“Choke me!” Vinnie yells. His skaterboi Gen-Z body—a pale, rampant, mangled flesh to be further detested, desolated, deprived. Though the flesh and bone he otherwise soothes with a daily intake of smoothies that include collagen, selected antioxidants, and protein powders. He drinks a lot of purified water. He’s one of the lost by-products of his generation.
He nourishes his Promethean body to the max so Sean can destroy it. He pumps it up twice, three times a week, with an unfuckable gym bro who goes by Dixon in the city center. Post-pump, they take dumb selfies (he never shows them to Sean). Dixon and Vinnie giggle like stuffed pets.
Vinnie’s thirsting for it to be rough. He gets off when Sean calls him an ugly faggotina, a piece of shit, a pumpslut, a nobody’s buddy. He also gets rock hard during a Netflix documentary about Sydney Funnel-Web Spiders that they both stream sometimes.
Neither Vinnie nor Sean is into footplay.
While they’re doing it, Vinnie begs Sean to hit him more and harder. First, it’s all just slow and practical. Practical in the sense that Sean and Vinnie get into their roles. Some days, Vinnie’s not even there, not with his mind; he scrolls gooners’ Reddits. He brainrots.
The only point Vinnie feels he’s alive is when his self-pity peaks and boils, then blends with the physical pain. Like a junkie whose psyche’s hardwired to the intake of insults, swelling, and bruises in a thrall. He doesn’t care about what Sean wants because Vinnie’s wants are always prioritized. Fists smashing his head, torn lips, cracked ribs, spits and a black eye. The regular stuff. It’s only at that submissive point that Vinnie comprehends what it is that he’s been all these years.
A howling, twisted fuckin’ mongrel dog. Maybe a goofy roach.
“Pound-d-d-d.”
Inside their hyperkinkdom, pain tastes like cotton candy. It’s as addictive as gaming.
After a good round of beats, Vinnie approaches his max. A psychological zenith. He feels beautiful antigravity, like covered in warm liquid, then washed away.
Sean knows that to act like a real good sadist, it takes the most sincere guts to perform it. Most of the time, Sean puts up with all the sick that Vinnie desires. He looks up aspirational stuff via the “r/pseudo-psycho-perv” group he follows on Reddit. He doms and beats the shit out of Vinnie like he’d be a dirtbag. It’s love they do? Who cares? Their way of loving tastes like a smoothie of salt, iron, sweat, saliva, sanitizer,…
The other day, Vinnie started smashing his head under the bleachers till he could hear only a singular white noise piercing his ears. He bleeds. He grunts. His lips curl up. The whole thing’s transformative. His eyes roll like two ‘pills’ in casino roulette. His face, a manic, messed-up, cretinous crimson-colored rictus. He bites his lower lip like a rabid dog. He has a new idea: Next time they’ll do it, he wants Sean to seal him in a human-sized vacuum. But then he doubts Sean can do it.