The Black Prince

 

Strobe lights flashing, multi-colours spinning and twirling like a rainbow shattered into a million pieces of glass. Half-naked male bodies dancing and showing off. Teasing each other, coming close, almost touching, skin to skin, hands reaching out, rising into the air. The music beat driving them all wild into a dancing orgy. Smoke wafted over the air illuminated by the flashing lights. In the toilets young men snorted cocaine off the tops of porcelain cisterns. Dropped an E and went back to the dance floor, more energetic and wild than before. Their eyes glazed, pupils retracting and growing at a frightening speed. Bottles of water attached to the loops of their designer jeans, the all-important labels on display like tattoos. T-shirts tied around their waist, flesh dripping wet, the air heightened with the passion of pheromones. A sexual energy that was spinning around the dance floor growing like a cloud heavy with rain, dark and thunderous.

James had come with friends but through the crowds of dancing bodies and chattering people, they had become separated. They were off in some dark corner doing a deal, seducing an older man with money and power. The club was elite, rich men and their playboys. Secret celebrities coming for a kick, an adoration from a younger male. Body worship. Kneel at their feet and treat them like gods. But oh, their love was cruel and bitter. It was a two-way ride, dangerous to both parties. The celebrity knew if he were caught in public, derision would be the nail in the coffin. A male action adventure hero caught with a younger male could kiss their career goodbye, and the boys knew this, knew the power they held over their chosen ones. A quick phone call and it would be all over the Sunday Tabloids, big black letters and grainy photos.

James stood surveying the dance floor from the safety of the bar. Watching everything around him, the men milling about, waving to ones they recognised, air kissing and pretty words. The drink in his hand made him dizzy, made him need to go to the toilet. He'd already had a bottle of Perno before he came out.

He put the drink down onto the bar. The red walls, the sumptuous red leather chairs and sofas became a blur as he stumbled towards the toilets. He heard laughter in his ear; we're they laughing at his drunken movements? Snickering at his behaviour. He felt lost, spinning round to find the toilets, trying to get a sense of direction. People crushing in on him, music beating loudly in his eardrums.

He saw the toilets, the door banging opening and shutting a thousand times. He pushed his way towards it, separating the people like Moses and the Red Sea. Keeping his eye on the toilet door ahead of him. He pushed the wooden door open, the bright lights glaring around him, the mirrored walls. He saw his reflection. Pale skin, drunken eyes, and dark black urban clothes by Donna Karen. His pallor was ghostly white, translucent and glazed with sweat.

He walked towards a cubicle and pushed the door open. Seated on the toilet was a man calmly smoking a Camel cigarette. His suit of finely woven chequered wool stood out against his shocking spiked blond hair and sparkling green eyes. He looked up at James.

'I think you need this place more than me.'

He got up to let James use the toilet. The lid flew up hitting the porcelain basin with a loud crack. James fell to the floor, head leaning over the rim. The sickness rising up from his stomach. He tried to fight the waves that rushed over him, but then he felt the man's hand running through his hair, stroking his head, gently and soothingly, his words becoming a whisper in his ear as he sat down next to him. The door clanged shut, the bolt locking it.

He felt the sickness come in great gushing waves. The choking bitter dry taste clinging to his mouth. The man was leaning against him like a rock, a comforting rock to cling to in this drunken stupor. He wiped his lips against some tissue. The taste in his mouth vile and disgusting. He stood up and crashed against the walls of the cubicle. The man steadied him. Took hold of his limp body, helped him out to the sinks, and splashed cold water on his sweating face.

'Why do you all insist on taking such stuff?' He asked inquisitively.

The cold water dripped down his face, down his neck and down his back. Shivers spiralling up his spine. The music outside broke through into the toilets as the door flung open. Madonna's voice sweeping across the dance floor, rising above the din.

Silence fell between them.

'Fancy going for a coffee?' the man asked, James nodded and they both staggered out into the cold night. On the corner of Old Compton Street, they found a quiet coffee house and took a seat. A young waiter came up to them, all rosy cheeked and sleek black hair. Most probably not even 17, the man thought and smiled at him. The pale youthful flesh shimmering in his eyes like a delicious aphrodisiac. Billie Holiday sang quietly in the background. A song of despair, and lost love.

'Two espresso's please' he asked, an air of authority surrounding him.

He lit a cigarette, crossed his legs and looked at the young man sat before him. He smiled to himself, studied his features. Perfect, he thought to himself.

The coffee arrived in little black cups.

