
With a low tone in his voice and with more authority than you would credit a young man as possessing, he said “ The problem is my mother made a promise to you to never to discuss the matter. She also encased the events with her own special magic. It has protected you and her from the repercussions of the questionable activities of that day. She says that if she speaks of what happened, even with me, the magic will be undone.” I'm one of the least superstitious people you will ever meet, but when it comes to Miss Blavatsky, it is better to take no chances. After a pause, he asked, “Look, I may look young, but as you know, I am over 18 and there is no reason you cannot discuss this with me. May I come in?”
When I didn't answer he moved past me in the doorway. My young visitor saw David for the first time and put out his hand, and began his introduction, “I am Roman ...”.
David cut him off just as I had, and said “I heard who you are”. David was either offended or wanted to send his own message, by not extending his hand to shake.
Roman turned those piercing eyes on David now and seemed to look right through him. “You were there as well.”
“What didn't this kid know” I thought to myself. I have been trained by the Fed's in several of their interrogation classes. What I needed to do was to try and get control of the conversation before either of us admitted to anything. I needed to try and find out what he knew so we could steer the conversation around the events of his father's murder. “Please sit down Roman, and tell us why any of these matters from a long time ago in a small Louisiana bayou town are of any interest to you. Other than a natural curiosity your biological father could not have played any role in your life. Why is it worth knocking on a policeman's door and asking questions we have never answered? As far as that goes, why should we answer any of your questions?”
He took a seat in an arm chair and David and I sat together on the sofa. “Fair enough. You knew my mother as a talented clairvoyant. Since you last met her knowledge and grasp of magic has made her renowned in Roma society.” When we gave him a blank stare, he said, “You know, the Gypsies, right?” We nodded, and he continued. “My own abilities are evolving, but to understand and control them fully, I need to know more about my origin.” When we said nothing, he asked, “Did she use Ghost Seed, and if so how was it harvested?”
A chill past through me. David's hand was in mine, and I felt his temperature dip at the same time. The term “Ghost Seed” was one we had not heard since the day this kid was conceived in his mother's womb. The other thing that was as creepy as can be is to refer to the process as “harvesting”. Someone, in this case his father, or rather his sire, had to die. That didn't seem to bother this guy, but the mechanics did? I may have a cold-blooded psycho in my living room. We must have been looked pale and stunned. “You do know what I am talking about, right? It's the ejaculation of a dying man.”
The only thing I could think to say was, “Before your mother came to me with her crazy plan, I didn't realize hanging was an art.” My plan for seizing control of the conversation was shot to pieces.
Roman continued, “I am prepared to offer you a blessing in return for your recollections.” in a cooly transactional manner as if that made everything about this weird discussion all right.
After Roman left this was the only point David and I disagreed about: I clearly heard Roman finish his sentence with, “...or I will give you a curse.” David believes he did not say it, but agrees it was certainly implied.
“Shall we get started?”, he asked lightly, “My main question is why did you agree to my mother's plan? Why does a law enforcement officer agreed to be involved with murder?”
My tongue slowly began to move after feeling paralyzed. “David, why don't you go make us all some tea?” David got up, and as I started to answer he gave me one of those Are-you-sure-you-know-what-you-are-doing looks. “There were three reason.” I said. “First your mother was not someone to be refused when she asks for a favor. Second, when I agreed, I actually planned to be long gone from town when the events took place. Lastly, as far as your biological father is concerned, he was not a good person. The world is better off without him. Maybe I am supposed to feel some remorse, but in his case even with years to think about it, I don't.”
He started to ask another question, but I held up my hand. “It's probably easier to start this story from the beginning, put it into context, and have you ask questions at the end,” I said. He nodded and I continued, “Let start with your mother, and how folks in the town saw her.”
“They hated her right?”, he interjected. He got a look that said, “you are interrupting already.”
“No, that's unfair to people that are simple country folk and on the whole quite poor. It is more complicated than that. Let see, she's about seven, or eight years older than I am, so she was ahead of me in school. It seems like she dropped out at some stage to go into New Orleans to study tarot card reading, or some such thing. That's not a usual career path for someone looking to better themselves and get out of a small bayou town.”
