"The Lesson"

(Friday 4:30 pm)

Drake sat at his desk, a smile carved from ear to ear.  The joy he felt accelerated his heart—sending fresh recycled blood rushing through his veins.   Man he felt good!   A surprising hefty promotion lined his pockets with hundreds more a week.   He was anxious to cash his check.   It all started to sink in.   He would spend his surplus on his two favorite things in the world— the two vices that destroyed his marriage— beer and pussy.   Drake’s wheels were in motion.    He couldn’t wait unit the clock said go.  Then it was time to get the hell out of the office and start living it up.
                                                                   
                                                  (Friday 4:40pm)

The boss approached his cubicle and leaned against the privacy wall, then removed his glasses and smiled at Drake who was busy tapping away diligently at his keyboard.   Copy machines and other office equipment hummed in the background.   A few office workers were huddled and conversing at the water cooler nearby.
“Why don’t you take off early today, my man?”
A few of the employees heard the boss dismiss Drake for the day.   Their faces creased disapprovingly.  
                Drake’s eyes gaped.   “Oh?”  He glanced at his wristwatch, delighted.
 “All right, cool!”   He swept up his jacket and briefcase from the shelf behind his leather chair and made a break for the door.  He left so fast that he neglected to shut down his computer.   Many of his jealous coworkers stood by and watched Drake heading for the door.  They shook their heads, miffed.  Usually the boss ran the department with a stringent finger pushing the staff until six or seven.   But today was a time of new beginnings for Drake Masters.   Life was coming together for him again—one piece at a time.  
                                                                   
                                                           (Friday 10:00 pm)

Drake sat at the booth while Alexia grinded on his lap.   The club was dark.  The odor of cigarettes and liquor permeated the room.  He was enjoying a nice buzz at the corner table.   The Tequila shots were really working their magic.   But they were curiously strong.   He hadn’t felt this fuzzy and relaxed from just a few shots before.    It didn’t matter now.   The sensation swimming through him was one of ecstasy— one that had eluded him for a long time—until now.   This chick was stunning, beyond what he had seen in magazines.  Long blonde hair cascaded down her back and grazed her tight dancer’s buttocks.   Her lips were full and soft.   He trembled in heat as she slithered them down his neck using her moist tongue to trace his flesh.    He felt his maleness about to explode in his pants. 
                                                                 
                                                                
                                                        

                                                 (Friday 10:30 pm)

The party continued in the parking lot.   It all happened under a broken light post where a massive oak tree shielded the moon’s glow.   Snow flurries dusted the night. More beautiful women joined in. The four of them carried on— all hot little vixens—groping Drake’s muscular body like he was a piece of man-meat.    He was more turned on now than ever before in his life.   His ex- wife Sally could never deliver the goods like these girls did.   He had completely lost his focus, giving in to the rewards of fortune and pleasure.    And the weekend was still young.   One of the girls shoved her soft delicate finger into his mouth and roamed, massaging his tongue as he played the game in return.   The erotic display sent him higher, to a sexual level he had never encountered before.   There he was, Drake Masters, nude in the passenger seat of his Hummer with four women taking him to soaring heights he thought only existed in his wildest fantasies.   Out of the blue he became woozy…fainted.
                                                      
                                             

                                               (Saturday 12:30 am)

Drake opened his eyes.   The world surrounding him was black and grim.   His limbs were quivering from the frosty wind and plummeting temperatures.    His penis was throbbing like it had been through war with a grater.   To make matters worse, he grabbed at his body and realized he was stripped of his clothes.   There was not a single garment protecting his frame, not even socks for his shaking feet.   He was completely lost— sprawled out on the pavement— pebbles poking his flesh like needles.
  He stood up.   His whole body ached from head to toe.   Every part of him was sore.   He attempted to walk but after a few strides a surging pain brought him to his knees.   There was this horrible stabbing sensation in his rectum.   He placed his hand near the area to investigate what it was that ailed him.   He slid his fingers closer to the hole riding in along one of his cheeks.  He felt moisture—lots of it.   From out of nowhere that feeling came back to him.   He felt strange, increasingly light-headed.   Drake swabbed his fingertips along the area and found that everything was saturated.   Torrents of dread fired through him as he brought his hand closer to his face to sniff the substance.    He wasn’t sure what repulsed him more.    The disgusting act he was about to commit, or the thought that it was blood?  It had to be.   He pulled his hand to within inches of his nose and then passed out again.
                                                                
                                                          

                                            (Saturday 8:00 am)

Drake woke up for the second time and discovered a place he failed to recognize.   He was in a dimly lit room.   A small lamp was glowing across from him on a wooden shelf.   He was alone again.   A strange scent permeated the air— a pungent, musty odor.    His equilibrium was faltering.  The room appeared to be spinning, at least that’s how he saw it.   The lantern on the shelf floated and swayed in his vision.   He was terribly dizzy.   Suddenly a fluorescent light came to life overhead and he got the first good look at himself.  He was still naked, black and blue.   His skin was covered with leeches; all of them sucking him— bloating— feasting on his blood.   Drake was powerless.   He was void of the energy to get up.   He was tapped.  Every ounce of gumption he owned was depleted.    He shivered more, convulsed.  
            His stomach roiled with nausea.   Trying to jockey for a better position only added searing threads of pain to his desperate situation.   Each time he moved a muscle his futile attempts were thwarted again, and again, and again.   Drake was so sick and clueless.   He had no idea what was going on with him— or inside him. He needed to heave.   The strong kick in his stomach gave warning.   A violent surge of vomit erupted from his throat broadcasting the contents of his stomach onto the cold floor beneath him.   A third time… he fainted.
                                                                      