'I think I'm going to need more than one of these.' James said. The man smiled at him. 'I've never seen you around here before?' James asked.

'I've never seen you around here before either.' The man countered, smiling at him.

James looked at the man, his clothes. He looked like he should be more at home in the countryside hunting and shooting grouse at some country manor. Most probably, Vivienne Westwood certainly looks like her style, James thought to himself.

'Where do you live?' the man asked

'Acton. And you?'

'Kensington Gardens.' The man replied. James smiled to himself. He was already thinking of a publicist's number.

'Well I would offer you a lift home, but I don't drive.' The man stubbed out his cigarette and got up to leave. The dying embers bursting in the ashtray, flaring up and dying down.

James sat frozen, unsure of what to do. No one had ever said that to him before, his looks alone had always been able to seduce the most timid of men. He thought he might at least have gone home with him, might have asked him back. The door jingled, he was alone. The man already walking towards the tube station. He quickly got up and followed him. He saw him disappear down the stairs towards the platform. He rushed after him, his breath fast. He came up behind him.

The man suddenly turned around, his eyes flashing, his coat spinning with his body. His hands coming up and grabbing James. Rushing along the ground, almost gliding over the cold concrete floor. People going past them, did they see? James looked around him, his eyes mad, filled with fury. They slammed hard against the dirty tiled walls. Posters advertising the latest movies, theatre productions. Adam Cooper frozen in movement, Swan Lake. White face, white feathers, staring at them. Silently watching. If walls could talk of the things they had seen, what stories would they tell? Junkies getting high, couples arguing, beggars on the streets.

The man stared at him.

'So you think you want me? Think you can have me during the night and then ring your friends. How foolish do you think I am?' His anger suddenly betraying his accent, maybe Eastern Europe, slight Russian. His eyes gleamed, danced in black pools.

James just stared at him, speechless. Unsure of what to say.

'So you don't speak now do you? Gone dumb?'

People milled about, tried not to look, to watch what was going on. Just another domestic, another couple arguing.

'Who are you?' James asked.

The man smiled. His gloved hand brushed James's cheek, the leather stroking and seductive, teasing. He tipped his chin back, the green, blue veins protruding from his neck. James gargled, saliva caught in his mouth, his eyes starring up at the lights, gleaming, shimmering like tiny dots of light falling all around him. His heart beating wildly.

'So you want to fuck me do you? Do I intrigue you?'

James didn't say a word. The man took him by the hand and almost dragged him along the floor right up to the platform. The wind rushing down the tunnel, hitting his face. Dust swirling stinging his eyes with tears. The platform deserted. The man pulled him, held him over the platform, the track spinning before his eyes. He tried to grab at something, to steady himself, but his arms, hands just flared about in the air. Panic gripped him. He could hear the train coming; see the lights coming through the tunnel. The vibration of the train filled the air, the wind gathering force about him.

Then he was back on the platform, feet hitting the concrete as the train screeched into the platform. The doors slid open and the man stepped in. He turned round to look at James.

'Are you coming, or are you staying?' the words seemed to echo in his mind.

He followed him into the crowded train. An elderly gentleman got up and let the man sit down. The elderly man smiled back at him.

James watched with fascination. Who was this man?

He walked towards him and sat down next to him.

'Don't think you can fuck me and tell your friends in the morning.' He whispered into James's ear.

'Why?' James asked

'You won't see the morning.' James stared back at him, frozen. Caught like a fly in a spider's web.

The train stopped at Kensington Gardens, and the man got up and James followed like a docile sheep. Up the stairs they walked, the cold air greeting them, the statue of Peter Pan illuminated by lights within the park.

Down the quiet street, they walked until they came to a black door set back from the street. The windows lit up, curtains drawn. He pushed a key in and unlocked the door. The warmth hit James, sent his head spinning. He almost felt drunk again. They stepped inside and the door locked behind them.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the light sprinkling out around them. On the walls hunting paintings. Family portraits? There was a resemblance James noted. The man began to walk up the stairs. James followed. All up the walls the portraits hung, old people dressed in Victorian clothing, the further up they went the older the paintings became. A castle in one. A hunting scene in another with wolves watching from afar. A moon that seemed to shimmer and shine. James did a double take; did the moon in that picture just move? Must be hallucinating, too much to drink. Everything seemed to be watching him, the pictures. Suddenly the whole house felt alive, crowding in on his senses. Oppressive and claustrophobic.