“It goes back a lot farther than that.”, David yelled from the kitchen.
“David's right. There were two other things about your mother that made people uncomfortable. Her predictions and her ability to control animals. From an early age she could foretell bad things such as if someone would get sick, or be in an accident. Sometimes she could proclaim good news. There was a time she told a family they were about to win the lottery. They pulled together a couple of hundred dollars and ended up only winning ten dollars more than they had invested. Folks got a chuckle out of that.
The event that really cemented her reputation was when the big petrochemical plant was taken over by a South African Company. They got big state grants and tax breaks to expand the old plant, and clean up the mess the previous owners had left. There was a big ground breaking ceremony. A lot of the laid off workers were there and the governor, state politicians, all slapping themselves on the back. A representative from the company got up to give a speech. There was wild applause and the high school band played. In just a moment of time when things quieted down, but before the man started his speech from the back of the crowd a lot of folks heard your mother say, “ why is everybody so happy? He's going to steal all of the money.” At the time they shushed her, and she got some mean looks, but somehow the ground breaking equipment just sat there and nothing happened. About six weeks or two months later it came out the company rep had stolen the money, left the country, and the hopes that the chemical plant would reopen just died.
The governor set up a state commission to investigate the matter. A lot of people say the foreigner couldn't have gotten away with it all by himself, and that the locals were also paid off. As far as I know, the commission is still on the books, and nominally still investigating. That's Louisiana politics. Your mom wasn't even ten years old, and there was no way she could have known the project was doomed, but the people around her remembered and her reputation was cemented. Workers who were looking for those jobs wanted to lash out at any one they could. Even though she was a young girl she took quite a bit of criticism. She learned after that to keep her predictions to herself. Still there were times when she would look at someone, get a pensive look, and say nothing. If ill fortune befell the recipient of your mother's stare, they would take it as a curse from your mother. That's not a path to popularity.”
“It's called the soothsayer's curse.” Roman interjected “People say they want to know the future, but they really don't.”
“Your mother also seemed to have some re-pore with wild animals in particular reptiles. There was the time when she was checking out of the local grocery store, (That was back when the town had a grocery store). She left her food on the belt while the clerk was still ringing her up and ran three blocks to the local play ground. A child was playing too close to a poisonous snake. The critter had already reared up ready to strike. Your mother got between the snake and the kid, and just stared at it. The snake just moved away, crossed the road and went back into the bayou. Some folks said she could do the same thing with alligators.
Any way I had been living back in our little town working on our tiny police force for about five years when your mother approached me with the craziest plan I had ever heard. I had an athletic scholarship, was a line backer for LSU, played and started for three years, and came away with a degree in Law Enforcement. When I applied for a job as a local cop, the sheriff asked why anyone would want to live in a dying town like ours. He said, “ When I was growing up here there were about a thousand people. Now we have about a hundred. We get hundred year storms every five years. People bitch and complain about how corrupt FEMA is but they take their buy-out money and leave and don't come back. The water stinks like chemicals from that shut-down plant up the road. It's no place to raise a family.
I told him that my grandmother raised me here so I came back to take care of her. He said he respected that. He always called himself an old cracker, and told me he was in the Klan when he was younger, but we became good friends anyway. He taught me in a practical sense how to be a cop. Eventually he set me up with the State police and sent me up the career ladder with his blessing.
One day sitting in the patrol car with the radar gun, (speeding tickets being the primary source of revenue for the town), it was around the first of the month when your mother approached me, and said she was sorry to hear of my grandmother's passing. She went on to say she would need my help around the twentieth. “What's happening on the twentieth”, I asked? She tells me she will start to ovulate. This is already a lot more information than I needed, but she says I will capture and detain a man for her. Then she tells me about the art of hanging. This is a whole area of expertise I had no interest in and didn't really want to know. She explains that there are two basic ways. One is the long drop where the body falls a distance and the neck is snapped. That is considered a somewhat humane form of execution. The other is a slower form of strangulation during which the subject loses control of bodily functions and often ejaculates just before dying. With my help she wants to collect the semen and impregnate herself.
