The Hawthorn University library was unusually quiet that late 1982 autumn afternoon, though it wasn’t too much of a surprise. The weather had gotten suddenly warmer again; a second summer if you will. Most students were lounging on blankets in the quads or chatting with friends on benches on the porches. Henry Gelson was not one of those students. He much preferred the back corners of the library near the rarely used newspaper index where no one was likely to disturb him and no errant breeze would ruffle the pages of his books.
That day was no exception. Gelson had wedged himself between a wall and the end of the stacks, visible enough that if anyone needed a clipping they would be able to see him before crushing him when they moved the rolling carts. He was so engrossed in his text on early Hellinistic philosophy that he didn’t hear the cough signalling someone was there. After a second, more obnoxious noise, he started, looking up.
“Finally, I was starting to think you were deaf or something.” In front of him was a tall girl, one eyebrow raised and a hand on her hip in impatience. He swallowed, offering a sheepish smile before rising and slipping out of her way. She almost took up the whole space though, so he was forced to brush against her, tensing slightly. Turning to look at him hovering behind her, she coughed again, wiggling her fingers in the direction of the door.
“Are you librarian in charge here?” He shook his head, but before he could answer verbally she cut him off. “That’s what I thought. Please leave me alone. You’re making me uncomfortable.” He was about to protest, to say that he had been there first thanks and his things were scattered about the room, but he thought better of it. It wasn’t worth starting up a stupid fight this early in the afternoon. He didn’t go far, choosing to loiter right outside the doors leading to the newspaper room, cracking open his book once again. || It wasn’t long for the girl to pass by him, not sparing him a second glance as she stared at the scribbled notes on the page she held. He was almost taken aback by her hurry, the door slamming open and then closed behind her, enough to make him curious what exactly she had been looking up.
Luckily the file the girl had been looking at was still pulled out, half dangling from the edge of the shelf. Setting his book down, he grabbed the file and slid back into his chair, opening it. It was a bunch of clippings about a massacre at a sorority house that had happened about seven years ago, right at the beginning of winter break. So… almost exactly seven years ago. Why had she needed the info? How had he never heard about it? Pulling out another clipping, he saw a picture of the house finally, and it clicked into place. He had heard of it, during rush week, he just hadn’t cared. The sorority in question had never reopened and sat a few blocks from campus, huge and empty. The last thing Gelson did before putting the file neatly back was not down the address of the house. Studying was getting boring, and most of his exams were actually over, so he could afford to explore abandoned police scenes if he wanted to. Packing up his bag, he turned off the lights and left the library, sparing a glance for the founders bust as he passed by.
That night was a lot colder than the day had suggested, and Gelson pulled his thin cardigan closer to his chest as he stood in front of the old house. No one had been inside since the end of the police investigation and it sure looked it, but that wasn’t going to deter him. Not since he’d told a few of his brothers he was going and gotten shit for being too chicken to follow through. He needed to go in and get something from inside that house to prove that he’d been able to do it. Biting his lip, he started up the front path, glancing behind him to make sure there were no cops around. The street was empty, but he hurried up the steps anyway, anxious to get the whole thing over with.
Getting in was a lot easier than he’d anticipated. The old door was just that, old, and seemed to be loose on it’s hinges, so he was able to force it open without too much fuss. It smelled terrible inside, like old bleach and must. He coughed, resisting putting a hand over his nose despite being alone. The place had been pretty well cleaned out, but there were still a few old pillows and what looked like… posters… on the walls. He should grab something and go back out immediately, but something told him to press on further into the house. So he did.
The stairs creaked loudly under his weight, and he winced, pausing for the briefest moment. Nothing happened, so he continued to the landing, peering down the hall at the open doorways. The smell of bleach was stronger here, but he moved on anyway, glancing into each of the stripped bare rooms before finally finding a scrap of stationary bearing the Pi Kappa Sig letters. As he turned to leave, however, he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head and the world went black.
Gelson woke up with his hands tied above his head and a dull ache in his head. He swallowed hard, afraid to open his eyes until he heard a noise directly above him. His eyes flew open and he kicked his legs, only to find someone sitting on his waist, staring at him in the darkness. He whimpered, something he would later deny, and stared back, unsure of what to do in a situation like this. The room was silent for a moment, before the man reached forward and touched Gelson’s face, causing him to slam his head back against a pillow. He must have been tied to one of the beds, a fact reinforced by the stench of bleach. But where had the man come from? Had he been living here for seven years? His thoughts were broken by the hand returning to his face, gripping his chin tightly and pulling it forward.
