The First Male (46 page)

Just as relaxing thoughts of his past began to numb the sting of his current existence, a pain in his chest jolted him back to reality. He began to tremble as he took rapid, ragged breaths; they felt like his last breaths. He gasped for air; fought the feeling of despair that began to swallow him. He could feel his heart racing, beating in his ears, his throat, and his loins. Then everything went black.

As the sun rose and illuminated the morning skies, Jazz squinted against its burning rays. His blood-caked body was now noticeably bruised and swollen. A single tear crawled down his left cheek and found a home in the corner of his mouth. He stuck out his tongue to taste its salty residue. It was enough to remind him that he was indeed still alive—but for how much longer, he didn't know. How could a night destined for pleasure culminate into an evening of so much despair? Dark memories crept in as Jazz recounted those events that would now change his life forever . . .

It was a quarter to midnight when he had stepped out of his car, locked the door, and kept his keys splayed between his fingers in case he needed to defend himself from some brute lurking in the shadows. An unusual vibe, which permeated the night air, unnerved him, but he dismissed his intuition as simple paranoia and pressed on.

A quick lightning flash moved across the sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder. He took a moment to scan the area and when he was satisfied that no one was around, he walked with speed toward the structure. Trepidation was his traveling partner as he moved briskly forward. During these midnight meetings, a sense of fear stimulated his desire. He walked with due speed, continuing to look around for other people, including the police, who often cruised the area on the fringes of the city. He couldn't imagine having to explain to the police why he was lurking near the abandoned church at such a late hour.

As he neared his destination, a decrepit, gnarled wooden sign pointed toward the church like old crooked fingers guiding him to the path of salvation. When Jazz was close enough, he paused for an instant and looked up at the structure. From his distance, he could read the letters above the doors: “Olive Branch Baptist Church. All are Welcome.”

As he moved closer to the chained fence, which protected the deserted edifice, the warning in his heart grew, but he would not yield to that feeling. An ominous presence rode the stiff night air, as if some unseen force skulked around from all sides. Partially excited
and
terrified, Jazz pressed deeper into the night. The fear of being caught while meeting a stranger to do whatever deeds men who meet in the dark of night did is what Jazz was counting on to multiply the force of his orgasm threefold.

As he scurried across the vacant parking lot, he heard a slight rumbling behind him, which sent a cold shiver up his spine, in spite of the evening's balmy temperature. He stopped, spun on his heels, and exhaled in relief as he saw an old soda can rolling across the lot in the gentle breeze. He resumed his march toward ecstasy.

When he reached the fence surrounding the church, he prayed it would be unlocked so he could walk through it instead of going around it, but when he yanked on the chain, it barely moved.
Damn
. He looked up at the barbed wire that sat like a crown of thorns atop the fence and decided that he was not skillful enough to climb the fence without seriously injuring his body. He had to find another way in. With his hands in his pockets, he turned and quickly walked around the behemoth structure, wondering why he had agreed to meet
him
at such a place.

When he got around the corner, he found that the side gate was locked and chained, but he remained undeterred. Quickly, he looked around the perimeter and found a place in the fence in which he could pass without injury and, with surprising prowess, he scaled the fence. Nothing was going to stand between him and what
he
had to offer. He landed flatly on his feet and paused a moment to scan the area before moving toward the back of the church.

The closer he got to the rear of the small white structure, the quicker his heart raced. These mysterious encounters that he had grown accustomed to made sex wildly exciting. He had grown out of missionary sex when he was seventeen and moved quickly into things there were more titillating and dangerous.

For Jazz, sex was freedom; sex was power. Thoughts of his next encounter and taking his escapades to the next level occupied much of his daily thoughts. Pushing the envelope and stretching sexual boundaries was his drug—his driving force. He wasn't a sex addict, but he loved sex. He loved doing the unspeakable and scandalous. He loved gobbling and rubbing and pulling and yanking and plowing and breathing and using fingers and tongues and holes and toys and ropes and candles and wax and anything else he could incorporate into his romps to intensify the experience. He loved meeting people who, like him, weren't afraid to explore the universe and be used as willing vessels to help him reach that ultimate orgasm. That's all that mattered to him.

He leaned against the back of the church for only a few minutes, blowing nicotine smoke circles into the air to calm his nerves. Standing in the darkness, with no signs of life, those minutes felt like hours. He listened for any sound of movement, for the slightest disturbance, for anything that would announce
his
arrival. Jazz took a long drag from the Benson & Hedges he pursed tightly between his lips and rolled an empty beer bottle underneath his foot to take the edge off the night.

Then, he heard a faint sound coming from the other end of the structure. He didn't move. Instead, he waited for confirmation. It sounded like dry grass being crushed underneath heavy feet. Then, he heard it
again. The crunching sound that dried leaves and grass made underneath a foot was unmistakable in the dead of night.

He peered around the corner toward the other end of the building. He did not see anything, but all his senses were acute. Curiosity got the best of him and he stepped out and walked toward the noise. He took a few steps forward and then stopped. Something didn't feel right. The moonlight cast a shadow on the ground—the shadow of a man.

