Succulent Prey

The walls of the room were barren, painted a neutral antique white. The laminated wood floor was scuffed and scratched. A solemn crucifix hung in the center of one wall with the tortured and bleeding effigy of Christ affixed to it. The entire room seemed to perspire, the floor to heave as if breathing heavily as the combined lusts of a roomful of sex addicts boiled the air and raised the humidity.

Joe sat with his huge shoulders slumped forward, his tremendous arms resting on his thighs, his head nestled in his oversized hands, and his eyes boring oversized hands, and his eyes boring into the sacrificial lamb seated directly across the room baring his soul for group consumption. There were seven of them crammed into the little room in the basement of the church, swapping titillating tales of sexual excess for the purpose of therapy, eagerly devouring each detail of one another’s sex lives. Joe had no idea how this was supposed to make them better. It seemed like he’d been coming to these meetings for years.

His hunger roiled within him like a living thing clawing at the lining of his stomach. He’d eaten a full breakfast so he knew that it wasn’t physical. He’d masturbated twice before leaving the house too.

Sometimes that took the edge off his appetite. Not today. Today the only thing that would assuage his carnivorous lust was fresh meat. He needed help. He was having a harder and harder time resisting the temptation to feed.

Everywhere he looked there seemed to be meat ripe for consumption. He was hoping this therapy session would at least calm his hunger long enough for him to make it through his classes. Among this bizarre assemblage of predator and prey he should have felt right at home, but even here he had to maintain his secrets. He was more of a predator than any of them would ever have realized or been comfortable with, and as much a victim as the little man with the nervous eyes and bruised face. They were all victims here, victims of their own addictions, prey to their desires.

Joe had been coming to these meetings almost every day since he started college last year. He was now beginning his sophomore year at the local university where he was enrolled as a psychology major. The irony of that always made him laugh. Physician, heal thyself. He had started coming to Sex Addicts Anonymous after he’d gotten hooked on the sex and swingers club scene. He spent so much time in the sex clubs last semester, waking up nearly every night with a strange woman-or in some cases, strange couples-in his bed that he’d nearly flunked out of school. So he’d come here to get his life in order.

But now his addiction had mutated and he wasn’t sure they could help him anymore. The problems of the other confessed addicts almost seemed pedestrian in comparison to the monster raging within him.

‘I wound up drunk in an alley giving a blowjob to a stranger.’ His name was Frank. He had a busted nose, a black eye, and a huge gash on his forehead. It was a common sight.

They were all pretty much used to it now. He always came into the group session with a new bruise or cut. Joe wouldn’t have been as interested in hearing about Frank’s sexual exploits were it not for the violence that always accompanied the passion.

Joe had heard all of Frank’s stories before. Each day was just more of the same. Yet another variation of the ‘Meet boy, fuck and suck boy, get the shit kicked out of him by boy’ theme. The only thing that ever changed was the order of the events, the severity of the attacks, and the size of the attacker’s cock.

Frank was a homosexual who had a thing for straight men and often risked an ass kicking to get one. He enjoyed telling his lascivious tales of sex and battery even more than the rest of the group enjoyed hearing them. This was not so much therapy as group catharsis and cathexis. He spit it out and they sucked it up.

In the beginning they would try to outdo each other. Each of them would tell their most extravagant tales of sexual hedonism. Mary was a housewife who had affairs with strangers almost daily, claiming to be addicted to the taste of semen. Tom was her male equivalent.

He cheated on his wife with male escorts and loved to feel cum on his ass. Jane and Billy were a couple who were hooked on meeting people on the Internet and having sex with them after months of cybercourtship. Sam was addicted to pornography and masturbated eight to twelve times a day and often in public. Malcolm heard voices and exposed himself to women in parks. He was still young, only nineteen years old, but well on his way to becoming a rapist and probably a serial killer soon afterward. He was the only one close to being as fucked up as Frank or Joe himself. But no one knew how disturbed Joe was. Joe didn’t share.

Soon they were all rushing through their confessions, eager to get to Frank’s latest adventures, and he never disappointed. He knew they were counting on him. Far from curing the dysfunctional little man, they were enabling him, feeding his addiction as much as he fed theirs. Joe often wondered what would have happened if he shared some of his own experiences with the group. He was pretty sure he could have outdone Frank.

Joe wasn’t sure if it even made sense for him to come to these Sex Addicts Anonymous sessions anymore. He had progressed way beyond just your average sex addict.

‘What happened next, Frank?’ Mary, the session leader/counselor, asked with the appropriate concern on her face.

Joe knew that half the people in the group went home and masturbated to the confessions they heard at these sessions. Sam, occasionally, didn’t bother to wait until he left the room.

‘Well, he had the most enormous cock. I swear it was almost a full ten inches and I was gagging on it and loving every minute of it. He came all down my throat and then pulled his cock out of my mouth and came all over my face. Then he got mean.’ Frank paused and looked down in his lap where his hands lay clenched tightly. No doubt hiding his erection.