This had to be one
of the craziest things I had ever heard of. I'm not a killer, and never
had homicidal thoughts. I asked her if she had read this in an old spell
book. “No. As far as I know this has never been attempted before.
You will capture this man, detain him, and deliver him to a tree and hoist
him up by his neck for me. A friend will help with the collection. You
will feel no remorse, and understand the rightness of it.” she said
rather matter-of-factly. “I have never seen such strong agreement
between the tarot cards and the bones.”
she said, “If you follow my instructions, there will be no repercussions
for you, and your assistant.”
My last day at work was, well Friday the thirteenth. We had a little cake, I turned in my gun and badge and was no longer on the books as a cop. When I had started there were three of us, now it would be just the sherif, and frankly the town couldn't really afford him. Let's see, over the weekend I cleaned and organized my grandmother's house, (now mine). Monday I drove 45 minutes to the trailer rental place. The guy installing the hitch had a lot of problems because the bottom of my car was too rusted. He said I'd have to come back the next day. I got there about noon. The installer got the hitch on but didn't have time to wire the electric, so I had to make a third trip back. Where are we now, Wednesday? I was frustrated with all these trip back and forth really not making much progress. I finally started packing and loading the trailer on Thursday. I finished late in the day, with plans to take off Friday morning. I walked over to the gas station convenience store to get a beer and talk to David's dad. He's one of my favorite people in the world. He was like a father to me, and I needed to say goodbye to him.
David and I had grown up together, and were best friends. We started beating off together when we were eleven or twelve. Experimentation led into full blown sex. That led to all manner of things. David's dad was always loving and supportive even though he knew what we were up to. After I left for Baton Rouge to play football, and David went to the northeast for college, we hadn't seen each other much since then. I did not even know David was in town but when this tall, lanky, red-head came out of his dad's convenience store that day he brought a smile to my face. It was great to see him. We sat on a park bench and talked for an hour. It was like no time at all had lapsed between us. I asked David to go into the store and get us something to drink.
Roman asked, “So you two are homosexuals?”
“We'll I have always considered myself to be a bi-sexual, and wanted to have a family, but...” I answered and felt a sharp jab in the ribs.
Pulling back his elbow, David, always the discrete one, said, “I think we are getting a little off of the subject.” This reminded me I was becoming a little too familiar, and letting my guard slip. Instinctively I knew this kid would know, if I was lying. On the other hand David was right. I shouldn't offer up more than was necessary.
“While I waited a silver pick-up pulled into the gas-station, and pulled up to the side of the building with the old car-wash. A decade ago the station was owned by a big oil company that installed the car-wash as a way to make a little more money out of the place. After the equipment broke down it just never seemed like it was worth it to fix it. From across the street I see this white guy with a lot of tattoos get out of the truck (which wasn't that dirty), walk up to the “Out-of-order” sign, swear and go inside the store just a minute or two after David went in.
It occurred to me that I should have asked David to get some condoms, too.” This time I got a harder elbow in the ribs. “Any way I could see through the glass doors David being pushed into the candy rack. I was off the bench and moving full speed toward the store. As I got closer I heard this stranger say “you fuck'in fag”. I nearly took the door off its hinges as I bowled into the store. David's father was reaching for the sawed off shotgun he kept below the counter, but the weapon is too long and the space too confined to wield it effectively. The stranger, who you have probably guessed by now, Roman, was your father, was moving behind the counter with his fists balled to berate the old man about the car-wash not working. At this point I was angry because he had threatened two of the most important people in my life. I vaulted over the counter and got between this guy and the old man, picked him up by his tee shirt and deposited him out in the sales area again.