The man went into a room that resembled a bedroom and James followed. Red luxurious velvet curtains hung across the windows, heavy gold brocade woven around them. A chandelier flickered on and illuminated the cast iron bed beneath it. The sheets looked luxurious and deep, James sighed. The man came towards him, picked him up and threw him onto the bed. The springs creaked as James landed on the mattress, sinking into the sheets.

'Get undressed.' The man commanded as he disappeared out the door.

James sat on the bed, his mind racing. He should get out, get out now. His mind said. London was crawling with psychotics and now he hand landed himself with one. He began to panic. His mind racing. He got off the bed and crept towards the door, the floorboards creaking under his feet. He stopped moving, listened for any sound. Silence. He pulled the door open softly and peered out onto the landing. The paintings glared back at him, their eyes seemed to glint with a menacing look. 'I really have had too much to drink', James thought to himself.

Still silence.

He began to move down the stairs a step at a time. Stopping every so often. Listening for any sound of movement. He soon reached the ground floor and still no sound, no movement. His hand caught the lock, a floorboard creaked above him, and he looked up to the ceiling, his breath catching in his throat. He waited a moment, began to turn the latch. He looked behind him; sure the man was coming down the stairs. Suddenly realising he had escaped and was coming after him.

He turned the latch, it wouldn't budge, wouldn't turn. Seemed stuck. The door to his left began to inch open. He didn't hear it move, didn't see the man step out. His naked olive dark skin, shone, his chest heavily defined, large pectoral muscles rising and falling with each breath. Smooth skin, every contour defined with power and agility.

'Leaving so soon?'

James tried to turn the latch. The man reached out and took his hand.

'You know when a door is locked you usually need a key to unlock it.' and smiled at him.

Panic etched across James face. He felt the man's hand tighten around his wrist. Pulling him towards him. Felt his hands come swooping down and scoop him up. He carried him up the stairs, higher and higher. His head leaning against his chest, a sweet scent of lavender wafting off the skin, soothing and calming, making him drowsy and drift between sleep and alertness.

They reached the bedroom and the man gently laid him down on the bed.

'Now please take your clothes off.' James obeyed, his naked skin becoming more revealed as each item of clothing came off. Donna Karen jeans, the gold buttons unfastening, he pulled them off. The man stood watching and smiling as he removed his boxer shorts. Completely naked he sat on the bed bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.

'I will be back in a moment.' He whispered into his ear.

He disappeared through a side door into a darkened room and shut it behind him. Candles flared up one by one in the room to reveal a chequered floor. Smooth and highly polished it shone in the bright candle light. On the floor, a pentagram shone silvery, etched into the tiles, the circle and star appearing and disappearing with each flame that flickered. He stood in the centre of it, everything shone and illuminated around him. Before him on a black polished stone altar sat an effigy of the god Pan. Wooden flute held in one hand, goat feet, a smooth chiselled chest leading down to a large erect phallus. Eyes glistening, a secret delicious smile forming on his face. His goatee beard, the tiny little horns protruding from his forehead, the perfect embodiment of youth and nature. A sublime mix of carnal and spiritual lust.

The man bowed before him, offered prayers and incantations. Walked around the circle invoking powers and forces. Calling on the moon and the sun to be his witness. His lovers and guardians.

He opened the door and walked back into the bedroom. James lying naked on the bed, shivered with either fear or coldness. The man walked towards him.

'Who are you?' James mumbled.

'Me. It doesn't matter who I am.' His hand stroked James's face, a longing caress. A delicate touch like a flower coming into bloom. A rose opening up and offering its secret, it's stamen ready to spill its seed and be crushed. He leaned over and brought his lips almost to the skin of James's neck. James's heartbeat almost stopped, almost missed a beat. Time seemed to stop, to become suspended.

The man smiled at him.

His lips reaching his ear, his nose twitching, sniffing?

'You need to take a shower.'

He led James through to a shining glistening chrome bathroom. The jets of water turning on and steam began to fill the room. The glass door opening and the man lead him into the glass enclosure of hot water and vapours. Soap ran over his naked body as the man began to wash him down. James closed his eyes, rested his head against the white tiles. His back to the man. The sponge running down his back to the curve of his buttocks. The warm water relaxing his aches, washing his tension down the plughole. He felt the man's body press hard against his own. His dick-growing stiff between his legs, reaching up to that secret delicate flower that would encase it. The man moaned and whispered something into his ear, something he didn't catch, didn't quite hear. James began to cry, the sobs rising up through his body, beginning to shake him. He could feel the tip of the man's erect dick reach his hole. Tease it with the steaming water. Soothe and relax it. The man turned him round.