‘What did he do?’

Everyone leaned forward in their chairs. Their own addictions drew them into the tale, hungrily searching for that salacious tidbit to momentarily assuage the hunger burning in each of them.

‘He smiled down at me and told me how beautiful I looked with cum on my face, which I thought was kind of nice. But then he started calling me a filthy cumsucking faggot. He punched and kicked me until I almost passed out. The funny thing was that while he was kicking my ass I noticed that his cock was getting hard again. After he’d beaten the shit out of me, busted a couple ribs and broke my nose, he pulled my pants down and raped me, anally. No lubrication at all . It had to have chafed him as much as it did me. What was even weirder was that I kind of enjoyed it.’

Nothing surprising there, Frank, Joe thought. Everyone knew that the effete little guy, who came in every week with his face looking as if it had gone through a meat grinder, was a hardcore masochist. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself. If he could just admit it then he could start finding safer trade in S&M clubs before he ran into someone who might really hurt him. Someone like Joe. He was already imagining what he would do to the petite little man if he were ever to get him alone.

‘So how does that make you feel now, Frank?’ Mary asked, her voice full of false concern. Mary was almost as indiscreet in her desire to hear about Frank’s exploits as Sam, who already had his hand in his pocket, jacking off unselfconsciously.

Mary had been a regular attendee at these meetings longer than anyone and seemed to wield no more control over her addictions than the rest of them. She propositioned Joe after almost every session. He knew that she’d already fucked nearly every straight guy who’d ever set foot in this place in the seven or eight years she’d been coming. Joe also knew that it drove her nuts that she hadn’t had him yet.

Joe kept his body in excellent condition. Working out was as much of a compulsion for him as fucking. His face was hard and lean with a squared-off jaw and dark blue eyes. His friends had jokingly called him Clark Kent back in high school because he looked like he should have been on the cover of a Superman comic book. Mary wasn’t Joe’s type, though. She was a skanky trailer-park slut. Too skinny, with no ass and small tits. She looked like a drug addict, which she had been until she’d switched addictions. Frank was just about to reply to her question when Joe interrupted him.

‘I fantasize about biting women’s breasts off and eating them.’

That shook things up. Everyone stared at Joe with mouths agape as they tried to compose the proper healing response to such a perverse admission. It was the first time Joe had shared with the group and they didn’t want to discourage him, if only for the promise of a new fetish to feed on.

This beat every one of Frank’s rough trade encounters in Polk Street leather bars, except maybe the one where he got fistfucked by that biker with his arm lubed with motor oil. It certainly shamed Mary’s confessions about fucking the neighbors’ husbands and masturbating with fruit and household appliances, even the time she’d put peanut butter on her clit to get head from her Great Dane.

Joe got up and left before they could respond with their trite little twelve-step slogans, though it would have been curious to know which one they could have whipped out for cannibalism. That was the one addiction none of the books addressed. Joe knew. He had already checked.

Joe jogged the distance from the little storefront church where the SAA meetings were held back to the campus to hit the gym before classes started.

When he walked into the weight room it was already packed. The track team was in there doing their morning strength training. ‘Muscle equals speed!’ he heard Coach Truman yelling as he built his athletes into physical specimens that looked more like middleweight boxers than sprinters. Joe stared at their elegant bodies in a trance. He’d always had a fetish for large round buttocks and no one had a meatier, more finely formed gluteus maximus than a sprinter. Particularly the African-American ones who seemed to be genetically gifted with the type of round meaty asses he loved. They all wore those tiny running shorts that exposed the bottom half of their enlarged glutes. Their thighs were finely sculpted and shimmering with a sheen of sweat. It was almost too much for Joe to bear. He watched the women’s sumptuous asses bounce by as they walked from one piece of exercise equipment to the next. He felt like a lion lying down with sheep─and he was getting hungry. An erection was straining in his sweatpants and he had no real way to conceal it. It didn’t matter how many girls noticed his arousal and giggled or sneered in disgust. It was worth the sight.

Joe began his workout with 500-pound squats, grunting and straining his way through four sets of ten. Then he loaded nearly a thousand pounds onto the leg press for another four sets that left his legs quivering from overexertion. He finished off with hamstring curls and quadricep extensions before hitting the showers.

Even in the locker room the sight of the men’s naked flesh was arousing him.

Joe wouldn’t have called himself gay.

What he felt when he looked at the male athletes’ thick muscular thighs and tight well sculpted asses, their heaving pectoral muscles, and even their thick cocks dangling limply between their legs, was something far more visceral. He didn’t want to fuck them. He wanted to eat them alive. To rip their supple flesh from their bones, taste the warm blood and meat as it washed over his tongue and down into his belly.

Joe finished his shower and removed a fresh change of clothes from his backpack. He shrugged quickly into his jeans and T-shirt before running off to class. He could hear the guys whispering at his back as he left the locker room. They all thought he was a pervert. But they knew better than to say it to his face. Joe was not exactly a small man.