Doing just one more quick scan to make sure the coast is clear, I quickly pull down my zipper and maneuver my dick out of my pants. Before I even start to piss, the moon reflects off something shiny, the instant flash causing me to freeze.What was that?
I try to focus on where I saw it, but my vision isn’t the greatest thanks to one too many beers—and maybe Emily for that shot.
The sound of movement farther down the alley forces me to hold my breath. There’s definitely something there. Is it a cat scrounging for scraps? A raccoon? My brain races with all thewhat ifsto justify the disturbance to the silence. Slowly, my eyes adapt to the lack of light, my surroundings clearer. Whatever it is, it’s moving.
That’s when I see them. One person on top of another. Are they screwing? Did I just pick the most popular alley to relieve myself in?
The body on top raises—clearly a man from the build—and my gaze trails down to the other person. But it’s not a woman. It’s a very motionless man shrouded in even more darkness.
What the actual fuck?
I must have made a noise or something because the man standing suddenly turns his head in my direction. Shadowed by his hood and the night, with his attention focused on me, I see the source of the original flash. A knife, dripping blood. The moonlight must have reflected off the blade.
My brain, though sluggish, is screaming at me to run, to get away. But my body is a statue. I can’t move. I probably look like a deer caught in the headlights just before impact.
The person who I’m going to assume just murdered someone starts walking toward me. He doesn’t move quickly. He actually strolls, like he wasn’t just seen killing a person, spinning the knife around in his palm.
I, on the other hand, can’t move. Wide-eyed, frozen, I’m still holding my breath. My survival skills are to remain motionless. Like the killer is a T-rex and won’t see me if I don’t move. Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe that’s why he’s walking so casually.
Don’t move you idiot!My brain screams at me. Clearly it doesn’t have proper survival skills either.
He walks past, not looking at or acknowledging me. My plan must work. I wait what feels like forever but could honestly be only a minute. Releasing the air that was trapped in my lungs, I exhale a loudwhoosh.
“Did you enjoy the show?” a deep voice asks from behind me. The intense weight of him leaning into me is applied to my back, wedging me even closer to the dumpster and wall. The cool sensation of metal touches my throat.
Oh fuck, I’m about to be murdered. Just like that guy over there.
The desire to pray in this moment is all-consuming, but my brain has forgotten every prayer or logic it has.
The pressure of the knife intensifies, cutting off my air. “Turn around so I can see the life fade from your eyes.” He uses the blade like a lead to turn me, and my feet shuffle to keep up with the blade’s movement.
He steps back but doesn’t remove the knife.
Dressed in all black, he asks, “What have we here?” His head angles toward my crotch. Glancing down the best I can, I see I’m still holding my dick.
How humiliating. I’m going to die with my dick out and in hand. How did this happen? Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m in this situation because I had to piss.
Deciding this is awkward enough, I go to push my manhood back into my pants.
The knife moves deeper into my neck, the cold steel cutting off all my air. “Now why would you want to hide that? It’s quite entertaining having your cock out. Don’t move it,” he says smoothly, like this is normal.
“I-I promise I didn’t see-see anything,” I stammer out.
He laughs and the hood on his head shifts. I can see his eyes, and it’s like they’re glowing from the moonlight. Green, but not a bright hue. Deep like a wet forest leaf. He has a strong jaw, straight nose, and a fine dusting of stubble over his jaw. He looks older than me but not by much.
“You know, that’s what they all say when theyhaveseen what I did.” He pauses, releasing the pressure of the knife just a bit, allowing me to breathe. “Now tell me what youdidsee, why your cock is out, and why it’s getting hard for me.”
Did he just say I’m getting hard? That’s never happened. I mean yeah, I get morning wood, and I’ve tried masturbatingbefore, but my dick doesn’t behave like others. I don’t get boners. I try to look down but can’t really do that with the knife against my throat. I twist my hand a fraction of an inch, and it sends tingles through me.
I’M FUCKING HARD WITH A KNIFE TO MY THROAT!
I’m spiraling mentally. The urge to move my hand and experience that sensation again, knowing I just witnessed a murder and am now about to die myself…a passage comes to me—Isaiah 59:19. “When the enemy comes in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord will lift you up a standard against him.”
God, is this your plan for me? Is this a test of my faith and resolve for you?
Licking my lips, I try to answer his questions. “I…I was walking home from going out with friends. I needed to piss.” Man, this is hard to do with your dick out, a knife to your throat, and a guy looking at you like you’re a conundrum. “I was just about to go when a flash caught my eye. Then I froze because I clearly walked into the wrong alley.”
“Did you enjoy what you saw?” he asks, his head angled to the side.
