QUEER HORROR DAY 11 - CHEMICALS

QUEER HORROR DAY 11 - CHEMICALS

Freshly smelling of bath salts from the shower, John sprayed on his  cologne and took a sip of Moonlight before dragging on his cancer stick. In the kitchen he ironed. He stopped buttoning his shirt in the mirror, took a quick bump off of his car key, gel-styled his hair and drove into the acrid  night.

At the neon bar, he toked with a twink, tasted his cherry lip balm, pulled him closer and said, "I wanna inject you. Like a smoke... like a poison."

They went home. Dropped a tab. Did a bump. Smoked T. Sweated into each other, lipsandhandsblurring a wet humping mess. They woke up a deformed indistinguishable mass — faces connected at the cheek, hair  down the middle, an arm out the other's back, four legs intersecting like two melted plastic fetuses.

QUEER HORROR DAY 4 - PATROL

In Dallas 1971, police investigated a series assaults by an unknown person know only as "The Pink Panther." From summer to fall of that year, the Panther broke the arm of a single mother walking home from work, fractured the eye socket and jaw of a drunk man on lower Greenville (he lost his eye) and broke into the home of a straight couple and forced them at gunpoint to insert household objects into each other and then pour bleach on one another. Investigators realized that the Panther was re-creating gay bashings scenarios that had occurred around Dallas the previous summer, but by 1972 the Panther disappeared. The Dallas Morning News  buried stories of the Panther's attacks, supposedly to keep other gays from committing copycat crimes. But some local gays considered the Panther a hero and told gruesome stories of other straights having their teeth bashed out and their hair set on fire. A lot of people also believed the Panther was a woman.

QUEER HORROR DAY 6 - SUCCESS

As Percy rose from the toilet, several piss droplets moistened the front of his briefs — bright yellow spots reminding him that he hadn't drunk enough water yet. He frowned.

He tucked his pinstripe Oxford shift into his Saxxon Club pleated slacks,   tightly fastened his Leroy Cebleaux belt and admired the polished nickel buckle in the mirror . Looking up, he noticed how the bags under his eyes  accentuated his crow's feet and the grey wisps receding from his forehead.

"You're old," he told himself, "and powerless." He sighed. "Your days are numbered... everybody knows."

Later that night, he came home to find his Chiba Inu cowering in the corner. Alarmed, he strode directly to his bedroom and found one of his AC Cloverley shoes chewed to pieces next to an open closet door. "RIKKO!!!" he screamed, rushing towards his dog.

Seizing her by the scruff of her neck, he smashed her whimpering face into the torn leather scraps of his destroyed shoe upon the cold marble floor, undid his belt and began whipping her with the polished nickel buckle until she stopped moving — the sound of his own labored breath lulling him into a strange calm.

QUEER HORROR DAY 2 - TRICKED

After I finished bottoming for him, he said, "I have to go," quickly put on his pants and disappeared into the night. I tried to contacting him later to thank him, but he'd blocked me on the site where we met. Soon after that, I found my wallet laying open on my bedroom floor, completely emptied — my cards and rent all gone. I don't remember his screen name; I never knew his real one. But now he knows mine, where I live and where to return if he ever wants more.

QUEER HORROR DAY 12 - ULTRA-VIOLENCE

  After he fucked her with a knife, he applied a hot iron to the baby’s face — melting clean into its skull — and proceed to shoot both of his eyes as well as the bridge of his nose with a single bullet, pressing his revolver firmly against his left socket.

QUEER HORROR DAY 1 - HEAVEN HOUSE

An ex-gay therapist's room: queer kids strapped down, being electrocuted and made to vomit while viewing innocuous pictures of men and women. An Bishop's boudoir: old priests and nuns getting ready to gang-bang a black kid. A Westboro Baptist funeral:  the "God Hates Fags" family smiles around the open coffin of a queer kid — her face horribly bashed in. An exorcism room: conservative shirt-and-tie folks holding down a scared kid as a preacher approaches him with hot iron cross and a water bucket — funnel and hose attached. In the last room, a bunch of queers with colored hair tell you, "There is a way out! You don't have to go to heaven, you know. Would you like to be saved?"