by Brian Fugett
I was well into my third beer when I noticed her giving me the proverbial ‘once-over’ at the Halloween party. She was a 5’ 3” brunette dressed as Frank Miller’s version of Robin the Boy Wonder and was endowed with an immaculate pair of 36 Cs that pressed out the little “R” logo on her shirt like a cinematic, 3-D effect. She smiled, exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke then started to grind against my crotch as the dance music thumped and rattled my internal organs.
“You like? You want to make FUCK with me?” she asked with a stilted, Russian accent.
“What?” I asked, not quite believing what I heard.
“My cunt’s wetter than Lake Erie,” she whispered into my ear, her vodka tainted breath giving me goose bumps. She took my hand and led me down to a room in the basement.
The room was pitch black. She pushed me onto a mattress and told me to strip naked. Needless to say, I complied.
A pair of stifled giggles circulated the darkness as I removed my clothes. One female, the other male.
A small desk lamp suddenly clicked on.
“I got an idea,” said the large man seated in the corner. “Why don’t you two have sex while I watch?”
“Pardon me?” I asked, squinting in his direction. Any buzz, horniness and cool vibes I had going were squashed into oblivion. I was scared shitless. “I am not sure I understand.”
“What is to understand? I want to watch you and the girl fuck,” he said, his voice tinged with a Slavic slur.
All I could see of him was that Neanderthal gaze and the meaty hands working his penis like a wad of Silly Putty. The Hammer and Sickle tattoo on his forearm fluttered about like an old Soviet flag as the video camera nestled on the tripod next to him stared relentlessly with its unblinking RED EYE.