“SUFFOCATE ME WITH A PLASTIC BAG WHILE YOU FUCK ME: 0424-383-XXX”
Scrawled seemingly hurriedly in Permanent Marker on the once white toilet-paper dispenser attached to the brick wall of this relatively secluded ‘Men’s’ public toilet block in an inner-suburban Melbourne park. I forgot why I came here. Same reason I ever come to these places I guess (sex, pain, need, death, curiosity, fear, fantasy, danger, hate)... whatever. I take my belt off, tighten it around my neck and loop the buckle over the hook on the back of the toilet door (the usual). Just enough slack to keep me standing on my tip-toes(alive?), but tight enough to cut off my breathing, enough to make it good (lethal). I tighten my noose and straighten my grip. Pulling. Pumping.
~...Locker room flashbacks. Matt Dillon. Ball sweat(sweet smelling). Hellraiser/Pinhead. Michael Pitt’s Lips. Blink 182. Boys in only basketball (up)shorts(no underwear) smoking bongs/playing xbox. the ‘Scream’ mask. A lad in a gimp mask(freak on a leash). ‘Body Count’ mosh-pit. Barb wire tattoos. A PLASTIC BAG. PLASTIC BAG. PLASTIC BAG/GIMP MASK (death mask)....~
Pants around my ankles I jerk off, explosively cumming on the brick wall. While I catch my breath/cum back to reality (regain de/composure) my milky thick semen slowly drips/flows(like lava) down toward the beaten-up toilet-paper dispenser. This graffiti’s really fucking with me, I can’t stop repeating the words over and over in my head. I send a text:
“I can’t breathe... jealous?”
“Yes. Suffocate me with a plastic bag while you fuck me.” (How original).
“Yeah I saw that. I’m kind of young, is that a problem?”
“No problem, how young?”
“14, but I don’t live with my parents”...
I didn’t expect him to write back so quickly, maybe I should’ve held off on jerking it. Shit. What am I doing? I’m not even really feeling sexy anymore, I mean I blew my load and along with it, my desire for danger and sex, but I am still obsessed with this graffiti. Besides, it obviously ‘helped’ me in some way, did something for me, so it could come in handy some other time, besides it can’t hurt (it better hurt).
“Where are you right now? I want you to fuck me while I’m passed out.”
“Sorry now’s not a good time.. how about tomorrow around this time?”
“OK fine I guess. You sure you can’t meet now?”
“I’m sure. Where + when 2moro?”
“Meet me at 6pm in the toilet block in the park where you saw my message. I will be standing at the urinal, average height, brown hair, wearing black denim jeans with a brown leather belt, boots and a Navy Blue bomber jacket, with my back to you when you walk in. In my back left pocket you will find a black plastic bag partially hanging out - I want you to take it out, place it over my head and use it, along with my belt, to strangle me until I pass out. Once I am passed out it’s up to you what you wanna do to me, as long as you’re fucking me while I’m fading out I don’t care what you do - if you wanna get creative or violent that’s cool. Absolutely No Condoms. Does this sound good?”
“Yeah, sounds great. But I’m worried I won’t be able to overpower you enough to bring you down and everything.. Sounds kinda difficult. Like I said I’m only 14 and I’m on the skinny side of things, so I’m not very strong yet.. What do you think?”
“Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem - trust me(kill me), I will also be on a cocktail of downers and sedatives anyway, so by the time you arrive overpowering me should be (dead)easy, besides I won’t be fighting it beyond playing out the fantasy(nightmare).. Just make sure you start fucking me before I’m out completely - I NEED to experience the plastic bag suffocating me WHILE you’re fucking me, understand? this is VERY important.”
“Yeah right - I got that part, OK cool - can you maybe bring some extra downers for me? Benzos, Roofies, like whatever’s cool, but that could be fun.. Of course I’ll save them for after I’m done with you though.”
“Sure, maybe, whatever. I dunno. See you at 6pm tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
“OK dude see you then.”
