| Sins Of One
By Casey Chaplin
“Fuck me, Gerald, fuck me!” His voice rang out in my head. I can’t shake it, the last night we were
together was far and away the best. The cologne he wore, his freshly shaven skin – I can’t help but shutter
at the thought of it, and so I did. Shit, I wonder if… No, it was too subtle. I can’t lose this thought, c’mon
Gerald, remember Max and the way his arms rippled when he threw me on the bed, hell, even his stupid
fuckboy hair cut looked hot on him. I can still picture the moment we met, it’s forever burned into my
memory. How could it not be, when his sharp blue eyes met my dull and pathetic brown, it was as if they
mixed in the heaven to form a swirling mass of wonderful energy. An energy that if let loose would set the
The bar was full that night, and it was a miracle that we even spotted each other – another sign, I
thought, that it was meant to be. Of course, it was he who made the first move, standing up from the
leather-bound armchair in the exclusive section. He purposely made the point of shifting his pants so I
could see him. It was glorious. At first, I couldn’t avert my gaze from him for every movement was
mesmerizing, but the closer he got, the more I panicked. He couldn’t be coming my way, could he? It was
unfathomable. I knew we had met eyes, but I figured it was in passing, a tease at most. Surely he would
just stroll past me to a hot blond behind me, or to hit on the cute bartender.
But no, he stopped right in front of me. The term personal bubble didn’t apply to him, not with me, and
surely not with anybody else. How could it? He was perfect. Without saying a word, he put his hand gently
on my shoulder. A not so subtle shiver shuttered throughout my body, and from that second on he knew
that he owned me.
As fate would have it, I wasn’t even supposed to be in that bar that night. In fact, it was quite the risk.
But as they say, no risk, no reward – right? And boy, how I was rewarded that night. Without a thought, not
even so much as offering me a drink, I found myself enthralled in him. Max Strange, which was a fitting
name, I thought. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was fake. It didn’t matter much if truth be told. His name didn’
t matter, and neither did mine. They were nothing more than titles placed upon us to separate us from the
others. Names didn’t matter, not then.
He grabbed my hand and took me in his stride from my seat. It was so graceful, I felt as though I was
floating through clouds of ecstasy on my way to euphoria. I barely remember walking, I just followed him
through the crowd of people. We weaved our way through to an opening where he threw me up against a
wall and kissed me like I’d never been kissed before. I couldn’t tell how long we were there; seconds,
hours, days – time just stood still and everything in the universe blended into one swirling mass of beauty.
I could feel the excitement coursing through my veins. I had always known this what I wanted, but I had
never acted on it before. I was virgin sailor setting out on the highest seas with the most experienced
captain I could find. For that, I was thankful. He was gentle and soft, his touch was supple like he was
caressing a lifelong lover. He made me feel special, and to Hell, if I was going to let it end. Despite my
lack of experience, the adrenaline took over, and suddenly, with the swiftest of motions, I took control.
Control, it’s not something I’d ever had before. Never before had I experienced what it was like to take
the power from somebody, and turn it back on them. For a moment I thought I would have taken it too far.
For a moment I thought I may have crossed a line – his line. But quite the contrary; he embraced my lead.
He let me take control. I had the power, and I liked it, but more importantly, he liked it. I forced myself upon
him like a cat on a mouse. He was now my sexual prey, and I his dominator. He tried to fight it, but it was
nothing more than a playful tussle. He was enjoying as much, if not more than me.
He flashed that perfect smile, both with his mouth and with his eyes. I couldn’t contain myself. I needed
him right then and there. That was when we bumped into a server. Reality sprung back to life, and
suddenly a thousand eyes were on us, as if we had just sacrificed a chicken at a PETA convention. We
looked at each other and smirked. He took my hand and we scurried off into the bathroom. Away from
prying eyes, he checked the stalls. The coast was clear. He locked the bathroom door behind us. He
leaped like the playful mouse he was onto the counter and slowly stripped off his jacket. His blond hair
rustled as he fought with his shirt. His cool and confident demeanor had shifted to that of an awkwardly
eager teenager on prom night. I think I was falling in love with him.
His last vestige of clothing hit the floor, and there he stood in all his glory. I was right, he was eager.
Standing at full attention, and with more confidence now than ever, he sauntered over to me, taking my
head in his hands and kissing me harder than I’d ever been kissed before. I could taste the warm coppery
flavor of my own blood as he bit my lip. It ran down my chin, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t feel a thing. My mind
was focused on one thing and one thing alone, and it was poking me in the stomach.
He reared his head back and wiped the blood from his own lip. He smiled at me and caressed my face
before forcing my head downwards. Nothing had ever tasted so good before. I looked up at him, and his
face was focused, staring as my head bobbed up and down. He was enjoying it as much as I was.