In the process the
front of the shirt ripped and his upper body was exposed. He was five
eight or five nine, and in his mid-twenties. He was fairly well proportioned
like a swimmer or even a light weight boxer. He might have been a blond
at one point but at lest today the hair had faded to a light brown dirty
blond. His eyes were the most unforgettable feature – blue-ish gray,
but piercing like yours. His body was covered almost completely in tattoos.
He got to his feet, and said, “You dare to judge my body art, black man?”
“If that's art, did you ask the guy doing the tattoos for everything in the catalog?”, I asked sarcastically. “Didn't any one explain to you there is such a thing as too many tattoos” not caring in the least if he was offended. His fists balled and he came at me. I weighed at least fifty or seventy-five pounds more than he did, and even though football was my game, I had the reach of a basketball player. His fist came toward my face, and I just caught it in my hand, twisted his whole arm around behind his back.
In the moment I had forgotten that I wasn't actually a cop anymore, and thought I would throw the standard assaulting a police office charge at him. That wasn't really going to work but the police station was three block away. We would figure out something when we got there.
“Are you guys alright?” I asked David and his Dad as I put my other hand over your father's collar bone. “Let's go see the sheriff”, I said as we walked to the door.
“Good” the troublemaker said. “That's who I came to town to see”
“David opened the door for us and I asked him to move the guys truck down to the station.
As we left the property, I asked him why he wanted to meet the sheriff. He said he wanted to proposed a link up between the Klan and his neo-Nazis group for a protest. I started to say, “good luck with that” when he twisted out of my grasp. My thumb caught on what was left of his tee shirt in the back and the rest tore off. His back fully exposed, I could see the tatt made from one of those old-timey post Civil War cartoons of a black man being lynched. There was also a lot of other non-sense like the Pink Panther and Bugs Bunny. There was somebody's face. Was it Johnny Cash, or some Nazi I have no idea. If there was a theme it was hatred and bigotry, but mostly it was a Hodge-podge of random images. I pinched his neck muscles and propelled him forward.
We got into the station and my ex-boss was at his desk with his feet on the desk. I think we woke him up. He stood up and hitched up his pants as far as his prodigious stomach would allow. The sheriff said, “What do we have going on here?”
Your father started to say, “This damn Nig...” but I squeezed his neck muscles as hard as I could and all he could say was “Ouch”
This low-life threatened me, old-man Johnson, and David down at the convenience store pushing them around and trying to get behind the counter, but he claims he's in town on business to see you” I summarized before the aspiring Nazi had a chance.”
The sheriff said, “Boy, what business you got with me?” I knew when he addressed your father as “Boy” the guys case was lost. That was a term resolved for folks he did not respect.
“Sheriff can we discuss this in private?” he asked. “I'm here to talk about uniting the white people of America.”
The boss, just rolled
his eyes, and said, “ My grand-father died at the Battle of the
Bulge kicking those Krauts back to Berlin. Boy, don't you know the Nazis
are the bad guys?” He looked at me and said, “I think we better
check and see if there are any outstanding warrants for his arrest.”
“No, you get on. I can handle mister excitement here.” the sheriff said.
“I didn't think that was a good idea, but wasn't in a position to argue since I wasn't officially on the payroll anymore. “Ok” was all I said and started to bow out. I walked out, turned to walk past the station, but saw as I passed the window your father had my old boss in a head lock and he was punching him in the stomach. At this point I might have been more angry than I have ever been. This racist bastard had harmed three of the most important people in the world to me. I came back in to the station and headed for the two entwined individuals at full speed. Your father saw me in time to release the old fat man but not soon enough to get out of my way. I hit him as hard as I hit the offensive line in the Alabama game. I was at full full speed in that little office when we hit the back wall. Of course I had your father's body between me and the wall. I heard at least one rib crack.
I picked him up with one hand around his neck, walked into the back of the station, picked up the keys to the cell, unlocked the door. Opened it, and threw him against the back wall of the cell, slammed the door and hung up the keys. Your father started to tilt over on the side of his cracked rib, and righted himself, before falling on the other side on the floor. I took a moment to reflect on how angry I had been and resolved never to act in such anger again.