'Why do you cry? There is nothing to fear.' His hands cupped James's face, held it for a moment. Kissed his eyes, licked the salty soapy tears away. The water cascaded between them, splashing onto their faces. Bodies almost touching, secretly aching for each other. He turned the water off and began to dry James down, the soft woollen towel running over his body, wiping away the remaining drops of water. Rubbing his skin. The man turned him around and around, almost made him dizzy.

From a cabinet he took a bottle out that seemed to be filled with some dark water that had various leaves floating in it. He pulled the stopper out and the scent suddenly rose up and filled the room. The scent of summer wrapped in autumn. The scent of pine needles in a forest, of cut grass hit with falling rain, freshly cut corn. All these scents stirring memories, forgotten childhood memories. The liquid splashed across his skin as the man rubbed it into him.

He led him through to the bedroom and into the darkened room. The candles snuffed out but the air heavy with their burnt out scent. The door shut behind them, they stood in the darkness, the silence.

He knew the man was standing near him, could almost feel his presence. But the sense of isolation and aloneness came sweeping across him like a breath of fire. His eyes began to become accustomed to the darkness, could make out the dark silhouette of the man, but he saw something else in front of him, but couldn't quite make it out; a dark shape, still and lifeless.

He suddenly felt the man's lips touch his own, prise his mouth open with his tongue, darting backwards and forwards. He reached up to touch the man, his hands reaching out and clinging to his back, his nails scraping at the skin. The man picked him up and held him as there kiss became deep and long lasting. Saliva passing between the two joined mouths. He felt the man's dick suddenly grow stiff and find its way to his hole.

Candles suddenly spluttered into life, a hissing sound as the wick became lighted by invisible hands. The room glowed as each of the four candles lit up in the four corners of the room. The chequered floor shimmered beneath them. The plain black walls. The silver pentagram shone and began to turn into a liquid substance around them. The man began to rock back and forth, his dick moving in a fluid motion, James dick hard and dripping wet like candle wax. He felt it pressed between their flat stomachs ready to burst forth like a thousand butterflies breaking free out of their cocoon's.

James saw the chequered floor, the pentagram, and then he saw the statue. The phallic god laughing at him. He stared at the statue, held by its gaze, its hypnotic eyes. The room began to glow, to shimmer like falling fireworks. A Catherine wheel suddenly spinning and bursting into a thousand sparks of light. Light fell from cracks in the ceiling, lights dancing. A million tiny lights falling and bursting in the atmosphere around them.

James was stunned by it all. The walls, the ceiling, it all began to fade, to diminish before his very eyes. The floor beneath them fading, falling from their feet. Rocky snowy mountains replaced the floor, a ruined castle. They stood in the centre of the ruined castle. Snow falling through the air, gentle flakes turning to water as it touched their skin. The ruined stones lay around them, broken and fallen down. A great roaring came from beneath the ground, a rumbling sound that echoed all around them. The stones began to shake, their bodies trembling, and still they kissed, joined together, inseparable. Fastened together like Siamese babies.

The stones started to fly in the air, the castle re-forming itself. Began to take shape. Walls rising up from the ground and reaching high into the sky. Circular turrets taking form, battlements appearing, soldiers marching, keeping guard. Their armour clanking with every movement. Above them, the ceiling flew over their heads and connected to the walls. Around them torches spluttered into life, clinging to the walls like clawed iron hands. Tapestries appeared on the walls, hunting scenes, fighting scenes, a story unfolding, taking shape. He could feel himself rushing; the man was rushing down the floors of the castle, going deeper and deeper into it.

Then the screams filled his ears. Loud piercing screams that shattered his mind, woke him from the dream like state he had been in. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. The man stopped rushing, stood still and lowered James onto the stone damp floor. On a wall in front of him lay the remains of a boy, spiked and clubbed to death. His body a tattered image of torn rags and flesh, flapping in the wind. The wall covered in his blood, his internal organs spilled out like vomit on the floor. The man went up to the wall, leaned his head against the remaining part of this boy's head. The eyes suddenly flashed open, stared at James. The man licked his face, taking the remaining blood in that still oozed from him.

He walked towards James. James backed away along the floor. Hit the wall behind him. The man leaned over, took his arms, and dragged him towards a wooden table.

He felt leather straps come over his arms and legs and fasten him to the table.

'I told you not to be frightened. There is nothing to fear my dear child, nothing to be frightened of. Your sacrifice will be so worthy of our dear beloved father; you will be honoured and worshipped.'