“You’re pretty enough, aren’t you? Wouldn’t be surprised if you had a fat, juicy cunt.” The man’s voice was scratchy from disuse, and Gelson turned bright red at his words. He still couldn’t speak, but he started struggling, kicking his legs again to try and dislodge the man. The crack of a hand across his cheek stopped him and got his voice working again. He yelped, then started screaming. In an instant the same hand was clamped over his mouth, shoving his head down. He choked quietly, wriggling his body until he felt his shoulders crack from the position they were in.
“Shut up shut up, don’t do that. Bad boy, bad boy. You wanna be a good boy for Billy, don’t you?” Gelson froze. Billy. The articles had mentioned something about a Billy… it was one of the names in the obscene phone calls the sisters had been getting. Was this Billy? Was this the man who had killed all of those- What had he said? The rest of “Billy’s” sentence filtered through Gelson’s panic soaked mind and registered, drying out his mouth.
“Wh… what did you say…?” He finally made eye contact with the man again, attempting to swallow. Billy seemed happy that he was cooperating, and he patted Gelson’s cheek, leaning back a little.
“You’re going to be a good boy for Billy?” It wasn’t an answer really, but it had the same affect. Gelson squeaked, fully aware of Billy’s shifting weight on his hips. His fear was forgotten, quickly being replaced with something much more... enjoyable. It didn’t take long for Billy to notice this, perched as he was on top of Gelson, and his grin widened. “Not a cunt after all. But just as eager and wet.”
That really got Gelson’s attention. He bucked his hips unconsciously, pressing his crotch into the other man’s ass. He was half hard already, just from dirty words and a little friction. Were he not so focused on what was happening he would be embarrassed. Billy ground down against him roughly before lifting himself up and shoving Gelson’s legs apart, settling himself between them. He started unceremoniously undoing Gelson’s pants, yanking them down his hips enough to pull out his cock. Billy hummed quietly, giving it a few slow strokes before tittering quietly.
“I’ll wreck your hole, your tight little hole with my big fucking cock.” He watched as Gelson’s cock twitched at his words and practically giggled, as if entertained by being able to see such an obvious reaction to his words. “You want that, don’t you, you fucking whore.” Without thinking Gelson nodded, tilting his hips up. Billy laughed again and pulled his own cock out, comparing the two. His was bigger. He celebrated his victory by wrestling Gelson’s pants the rest of the way off, muttering about destroying his cunt the whole time.
“Just because you don’t have a pussy doesn’t mean you don’t have a cunt.” Billy punctuated the last word by shoving two slightly lubed fingers in Gelson’s ass, forcing a cry of pain out of him. The pain, caused mostly by the drag of dry skin against him, lasted only moments as Billy quickly fingered him, which was more than Gelson was expecting in the first place, and before he knew it, Billy had his mysteriously wet cock lined up with his entrance.
“Ready for my cock? Is your tight cunt ready?” Without waiting for an answer, he was pushing in. Gelson moaned loudly, spreading his legs as far as they could go, one of them hooking around Billy’s waist. “You’re so tight, love it. Love how you take my fat cock.” Billy started thrusting the moment his hips met Gelson’s, not waiting for him to adjust. He spoke the whole time, spewing off various versions of dirty thoughts and overusing the word ‘cunt’, but Gelson found he didn’t care. Billy’s cock was shoving against his prostate every third thrust. He moaned, trying to get Billy closer by wrapping his other leg around the man’s waist, earning a sharp slap to his cock in return. He jumped, moaning again and slightly chagrined that that had turned him on that much more.
It seemed to last for hours, it seemed to last for seconds. Gelson screamed as he came pretty much untouched, body shaking and clenching down on the man still thrusting inside him. Billy growled , gripping his hips tightly and picking up the pace. Each strike of his cockhead against Gelson’s prostate now drew a yelp out of him until the man buried himself as deep in his ass as he could and came with a loud moan.
Gelson was exhausted, eyelids heavy as Billy pulled roughly out, his come dripping lethargically down the cleft of Gelson’s ass. Even the realisation that he’d gone in without any protection wasn’t enough to wake him up, even though he made a mental note to get tested when he managed to get out of here. He yawned, earning a giggle from the man who had now slid off the bed in favour of leaning over Gelson, peering down at his face. He was finally able to make out some features of the man, wide brown eyes, slightly wrinkled face, wild brown hair. He looked to be in his early thirties, but that was all Gelson was able to discern before falling asleep.
He woke up alone a few hours later, judging by the light in the windows, curled up on his side at the foot of the stairs. His head hurt and so did his entire lower body, but he pushed himself up anyway, wincing every few seconds. If it weren’t for the sticky feeling in his pants, he would have assumed everything had been a dream. Checking his pockets for the stationary he recalled picking up, he found it in the back left one. It had a message scribbled on it in crude, sloppy handwriting.
“I’ll be in touch.”