THE SKINHEAD UPSTAIRS
Something inked and dangerous lurks in the penthouse above them.
Liam and Carlos live in fear of the big, beefy, tattooed skinhead, the aptly
named Bull, who lives in the apartment directly above theirs and whose
hell-raising and late-night use of his Jacuzzi keeps them awake. Carlos
constantly returns home in an agitated state after enduring homophobic abuse
when he runs into Bull and his mates in the car park or the building's
elevator, until one day Liam has had enough and marches upstairs to have it
out with his obnoxious neighbor, ignoring the distinct possibility of
physical harm. But, what he gets is worse than he ever imagined.
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Excerpt:
"Hold that lift!" The voice boomed through the deserted foyer.
Automatically, I stuck my hand out to cut the beam so the door would remain
open, but as soon as I saw who belonged to the voice, I regretted my
politeness. Ever since the asshole had moved into the penthouse apartment
above ours, we'd had nothing but aggravation.
He beamed as he shoved his way into the elevator, knocking me to the back
wall with his body. Fucker!
"Thanks, faggot!" he spat as he poked the button for his own floor before I
had a chance to press ours.
My boyfriend, Carlos, gripped my arm as a warning not to start a fight.
"Oh, ain't that sweet, the faggot's little fuck boy doesn't want any
trouble."
He chucked Carlos under the chin like he was some kind of animal. "What's
the matter, fuck boy? Scared of a real man?"
He flexed his arm, his bicep expanding like a small mountain, almost ripping
his muscle T-shirt.
"Have a feel. That's real solid muscle. It'll make your little boy cunt
juice up. Go on, put your hand on it."
I could sense Carlos wanted to take the dare; he'd always had a thing for
muscles, something I'm rather scarce of, but his fear of the skinhead from
upstairs and of my reaction made him hesitate.
"Don't be frightened of what Mr. Flabby here thinks. This is your
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get up close to a fuckin' honest-to-god
piece of real man flesh."
When Carlos still looked indecisive, Bull grabbed his hand and placed it on
his bicep, flexing again. Carlos squeezed it timidly.
"Put some force into it, sweetheart. I'm not fragile like your boyfriend
there."
Carlos squeezed again and I could see Bull's mouth form into a sneer.
"If you like that, babe, then you're gonna love these."
He lifted his T-shirt over his head, lodging it behind his neck so that his
chest and abdomen were shown off to great effect. I had to bite my tongue to
stop myself from gasping.
"That's it, baby. Have a good feel, store up those sensations so next time
your piss weak shit of a lover is fucking his teeny weenie in that nasty
little ass of yours." To emphasize his point, Bull squeezed Carlos's butt
making my boyfriend squeal. "Good little faggot fuck pig. I'll let you dream
it's this body pressing against you."
Bull ran Carlos's hand across his hairy pecs, and then down over his
chiseled abs. Carlos was having problems controlling his breathing. The
bully took his hand off Carlos's just as it reached the waist band of his
slung-too-low gym shorts so my boyfriend was free to move it any which way
he desired. There was a tense stand-off. The atmosphere in the elevator was
ripe with testosterone. Sure, I could have wrenched Carlos's hand away from
the skinhead's body but I was rather intrigued what he would do next.
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