Gone Grail

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"We're only doing this for study purposes," says one of our visitors, a frat daddy with a goatee and burnt orange hat

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"We're only doing this for study purposes," says one of our visitors, a frat daddy with a goatee and burnt orange hat. He's wearing a Patagonia jacket and Redwing work boots and can barely keep his eyes open as he slumps down in a chair. Doesn't even look up when Vince sets the tray of coke on the table, even though that must have been the bait that lured him here this evening. "Finals week."

"We met these illustrious gentlemen at the Instaburger," Vince says. "They are students at the University of Texas and members of the Phi Gamma Epsilon fraternity and they swear the Texas Longhorns football team will be in the national championship next year."

"Fuck yeah," says the siphon with the blue Polo pants. He has a wad of dip in his mouth and spits in an Estrella Light can. "Williams will be a senior and the O line will be loaded with upperclassmen."

"Yes," Vince says, helping himself to a long snort off the tray, "sounds fascinating."

"Fuck yeah it is," says the third human, who looks like he may have played football himself. He's tall with a barrel chest and curly blonde hair and he smells delicious.

He looks at me and our eyes meet and suddenly I know his name's Winston Cobb and he's from Plano, and he did indeed play linebacker until he blew out his knee, which ruined his chances at a Division I scholarship, and while his dad almost shipped him off to Alpine, Texas to play for Sul Ross, he's just fine with doing the fraternity thing ...

So many parties.

So many drunk girls.

So much sex.

In fact, I see Winston just had sex with a girl passed out in a back bedroom. She was at some random party Winston and his bros stumbled into after the bars closed. He went back to take a piss and found her out cold on the mattress.

Room was dark and quiet. She was limp and helpless on the blanket, skirt hiked up. Winston didn't even question the situation, merely went and locked the door and then he was on the bed with her, he was hovering over her, ignoring the occasional knocks as he pulled her panties aside. Asshole had popped 10mg of Cialis before the party to avoid the dreaded whisky dick, and he was fully hard, pharmaceutically hard, medicinally hard, throbbing, and he thought would have been nice to have some lube handy, but in the end, he didn't need it. He got what he wanted. He finished inside of her and while she stirred and mumbled, but she never woke up, never even opened her eyes, and so he put her panties back in place and pulled her skirt down and let himself back into the party, melting into the crowd of strangers, and now, as he's staring at me, he's struggling not to laugh because that damn chick's gonna wake up and have no idea why her vajayjay hurts so damn bad.

He suppresses a giggle thinking about how she'll react to the discovery she's knocked up and wont even know how she got that way.

Winston Cobb, whose daddy has money and who starts a Senate internship in the spring, is now ready to go again, with me, right now.

He thinks he and his bros should just go ahead and bust up the faggy brit and his hipster friend, take the coke, and then drag me back to the bedroom for a nice, fun group session.

Who's she gonna tell? he's thinking. All coked up, in a drug house, who's she gonna call, the police? And even if I were to call, Winston isn't really worried because his dad's a DA who will "fix it" if something goes wrong.

"Is she yours?" he asks Vince, glancing at me as if I can't hear him. Vince frowns.

"I don't know, Diana," he says, tilting his head to regard me, "are you mine?"

I can't help smiling. Vince is an ass, but he does have his charms.

He takes another snort of coke, and I realize he still hasn't offered it to anyone else.  The humans don't seem to have noticed, yet—the one with the goatee has passed out in his chair, and the other one is busy staring at me. I don't care about them, though--not yet, anyway. I'm interested in Winston.

Come over to me, I think and he rushes forward, no hesitation, to take me and rape me and do all kinds of mean things. Behind him, the human in the Pony Pants says, "Hey man, you're bogarting that straw."

Vince, his eyes popping with mock surprise, says, "Oh, my! Yes I am!" Still with that bad brit impersonation going on, he holds the straw out to Chester. "Chester, you want a toot?"

Winston reaches me and he tries to grab my tits, and that's when things go bad for our dear friend Winston, because instead of letting him put his rapey hands on my tits, I grab his thumbs and twist.


Poor, dear Winston. The little softie. He screams as his thumbs pop out of their sockets and Winston, dear ol Winston, the big, tough football rapist, goes to his knees.

Pony Pants sees his buddy go down and hops to his feet."Hey, what is that bitch doing?" he shouts. "What the fuck is that psycho bitch doing?"

He charges around the coffee table to stop me, but who are we kidding here? The fangs are out now. The act has played to its conclusion.

I hear Vince sigh and Chester, always a proponent of playing with his food, puts Pony Pants under his sway. "Go give your buddy on the chair a nice, long kiss," he tells Pony Pants.

Meanwhile, I keep twisting, listening to tiny bones crack, because it feels good, and Winston the rapist boy is crying now, really blubbering. He isn't having any more of his rapey thoughts. He's just thinking about his thumbs, his poor thumbs, and how much they hurt. He's wondering what he'll do if I pull them off.

"Make sure you save this one," I say to Vince and Chester. "Don't kill him! I want to use him for a project I have in mind."

The front door opens and Jacen walks in. I hear him say, "Made it back just in time," but that's all miles distant. I'm locked into the eyes of Mr. Rapey and we're sharing a moment. I'm leaning in to feast ...

When we're finished, I wipe the blood off my chin and drag Mr. Rapey out to the garage. He's a bit more drained than I had hoped because Jacen's sudden appearance meant we had to divvy him up a bit further, but he's still alive, still groaning, and aside from his thumbs and the proliferation of holes in his throat and wrists, he seems okay. He'll serve nicely.

Once I have him strapped to the cot, I go back to the living room and slip back into my comfy pajamas and I go back to the bedroom. It's Pumpkin Time and I'm sleepy. I'm full and ready to sleep.

But as I'm climbing into the bed, I notice something ... I see the corner of a box sticking out from under the box spring.

But it's not just any box.

It's THE box. The box that holds the Grail, and someone's obviously been fucking with it.

I drop off the bed, onto my knees, and I pull the box free, and see someone unlocked it.

Someone stole the key.

Stole the key and opened the box, THE box!

I throw back the lid and there's the gray foam I hollowed out to hold the Grail safe, keep it from breaking.

But the Grail itself?


Someone came in here and stole it. My Grail. My discovery.

Who would do such a thing? I wonder, though I don't have to think very hard to figure out the culprit.


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