His fist came down and punched James in the face. A purple bruise beginning to appear. James's eyes began to take on the hue of badly applied makeup.

The man climbed on top of him. James's hard dick entering into him and the man began to ride him like a wild horse. His hips moving up and down, squeezing tightly shut, ready to crush him. His hands reaching down and grabbed his nipples, nails sharp and pointed, began to scratch at skin, blood trickling from the scratches. James opened his eyes and let out a shrilling scream that echoed throughout the castle.

Sat atop him was no longer the man, but a wolf-like creature, its white fur shimmering like the moon. It's beady eyes staring at the ceiling as if seeing something he couldn't see. It's snout sniffing the air, mouth opening to reveal sharp teeth, dripping with saliva. He tried to move, pulled at his hands and feet. The wolf thing suddenly rushed down to his face. Eyes locking with his. It's snout sniffing him. His tongue darted out and licked his face, like sandpaper brushing across him. The beast kept riding him back and forth; he could feel the orgasm approaching, swelling upwards from his balls and pushing into his dick. Tried to hold it back, to fight the rushing waves he could feel come sweeping across him, the sperm shooting out into the beast. The wolf roared with excitement and pleasure.

James could feel the pressure building in his head, ready to explode; blood-rushing ready to burst outwards from every part of his skin. The image of the wolf flickered and changed back to that of the man, smiling at him in ecstasy. He pulled himself off James' and stood looking at him in the light of the torches. His hand came up and started to caress James's bruised face. Fingers running delicately along his cheeks, around his eyes, over his lips. James shuddered.

'You know the greatest sacrifice anyone can give is their own life. To offer their life for someone else is the ultimate gift another human being can give.'

He turned around and picked up a whip, tiny leather straps running from the main wooden staff, iron spiked balls clinging to the thin leather straps. He raised it up into the air and brought it down on to James's face.

The room became filled with his screams, his moans, his pleading. The man just laughed at him and kept bringing the whip down across him. The spiked balls hooking into the flesh and tore it apart. Gurgling sounds escaping from James's mouth as blood rose up in his throat and dripped over his lips.

The stones hissed as the blood sunk into the them. An acrid burning smell rising up from them. A clamour of voices screaming out 'more, more'. The castle baying for more blood.

He put the whip down and climbed atop James's bloody body. His hands pulling at the torn skin, licking the blood oozing from his mouth, pushing his tongue in as deeply as it could go. A deep passionate bloody kiss, saliva and blood mingling, passing from mouth to mouth and back again. He could feel the beating of his heart, loud and furious, refusing to die. He tore at the skin in a mad fury, bones snapping and breaking, the rib cage exposed, the beating heart beneath it. His fingers delicately ran over the bones, toying with the sensation it gave him. The blood, the muscle, and all just beneath his fingertips. He touched the heart and shuddered. James's eyes were still and clouded, the pain sending him into unknown territory. But he was still alive, he could feel it. He pushed his fingers onto the heart, the beating rhythmic sound moving up his skin. He pulled at it, the snapping tearing sound becoming a dull muted noise. He held the bloody heart in his hands.

Voices were screaming in the air, in his mind. The air thick with their voices.

'Eat it, eat it. You must eat it'

He brought it to his lips, opened his mouth and brought his teeth onto the fleshy organ. He pushed it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing every bit. His face and hands bloodied, he fell backwards. Delirious, intoxicated. Would this be the final act? His salvation. He pushed the body off the table. The castle groaned at the touch of the body against its foundations. The stones opening and devouring the body. Stripping it of everything, sucking and eating it.

He fell to his knees, mumbling incantations. A secret ritual. A promise. A prayer to his father. Begging to be allowed back. Surely, this final sacrifice would be the last one. The castle shook. The foundations grumbled. Cracks began to appear cris-crossing the walls. Panic filled him. His wild eyes darted around him.

'NO' he screamed out.

The walls crumbled, the snowy mountains revealed. The majesty of the land unravelling before his eyes.

'No, it's not supposed to happen like this. Father why have you abandoned me.' He screamed out into the sky.

Everything just a glimmer, a little bit of hope. The chequered floor began to appear beneath him. Four walls rising upwards, a ceiling crashing down, the statue sat before him, lifeless and ignorant of his pleas and requests. He was alone back in his home, expelled from the kingdom. He lay on the floor in a foetal position, crying and mumbling, unaware of the apparition of his father standing over him stroking his wet, matted hair. The goat feet and wooden flute held in his hand. The chanting soft voices of a choir descending and surrounding him.

 

©NigelSymon 2002