“Hello?” Jazz called out. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, but he pressed on, hoping his feeling would give way to sexual pleasure.

“Hello?” he called out again, sounding a bit desperate. “What's going on?” he mumbled to himself as he let the cigarette dangling from his lips hit the ground. He stomped it out with his foot. “Wassup, man? Don't be shy. Come to Daddy,” he said, trying to sound playful. As the words left his mouth,
he
jumped out from around the corner and struck Jazz across the face with what felt like the strength of a hundred men. Jazz hit the ground with an incredible thud.

“What the fuck?” he screamed. The only response he received was fists that rained down on him in torrents. Jazz threw wild blows into the twisted face of his attacker, but to no avail. The punishing barrage of heavy fists continued to pound into Jazz's body like mortar. Jazz's terrified screams echoed in the night, but ultimately went unanswered. He knew he was alone and that if he were to survive, it would be all up to him.

He covered his face with one hand while the other desperately searched for something on the ground he could use to defend himself. He grabbed at anything and everything he could, but cupped fistfuls of dried grass instead. Spit dropped onto his face from the salivating mouth of his attacker. Then, Jazz grabbed a small rock from the ground and swung wildly, the blow landing right above his attacker's left eye.
He
fell backward, covering
his
face with
his
hands.

Jazz, trying to seize the opportunity to flee, forced himself to stand. He tried to run, but he was unsteady and shaky. When he got his balance, he heard the breaking of the bottle before he actually felt the impact on the back of his skull. In the flicker of the second that it took for him to realize what had happened, he felt the presence of evil looming on the edge of night, dancing a wicked jig in the dark and laughing at his misery. Jazz fell to the ground on his back and looked up to see the menacing figure above him again.

Jazz felt his vision blur and the coming darkness ready to devour him whole, but the boot that smashed into his ribcage brought him back
to consciousness with piercing pain. Jazz lay on the ground, an agonizing throbbing covering his body. He tried to scream but his voice wouldn't carry.

The stranger moved away and fell to his knees.

Even through the blistering pain, Jazz heard a voice emanating from
him
that sounded as if the night itself was speaking words which were not meant to be deciphered.
His
raspy voice rose to slightly above a whisper as
he
spoke with rapid speed. It almost sounded as if
he
was speaking in tongues.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.”

Jazz cried out.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

When
he
finished, lightning lit up the sky and Jazz heard the thunder roll. He felt death was nearby.

The stranger sprang to
his
feet like a panther. Suddenly, panic gripped Jazz like an immovable force around his neck. He knew that more was coming. He struggled to make sense of what had happened.
His
face morphed into something unrecognizable and unreal. The spindly hairs of
his
moustache came to life and reached toward Jazz like hissing serpents poised to strike.
His
face resembled burnt flesh that was scorched by hatred and disgust.
His
eyes changed into bottomless black pits that showed nothing but contempt. What little light the moon provided was sucked into
his
hateful eyes, making the dark night its darkest ever.
His
full mouth stretched into slivers of tightly drawn flesh and Jazz closed his eyes and prepared for his painful demise.

He
turned his back to Jazz and recanted the prayer again. Jazz writhed in pain and tried to scoot away from his antagonist, but he was quickly met by another kick to the ribs.

“My son, you have brought my wrath upon you because of your sins and unclean acts. You are an abomination,”
he
said in a gritty, throaty whisper that felt like jagged fingernails scraping the skin off Jazz's back; even still,
his
gruff voice carried enough force for Jazz to feel it. Jazz tried not to show panic or fear, even though fear had engulfed him. “But, fear not, my child. I am your redeemer. I have come to save
your immortal soul from eternal damnation.”
He
snapped
his
head back and looked to the heavens as
he
extended
his
arms as if surrendering to a higher power. A wild and delightful smile covered
his
face as
he
looked up and started to recant another prayer.
His
body swayed from side-to-side and an unsettling smile shone on his face.

“A-ma-zing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me,” he bellowed out in an uncanny yet angelic voice. Jazz tried to move along the ground, but could not free himself from that voice. At the same time he was bewildered by pain and bewitched by the spirited song that filled the night air at the same time. He tried to regroup but was startled when he looked up. The stranger's extended arms looked like large black wings that spread the span of
his
reach. When the wings spread out a powerful odor filled Jazz's nostrils and almost made him choke. The stench was so strong and so foul that it lodged in his lungs and made him dry cough.

The sound continued to mesmerize and enchant Jazz—even in this moment—until he forced himself out of the daze. Jazz closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, the stranger peered down on him. The wings were no more. He didn't know if he'd really seen them or if his mind was playing tricks on him.

As Jazz lay on the ground, trying to come to terms with the pain in his head, he could feel
his
greasy hands yanking at his body and then his clothes. Jazz tried to kick him away but to no avail. Jazz's feeble attempt at resistance angered
him
, and
he
pulled Jazz up by his shirt and sent a strong backhand across his face, which sent him reeling back to the ground. Jazz felt as if his jaw had exploded.
He
repeated the prayer, this time in a more coherent voice while
he
continued to disrobe him until Jazz lay naked—his brown flesh exposed to the world.