That was the first time, and to this day it excites me. But that wasn’t the last. Max and I began to
flourish, meeting up after work one night a week at first, then several. Then it became almost a weekend
ritual. Nobody knew about him, he was my little secret. I wanted him all to myself, and that’s the way I
stayed for months – he was my dirty little secret. Of course, people had a suspicion that something was
going on. I had a glow about me; my aura was beaming bright and radiant. Though they didn’t know the
details, and I wasn’t going to share them. That would mean I’d have to share Max, and I’d never ever do
I had a particularly extra bounce in my step the last time we met. I and he were to meet up for the first
time in weeks. He had to go away on business, but assurances were made that we would meet upon his
arrival. I had a flow of vigor soaring through me all day, and I couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing, but it
was almost time. What harm could it do to surprise him at his apartment? And that’s exactly where I went.
I sat in the hallway outside his door. The doorman had gotten to know me by now and let me up no
problem, and so I sat like a schoolboy waiting for the principle. The anticipation was killing me, and that’s
when I heard it. The ding of the elevator. I stood up – rather I shot up, eager with a smile, and then I saw
him. He strode out of the elevator with all the swagger of a movie star, but something changed when he
spotted me. A look a surprise, but more of the fearful kind washed over his face. It was like I was watching
him in slow motion. He slowly turned to look back, and from behind him, out of the elevator stepped a
young man, equally as handsome and dashing as Max.
He looked so fresh and carefree like I must have all those months ago. At first, I couldn’t wrap my head
around what was happening. Who was the strange man, why was Max so afraid… and then it hit me. Max
was my one and only, but I was only one of a hundred to him. I knew he was a player, a looker, and a
charmer. But I thought… How foolish I was.
“Gerald,” Max said with a crack in his voice.
“Gerald?” The other man said.
“Yes, Franklin, this is Gerald,” Max said as if Franklin had known of me.
“Franklin?” I said.
“Yes, Gerry. Franklin,” Max uttered.
“Is he another one of your playthings, Maxy?” Franklin said a little too playfully while hanging off Max’s
What did he mean by playthings? Did this 20-something figure out Max before I could? If he knew, then
how could I have not figured it out? It’s been months, and I’d never had the feeling there was another man,
let alone multiple. I couldn’t feel anything in my body any longer. Nothing.
That’s a lie. I felt a bud of anger sowed by betrayal in the soil of my soul.
“Umm, let’s go inside, shall we?” Max said motioning towards the door. “We should all, umm… Talk.”
he added shuffling towards the door. He fumbled with his keys and eventually turned the deadbolt,
swinging the door inwards.
The two men entered first, and I followed, as if on autopilot. The door clicked behind me, and I stopped,
slowly looked back and decided to lock it. Neither of the other men noticed. We all meandered in, Franklin
being the most jovial of the three of us. Max sat on the sofa, and I sat across in an armchair. Franklin
moved over to the kitchen with such a prance, it was sickening. He navigated through the cupboard and
fridge and pour himself a drink, he offered one to us, but we both declined. He shrugged and poured
himself a double. Clearly, he’d been here before, many times. I seethed at the thought. Max and I sat in
silence for the longest of times. Franklin wandered over and draped himself over Max. I had to look away
“So, is this going to be a three-way or something?” Franklin said sipping his cocktail.
“Fuck me, Gerald! Fuck me!” A voice in my bed rang out. I looked down, but all I could see was the
bloodstained figure of Max beneath me. The voice was drowned out by the shrieking and crying of Franklin
tied to a chair in the corner. That wasn’t like me. I was a beta male, a shriveled husk of a man, how could I
have resorted to such violence. The smell of his cologne and his stupid fuckboy haircut were fresh in my
memory – it was the last time we were together. However, claret really was his color. The feeling of
penetration, the slipping in and out, the pounding, it was all such a turn on – especially when it was a knife
as my surrogate. Nobody, not Max nor Franklin saw it coming. I was so docile, up until the moment that I
Rage took over, and I saw red, and soon everything was covered in it. The last time Max and I were
together, I killed him. He broke my heart, and I tore his out. It was only fitting. The smell of blood, the slicked
back crimson colored fuckboy haircut, the feel of his freshly shaven skin as my knife tore through it – it was
“Oh, Gerald!” My wife cried out in pleasure beneath me, in our bed.
|About Casey Chaplin
Casey Chaplin is a
Canadian author who has
written and published two
novels: Lizzy and
Mystical Things. He also
records a daily horror
podcast and maintains a
website featuring all
things macabre and
literary in nature.
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