I show up a few minutes early and hang around discreetly nearby - watching for anyone going in or out of the brick block (prison), anyone who matches ‘Plastic Bag’s description. Nothing. No-one. Has he set me up? 5:59pm - I walk into the toilet block. Sure enough, there He is, standing at the urinal with his back to me, plastic bag in his pocket, same clothes that he described. Must’ve been standing there a while. I clear my throat, he doesn’t flinch. I approach him quickly, grab the plastic bag, pull it over his head and tighten it around his neck til he runs out of air. He was right, this is pretty easy. His body is kind of limp, he must be on some good shit. He stumbles and falls to the ground without much effort on my part. I undo his pants, remove his belt and loop it around his neck, securing the plastic bag over his face and head. I pull it tight and start fucking him from behind. It’s like a black hole down there (open wound), this guy’s been fucked up before with some gnarly shit by the looks of things(brutal and regular anal torture). His arsehole isn’t as warm as I’m used to (like a cold wet swamp). maybe it’s the icy concrete beneath us. I’m getting pins and needles in my feet. I keep tight grip on the belt with one hand, with my other arm hugging him, holding onto his body (caressing him/keeping him in place). I continue thrusting recklessly and let my mind wander. I finish inside him and collapse on top of him, panting. His body is kind of like folded in two underneath me and he’s still playing limp. I remove the belt from around his neck and peel off the plastic bag from his face, the inside is all wet from condensation. “How was that?” I manage. His face is blue and his (dead) eyes are staring right at me. He doesn’t seem to be breathing. FUCK. He’s not breathing. (His ultimate fantasy). He’s fucked. He’s dead. Shit. (I’m jealous).
He’s got a baggie of pills in his pocket - a bunch of Xanax, some Oxys, and a few other things that I’m not sure of. I swallow the whole lot and wash it down with some water from the tap (“this water is not fit for drinking”). I lock myself inside the bathroom stall. I bash my head against the brickwall repeatedly until I start bleeding and hallucinating. Like when you close your eyes and push hard on your eyelids with your fingers: eventually the darkness reveals intricate and endless fractal patterns and layers of colour - you begin to move through a galaxy of light and dark. “Seeing stars.” Headbanger’s Ball. I can feel the blood gushing from the open wound in my head, washing down my face (Niagara Falls) and into my mouth, filling it with that familiar metallic/primal/bitter, human flavour. Each pounding headbang is like a ripple of numb euphoria booming through me. Whiplash Fantasy. WHAT THE FUCK THAT DUDE IS DEAD. I get a boner. I fall backwards and lean against the toilet door. The blood on my face has started to coagulate and dry. I love the taste. I’m totally hard now. I remove my belt and loop it around my neck, hanging one end up on the hook at the top of the door, and then I let my body drop - my own weight pulling me down, pulling it tighter, tighter. I tuck my feet up behind me and hang as I touch myself. I feel my eyes starting to bulge(as well as my cock). I can feel my head filling up with blood, it’s like I can almost hear it, a deafening liquid silence. His graffiti starts to bleed out of focus. My ears feel full. Pressure change. It’s like someone is rapidly inflating my head like a helium balloon. Tighter. Pulling. Self-flagellation. Auto-erotic Asphyxiation. (Agony/Ecstasy).
~...Locker room flashbacks. Matt Dillon. Ball sweat(sweet smelling). Hellraiser/Pinhead. Michael Pitt’s Lips. Blink 182. Boys in only basketball (up)shorts(no underwear) smoking bongs/playing xbox. the ‘Scream’ mask. A lad in a gimp mask(freak on a leash). ‘Body Count’ mosh-pit. Barb wire tattoos. A PLASTIC BAG. PLASTIC BAG. PLASTIC BAG/GIMP MASK (death mask)....~
“SUFFOCATE ME WITH A PLASTIC BAG WHILE YOU FUCK ME.”
and then:
(blank ad infinitum)
I’m dead before I even finish.
(Jealous?)
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