It’s Ella Fitzgerald singing, I think. I remember learning about her in music class at school, and her pure tone is easy to identify. She’s singing “Let’s Fall in Love.”
Ella is a fantastic singer…but Bianca might be better.
As I listen to the lyrics, which describe two people who may not be the right fit in theory but are falling in love anyway, I can’t help thinking of Bianca’s sweet voice singing the tune.
Then the music melts away, and I imagine her shedding her clothes, getting on her knees, and taking my cock into her mouth.
Her lips, her tongue… They felt so good on me…
I reach down and squeeze my dick through my pants. I’m hard as fucking steel as I replay in my mind the macabre liaison I shared with Bianca in the grand suite.
We fucked in front of a corpse.
And neither of us cared.
It’s morbid, yes. But it was also hot.
The fact that we had to have each other right then and there, never mind the circumstances.
The blare of a car horn rips me out of my thoughts.
Shit. I haven’t been paying attention to the road. I’m halfway between two lanes. I quickly get over and the driver behind me speeds ahead of me, flipping me off as he passes.
“Same to you, fella,” I say under my breath.
But he was well in his rights to flip me off. I was drifting between lanes like a drunk driver.
I didn’t have a sip of alcohol at Aces Underground this evening.
But I’m drunk on Bianca.
I look up at the road.
“Shit,” I say.
I’ve overshot my exit by a couple miles. Not a big deal. I’ll pull off, make a U-turn, and get right back on my way home. I take the next exit available—Forest Park.
The exit is along the Des Plaines river—damn, I really overshot my exit—and it’s an area I’m familiar with. I grew up not too far from here.
It’s a part of the greater Chicago area I haven’t been to in some time.
And for good reason…
Why the hell are we all the way out here?
We had to walk from Ray’s house a good half hour to get to this park along the Des Plaines river. It’s not really a park, though. More of a nature preserve. Definitely a weird place to be hanging out in the dead of night.
Ray’s parents think that we’re sound asleep in his basement.
I’ve been hanging out with Ray and his friends for a couple months now, ever since that day he helped me up after Hector Dimpsey beat me senseless. My parents weren’t thrilled when they found out I was hanging with them. They think Ray is a deadbeat with no direction in life who’ll end up living in his parents’ basement into his forties.
I don’t think that’s the case. Ray is smart, always cracking clever jokes. He doesn’t get the best grades, but he’s not flunking out. Middle school grades don’t matter anyway, according to my dad—behind my mother’s back, of course. He’s just a guy who dyes his hair black—with those wicked green highlights—wears dark clothing, and listens to a lot of punk music. The fact that he’s Regina’s brother doesn’t hurt either. She still doesn’t give me the time of day, but now that I’m hanging out with Ray regularly, I occasionally see her at the kitchen table doing homework or sitting on the couch watching TV.
One time I considered sneaking into her room and snooping around, but I thought better of it. If I got caught, Ray’s parents definitely wouldn’t let me keep coming here.
And finally, after months of asking, I convinced my parents to let me spend the night at the Sinclairs’ house. Mom was a pain in the ass about it, had to call Ray’s mom and get to know her. They seemed to get along all right, so I was able to come here.
It’s me, Ray, and two of his buddies, Max and Corey, here tonight. For the first time since I started middle school, I finally feel safe in the company of friends.