When I came back into the front I found the sheriff rubbing his heart. His color was not good. I knew he needed to be in the hospital as soon as possible. We're a small town with one old fire truck. There is no ambulance. I picked him up and put him in the one running police car, turned on the sirens and started the thirty mile trip to the hospital. I wasn't officially a cop at the time and should not have been driving. I should not have left a prisoner unattended in the station, but there just wasn't time to work out a solution.
We were about ten miles down the road when we came to a road block. There was an ambulance loading a child on a stretcher, and an adult waiting to get in as well. The office running my side of the road block knew me and he and the sheriff were old friends. After I told him I thought the old guy was having a heart attack he brought one of the EMTs over. The EMT guy agreed, and kind of took charge.”
“This old man needed to be in the hospital ten minutes ago. I am going to ride with him in the police car. We are going to radio ahead and have another ambulance meet us between here and that hospital. We'll transfer him when we meet the ambulance on the way. The patrolman agreed, but had the highway patrol car at the other end of the road-block escort us to the hospital. We were traveling at over ninety miles an hour with our sirens on. It wasn't the most conducive environment for conversation, but I asked the EMT what had happened at the accident site.
He said, “It was awful. Some asshole swerved off the road trying to hit some kids playing along the side of the road.”
That made me sick, but I asked, “Any witnesses?”
“No not really, The mother said she she came out to see a silver pick-up trying to steer back onto the road.”, the EMT said. Concentrating on my driving I still didn't put it together.
“We were about a block from the hospital at that time when we passed the ambulance coming toward us, so we just continued on to the hospital. The EMT and that staff took my friend in and I took care of checking him in, and the sad duty of calling his wife. She got there about an hour later and needed company so I spent the night in the waiting room. Sometime in the night my brain started to work. Silver pickup. The insistence on getting a car wash. I had the perpetrator sitting back in the jail cell. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. If there was any chance this guy could get out of at least an attempted murder charge, it just didn't seem like justice. Was the mother's fleeting glance at the vehicle good enough for a conviction?
It occurred to me I had broken rules myself in running the guy in, roughing him up, and then leaving him un-attended over night in the cell. Could he use those as mitigating arguments to get off? Smart-ass white guys like that knew how to use the system. It was nearly day-break when the doctor came out and told us the old-man was going to be ok, but would be in the hospital for a while. I decided to drive back to the station and find out where things stood with my guest in the cell.
Mid-morning of the nineteenth I get back into town and pulled up to the station. Who should be coming out, but Miss Blavatsky. She said, “You have done well. He will do nicely.” I confused for a moment then it hit me. Everything had fallen into place as she had predicted weeks ago. You will capture this man, detain him,... I went weak in the knees. What if I didn't do the other stuff: deliver him to a tree and hoist him up by his neck.”
She said, “I gave him some food and a some water. Don't give him any more to eat before you deliver him at tonight.”
“What did you give him?” I asked.
“I gave him a laxative bar. He should spend the rest of the afternoon on the toilet” she replied.
“Why” I asked.
“With a look that she might use explaining it to a toddler, she said, “So he won't shit all over us. Give him no more solid food today.” She paused and with a business-like tone she could have used to give me a shopping list as she continued, “After dark, be ready to bring him to the Town Oak. I will contact you when it is time. You will need to choose an assistant.” With that she was off.
There is a tree
at the edge of town which is almost three hundred years old. The white
folks call it the Town Oak. The black folks know it as the Lynching Tree.
There was something fitting about all of that but, profoundly scary too.
Those first two questions were sticky given my ambiguous employment status with the department. I wondered if I had any liability here? I thought it was better to steer the conversation toward his last one.”
“What did she do?”, I asked.
“She gave me something to eat, which is more than I can say for you or anybody else in this town. That had to be the worst tasting candy bar I have ever had, but I was so hungry I couldn't help but eat the whole damn thing.”
“What was weird about her?”, I asked.
He gave a disgusted look, and said, “Is she even white? I couldn't pin down her race, and she wouldn't answer me when I asked. She's got a weird look. Kinda creepy too.”