                                                       

                                            (Sunday 6:00 am)

Drake’s eyes peeled to witness another day.   He was weary from being out of commission for so long, unsure if he was prepared to face the next reality.   There was a hazy world there to greet him.   He cleaned the cobwebs from his eyes and everything within the four walls started to take shape.   This time he was stuck to a chair, his hands bound to the back post and secured with nylon rope that gouged the thin flesh of his wrists.   There was a sock in his mouth sodden with grime and some awful stench.   The smell altered his breathing, causing him to choke and gag.  The room was still a bit foggy, although he could see more than before.    On a metal desk in front of him sat cigarettes, pills, and a couple pairs of brass knuckles.  What the fuck?   A flood of questions assaulted his mind.  Where am I?  What is happening to me?  Am I dreaming?  Behind him there was a sound.   It was a door opening.  The rusty hinge squeaked announcing the entry of someone— something. 
             Drake craned his head to get a better perspective, to see who or what it was that had him harnessed and smothered.    He turned his head left and saw nothing.    He pivoted right and before his eyes could focus on the image standing before him he was cold-cocked flush in the jaw.   Spots shimmered in his vision, sending him back to a world of darkness.    Drake was unconscious again.

                                               (Sunday 10:00 am)

Drake awoke to sunny skies.   Miraculously, he was in his own bed where the accented his horrid pallor.   The sheets were nestled up under his chin and the visual clouds had dissipated.   Was this a bad dream?
 He ripped the covers off and confronted the wounds that had been inflicted upon him.  Everything was real:   Every pain he felt, all of the blood he remembered losing, that mortifying sensation in his anus.  He hated to imagine what it was that was rammed inside his most delicate and private of areas.  What type of cumbersome object tore him apart and left behind serious internal damage?   What kind of assault left blood stains all over the mattress?  Drake was so ashamed, humiliated.   This was something he would not speak of, not to anyone.    He ran to the shower and scrubbed every inch of his body lathering the soap to a thick froth.  He scrubbed so hard he practically broke the skin further from his abrasive strokes.   He had no choice.   For a moment Drake considered going to the doctor for an examination, but how could he possibly explain all of this?  And again, the shame of being violated seized him, stole away what little fortitude he had left.      

He left the bathroom and peered out the window.   The Hummer was parked along the curb in the same condition as he saw it last.  What? Deep down within he wished it was all a nightmare.   But that wasn’t the case.   He had survived some traumatic experience unaware of where he had been— and with whom.   Since Friday he had stumbled in and out of consciousness and now the fragments of those days were coming back to haunt him. 
Drake sat in bed against the backboard curled up in a ball.   All he could do was stare at the wall— then the phone—again–the wall, then the phone.   His world was out of alignment and nothing came to mind.  There was no way to erase the misery he had just lived through.   He wasn’t sure if he would ever overcome such a violation to his mind and body.   Maybe if he tried to block it from his thoughts it would go away.   Drake finally got tired of thinking about it.  He was drained.  He went to bed and slept soundly from the overload to his nerves.
                                                         
                                              (Monday 8:45 am)

  It was another day and Drake had lived to see it.   He went about this Monday with cautious steps.  He parked his car in the front lot at the ‘reserved’ section and lumbered into the office.   All he wanted was a return to normalcy— simply to find a way to erase this depravity from his life.   Maybe if he was lucky he could skip out early and think about the next step— stay the course— get on with the remaining days.    He walked to his desk and sat down, rubbed his temples.   To the left he always stored a bottle of aspirins, usually Tylenol.   He popped a few and swallowed them dry.  
Typically he downed one but today was an extraordinary circumstance.  He placed his hand on the mouse and the screensaver vanished.   His desktop came to life.   A message scrolled across the monitor.  “Hey Masters, look in your top drawer.”
               Drake was stunned for a moment.  Was this somebody’s idea of a gag?  The message seemed harmless, though.   Maybe the boss left something for him.   What could possibly happen to him here at the office, right?   The whole ordeal was over and done with.   Only he knew about his weekend from hell.   He slowly opened the drawer.   There was a picture sitting there all alone inside.   He held it up and stared for a moment.    Soon he recognized the man in the photo.   It was Norman Thayer.   Drake had replaced him three months ago, fired him for slugging a man in the office.  He had been warned before about his violent outbursts.  When pressed to answer for his actions Norman explained himself to the department heads’. “I can’t help myself.   My wife was taken from me.   We had it all.   And some adulterer was speeding home after a night of debauchery with his mistress and ran her over.   She was crossing the street leaving a 7- Eleven.  It was tragic.”
The room fell silent that day.  Norman brought his explanation to a close.
“When I look at Drake Masters, all I see is a man who ruined the bliss he once had because he’s a selfish prick.   Even after he was married for many years all he spoke about every day was drinking and women, when all along he had something I wanted back so bad—a wife at home waiting for him— a beautiful wife, Sally.   And the thought of him being so well-liked and respected in this company makes me sick.   Everyone in this shithole buys into him.   Not me.   And one day I’m….”

The End

©2008 David Boyle