Page 416 - Some Dance to Remember

386 Jack Fritscher

dark. Axon’s body was fully muscled. His blond hair, unlike the boy’s
full head of curls, was shaved but for a Mohawk crest of blond from his
stern forehead to the nape of his thick neck. His tanned, naked body was
harnessed at biceps, chest, waist, and thighs with black-leather bands. The
soldiers, as Axon dismounted, jumped up and down in place shouting,
“Axon! Axon! Axon!”
Axon himself strode up the platform between the boy’s spread legs. He
carried a huge shears in his big hands. In close-up, he palmed the young
balls, pulled them ever so gently down from the boy’s torso, down from
the black-sheathed cock. The shears glinted hot around the sweating balls.
Then Axon’s muscular hand closed to a fist, snapping the shears, severing
the balls. Cut. Quick edit. Magically, as only movies can do, the young
initiate was kneeling in Axon’s private, circular chamber, surrounded by
row above row of glass jars, each with its own scrotum. The boy’s was the
thousandth Axon had taken.
In the theater darkness, even this second viewing, Ryan had cum,
helpless in his own swoon to revive Juan Jose in his faint, both of them
reviving together, laughing, crying, witnessing in each other the connec-
tion of the bright screen to their darkest thoughts.
Kick was slicing off Ryan’s balls.

5

At the end of the month of films, Kick, one night, showed up, as
expected as ever, as unexpected as ever, on Ryan’s doorstep. “I can come
in?” he said.
“You remembered,” Ryan said. “I have this fatal attraction for men
carrying gym bags.”
Kick was more massive than ever. He lumbered into the house. He
had come back as Ryan knew he would. He had come back and Ryan was
determined behind his forced smile to fix it or finish it according to the
plan he had made in Killing Time till Armageddon. He felt like a gunfighter
approaching the Not-So-OK Corral; but as quickly as Kick embraced
him, the old rush of feeling pent up for so long inside him broke loose.
He could not mention the night with Katharine Hepburn. He wondered
if Kick had even noticed him burning in flames in the back rows of the
orchestra. “My God,” Ryan said, “all this new muscle is unbelievable.”
“The Mr. Cal is next month. I came back to buff up. I need to psych
up with you. You’re my lucky charm.” He put his gym bag, nylon jock
jacket, and car keys on a table by the door. “Let’s go to Castro. I need a

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