Page 93 of Disco Witches of Fire Island

Joe’s heart sank. He wished it looked like one of the drugs he had taken earlier—a pill or a powder, something he knew had worked. Glen unscrewed the lid and offered Joe a sniff. It smelled like nail polish remover mixed with something sweet. “You sure that’s a drug?”

“Oh, it’s a drug, all right,” Gladiator Glen said. “I get it from the health food store. It’s called Blue Nitro and helps to build muscle when you sleep, but it also gets you high as a kite—makes you feel real sexy too. Just sip a little, though—it’s powerful stuff.”

Ignoring the warning, Joe lifted the bottle and took a huge gulp, as if the sheer quantity would burn away all the feelings.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Glen grabbed the Blue Nitro back. “That’s too much!”

“I don’t feel anything!” Joe protested, hoping for an immediate burn or whoosh.

“You did enough to get an elephant high.” Gladiator Glen took a tiny sip from the bottle. “You’re supposed to pace yourself. Now come here.”

He wrapped his thick, hairy forearm around Joe’s neck like he was about to choke him or throw him down. Joe had fantasized about this moment all summer, but then he started to compare Gladiator Glen’s embrace with Fergal’s. How Joe loved when Fergal held him from behind, his breath in his ear, and his lean, muscular forearms—strong but gentle, warm, devoid of hatred. Joe abruptly turned and thrust his mouth onto Gladiator Man’s, sucking at his giant, sluglike tongue, wanting his saliva to wash away Fergal’smemory. A deep, dense wooziness hit Joe all of sudden, and then another, deep, dark, sexy urge—just like Gladiator Glen had said. Once again, the man’s body, face, and voice morphed into every dark fantasy Joe had ever had.

“You’re feeling it now, right?” Gladiator Glen’s low, rumbly voice asked in between thrusts of his tongue.

“I think so.”

“Wanna get fucked now?”

“Yeah,” Joe said numbly.

“You still want it raw?”

Questions, questions, questions. Enough with the questions.After all, Joe wasn’t asking him questions, like whether Gladiator Glen had a boyfriend, or if he knew his HIV status, or if he was afraid of loving anyone for fear of them dying, or if he wanted to escape and/or die like Joe did. It didn’t matter anyway. Joe groggily reached down to remove his shorts but realized he was already naked, that he had left his shorts and fanny pack somewhere back on the pathway and had walked through the Meat Rack completely bare-assed.What would Vince have said? An embarrassment to Asylum Harbor. Oh, wait, that’s right, Asylum Harbor burned down, just like everything else I loved.He was annoyed by the whiny interference of his mind, but then a deeper and darker wave of the drug washed over his brain. His eyelids dozed as he wobbled.

“Easy there,” Gladiator Glen said, pulling him up. “Better just bend over, and I’ll take it from here.”

Joe did as he was told and flopped over. His fingers touched the sand and the prickly holly leaves on the ground. His vision blurred. He turned his head, peering up at the orange glow of the blood moon, which was spinning, along with his eyes. Sickness began to bubble in his stomach as Gladiator Glen stepped behind him and started pulling at his cock. “Mmm,” he said. “Nice little bubble butt you got.” Joe looked back through the Blue Nitro fog. Gladiator Glen was indeed the man in all those photos in Howie and Lenny’s attic. And now, close up, Joe saw just how much Gladiator Glen truly did hate him—and it was perfect.

“Jus’ do it already,” Joe demanded, slurring his words, his eyelids feeling heavy as bricks. “Fuck me!”

“Bossy little bitch bottom, aren’t we?” Gladiator Glen barked. “Stay still!”

All those years of protecting himself and fearing for those he loved.FinallyJoe would feel the ultimate pain and then, hopefully, oblivion. He felt Gladiator Glen’s huge hands spread his cheeks, he felt the tip of the burning hot cock press against his hole, he felt the large hairy hand reach around his throat. And that would be the last thing he remembered before the blackness.

If Joe could have seen himself the very next moment, he would have seen his body jolt from pain as his insides heaved. He would have seen his face lose all color as his body fell to the ground. He would have seen the man whom he had called Gladiator Glen turn utterly mortal and cowardly. He would have seen the terrified man grab his things and run away through the beach forest as Joe lay in the prickly, dry holly leaves on the ground, mouth foaming, eyes rolling back inside his head, body convulsing violently. Above him, he would have seen and heard a large flock of mourning doves in the trees begin to scream.

THE DANCE FLOOR—10:16PM

They had been twirling their heads off for over ten minutes. Sweat sloshed off Ronnie’s body, encircling him in a mist. Twirling was physically harder than any workout he had ever experienced—though none made him feel so glorious. Then, just as DJ Susan was mixing the end of Janet Jackson’s “Miss You Much” with Madonna’s “Express Yourself,” something snapped. All five Disco Witches faltered in their spin and tumbled to the floor. Howie managed to catch Dory, and Lenny stabilized poor Saint D’Norman, who was shaking.

“What the hell happened?” Ronnie stood up, huffing and puffing. “Did we help Joe?”

The others looked completely devastated and exhausted.

“It’s not working,” Lenny shouted over the music. “Something is missing.”

“If we only had Max’s spell book.” Howie squeezed his fist to his head.

“We have to keep trying. We can do this!” Dory rubbed a sore elbow. “Let’s get the flags out!”

Saint D’Norman, knees buckling, leaned his body full force onto Lenny. Elena ran to the group with bottles of water. Kneeling next to Saint D’Norman, she wiped sweat from his brow.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine, sweetie.” He ignited his phosphorescent smile. “Just a little cramp.”

“I’m not exactly sure what the hell you guys are up to—”—she nodded her head to Saint D’Norman—“but maybe it’s time to take a rest?”

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