“You seem to be really hung up on looks and race.” I said.
“Well of course. White people should be with white folks, blacks with blacks and so on. We all owe that much to our own race.”
His attitude sickened me but I tried to not let it show. “What about the human race, I countered?
“Don't be a wise guy” he said disdainfully. “You know what I mean”
“So it would surprise you to know “That weird woman” has chosen you to father her child?”
“What!” he said, with a raised voice, that came with a wince of pain from the rib. “I don't want to have sex with her.”
“What a coincidence,” I countered. “She doesn't want to have sex with you either” He gave me a mystified expression. “She wants me to hold you up, milk the sperm out of you, and she will inseminate herself.”
He looked disgusted if not sickened, and said, “You are going to use me like some farm animal?”
I shrugged and said, “pretty much.”
“Who I choose
to procreate with is my choice, my right. No one else's,” he said
trying to put more emphasis in his voice.
“Look it's my body, my choice, right?” he came back with maybe a little bit of pleading in his voice.
“Is that what they taught you in third grade.” I'm not really a malicious person but taunting this guy was kind of fun.
He was thinking of something to say, when he got a pained look in his face, his eyes kind of bulged out, and he said, “excuse me”. He hurried to get his pants down as he went for the toilet. I turned and walked away from the cell and heard him say, “We aren't done talking about this, and I want a lawyer.” From the groan it sounded like a violent bowel movement that must have aggravated his cracked rib.
“What he didn't realize that he was more like a farm animal than he knew. He wouldn't just give up his sperm and inseminate against his will. He needed to be slaughtered to do it. He didn't get how much trouble he was really in. To be fair I hadn't one-hundred percent committed to the plan when I walked away. I was scared to cross madame Blavatsky, but murder a guy? I sat down to think.
I said “You see, Roman, the wheels of the justice system can spin pretty slowly, but once they start, they are hard to stop. It all starts with the...”
Roman interrupted for the first time in a while. It was annoying but I could tell he was hanging on every word. “The arrest” he interjected.
I countered, “It starts with the paper-work. When your father came
into the station there were no records, because I had to rush out. There
was no record of him being there. The more I thought about it, the more
your mother's plan appealed to me. The wasn't a lot of evidence for the
hit-and-run charge. He would probably get off for that. I was in trouble
for running him in as a private citizen, and roughing him up even though
he certainly deserved it. We would have to be careful getting rid of the
body and his truck, but the more I thought about the more I liked the
“David left and came back after dark with something for us to eat and some coffee. The smell of food enraged your father who started complaining he had not been fed in all the time he was there, and that he was going to sue us for cruel treatment. As we finished your mother came in and said everything was ready. She told us all her materials were in the back of your father's truck. We were to bring him down to the town oak/lynching tree in an hour.
After an hour we went back to the holding cell. There were water bottles scattered over the floor. You father said, “Finally, did you bring me something to eat?” A man can live quite a while without food. It's water he needs so I wasn't worried about him actually starving.
will be over soon.” I said. “Turn around and put your hands
behind your back.”
As we drove slowly, the guy got apprehensive. “Where are we going? If you think we are going to some quiet spot where I am going to fuck that weirdo woman you are mistaken. I refuse to cooperate. I always thought I would settle down with some gal, we would start a family, and I would instill my values in my kids. That's only natural. It's every man's right.”
“Who you planning on settling down with? Melanie?” I goaded.
Again. if looks could kill, I would be a dead man. “How do you know about that bitch?”, he shot back.
“Because her name is tattooed across your face.” I answered.
“Oh yeah,” he answered sheepishly. “Got to see about getting that removed.”
“You guys aren't together any more?” I enquired as we approached the lynching tree.
“No”, he said. “We were together three months. I thought she was the one, but she dumped me.”
“What kind of idiot dates a women three months, and the get a tattoo of her name on his face?”, I thought. “Imagine that? You being such a great prize catch and all.” After a pause I continued, “I would trust that weirdo woman to instill better values to a child than you ever would.”
refuse to cooperate. My seed is my own, and I'm not giving it up.”
he said with more conviction than I thought was really there.
We approached the lynching tree. There had been a church there once but it had mostly fallen in. We pulled onto the grass with the head lights pointed at Madame Blavatsky who was standing under a long limb. I got out and went around the side to help your father out. He seemed to be very weak in the knees. What little color was in his pale face drained away. Your father glanced in the bed of the truck and probably saw the noose attached to the rest of the rope and said, “Oh fuck. You guys are going to hang me.” I said nothing.
As we walked to the tree Madame Blavatsky addressed you father and said, “Do you believe in an after life? If so, I suggest you transition swiftly. There are many angry spirits here, and they do not like you.”
When we reached the tree, I took pulled your father's pants and under wear down below his knees and took his belt and fastened it tight just above the knees. I took the shoe laces and tied his feet together. The rope was made of nylon. There wasn't much give in it. It was going to cut deep into the neck. When he saw the noose he started babbling. “If this is a joke, I get it, ok? Some kind of red-neck back-water humor is it?” His cock was already at half-mast. It was pretty average in size as cocks go- maybe five inches. It was a warm sultry southern night. His balls were hanging low.
While I got ready for the main event David and Miss Blavatsky were talking. I could not hear what they were saying. There weren't any houses around. No one would hear us, but I thought we might as well move this along. The noose went over his head. It was such a tight fit especially over the ears, I wondered how I would get it off when we were done. It was sure to snug up a bit. I threw the other end of the rope over the tree limb and started to pull. The tension on your father's neck got his attention. He gagged as the rope constricted and actually got a few weak breaths in as he struggled. His asshole winked. He was scared enough I think he would have shit on us if he could. David asked me to wait when I had our guy on the balls of his feet. He tried to twist around and look at me but couldn't. He started to piss – an act of defiance or an involuntary reaction? I have never been sure. He was certainly scared at this point. David waited for the stream to end and then approached with a small cord tied in a slip knot which he put around the exposed balls. Then he put on a condom while Miss Blavatsky looked on. His penis had reached full mast.
David gave me a
nod and I pulled a few more inches and the nazi wanna-be left the ground.
The noose tightened even more around the guy’s neck, before finally
starting to lift him up. He gasped at the shooting pain all around his
neck. He dangled for half a minute before he began thrashing, or at least
trying to thrash. Thick veins were beginning to stick out along the sides
of his neck. His face turned redder as he looked down. His eyes were popping
out as he struggled. His tongues darted madly in and out as he twisted--which
only tightened the rope and added to the torment. He bucked and kicked
his tied ankles for all he was worth. As I was behind him I watched as
his fists clenched and unclenched as they twisted in the cuffs.
For me time nearly stopped. How long did it take before the legs stopped jerking as vigorously? I don't know. I had no idea how long someone could last without air. Maybe I should have done more research, but holding this guy up took both arms. I couldn't look at my watch, if I had wanted to. There was still a lot of strength left in that young, muscular body. At some point the legs did slow down, and the thrust became less intense. David seemed to sense the last thrust and cut the cord constricting the testicles. The sudden release caused the doomed balls to release every precious drop of sperm. “The harvest” as you called it, Roman.
The condom swelled
with a very respectable load. This guy's balls and cock didn't look that
big but he was (at least in this instance) a big shooter. As I was behind
and David was in front I couldn't see how many times he shot into the
condom. The last volley probably coincided with the last of the movement.
The bucking and attempting to twist around stopped. I held on to the ropes
because I didn't know what else to do. David took the full condom off
and held it for Miss Blavatsky. She inserted a syringe and pulled up the
plunger. The condom deflated again as the precious seed was sucked in.
She walked away from us and sat down on the back bumper of the truck and
facing away from us. From where I was standing it looked like she put
the syringe between her legs. Given that you are here now, Roman, I have
to assume she inserted it into her vagina and pushed the plunger down,
and nature took its course.