Read Online Three Twisted Stories by Karin Slaughter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karin Slaughter
Ads: Link
Melvin Finkelmeyer.
Six scotches in, Charlie should have been able to push the dead man from his mind, but the story the widow told him was haunting him.
The truth was, Charlie had thought the homeless guy was black the first time he’d seen him. He was standing in the street dressed like a black man, talking like a black man. Hell, he’d even called himself a black man.
Coward can’t handle takin’ on no homeless brother!
Outside the dry cleaner’s, Finkelmeyer still looked black. He sounded black. The knife even looked like something a black man would carry.
Add to that the fact that the man’s own wife, now his widow, had claimed that he’d turned into a black man. She’d kicked him out of their home for it. She’d alienated him from his children. She’d barely given him scraps from her table.
So Finkelmeyer thought he was cursed. What man wouldn’t? He’d killed himself to end it. Charlie wasn’t going to kill himself. He’d spent his entire life scrambling to survive. No way in hell he’d take his own life, no matter how bad it got.
Honestly, how bad was it, anyway?
Not bad. Charlie could deal with what was happening to him. So what if people were treating him like he was an idiot? So what if blood was coming out of his prick and he felt bloated all the time? So what if his chest was sore, and double so what if it wasn’t really his chest, but his nipples?
Sue’s laughter traveled down the stairs.
Charlie closed his eyes. Instantly, he saw Sue being fucked by Burt Reynolds. He was behind her. His hairy chest was rubbing against her naked back. He squeezed her breasts as he rammed into her. She could feel his breath on her neck. His tight balls slapping her ass. His fingers reached down and touched her between the legs and—
“Jesus Christ!” Charlie jumped up from the table so fast that the chair fell over.
“Charlie?” Sue called, worried.
“I’m—” Charlie had to clear his throat to bring his voice down a few octaves. “I’m fine.”
Hell yes, he was fine. He was hard as a fucking rock.
Charlie picked up the chair off the floor and righted it. He sat down with his legs wide apart. His pants were tented up like Ringling Brothers. He hadn’t been this hard in twenty years.
Charlie laughed. What a dumbass he was. That stupid Jewish slit had him thinking he was turning into a woman. He could say the words now, if only to himself. The widow claimed Melvin Finkelmeyer had turned into the very thing he hated most. Charlie didn’t hate women. As a matter of fact, Charlie
loved
women.
He laughed again. You didn’t see a woman walk around with a boner like this between her legs.
He shuddered at the thought.
And then he listened.
Sue was chuckling at something on TV. The floor creaked as Jenny walked from the bathroom back to her bedroom. He heard her door shut.
Slowly, Charlie unzipped his pants. He stared at his cock like it was a long-lost friend. Jesus, it was magnificent. Not as big as most, but he could do a lot with it. Charlie spit in his hand. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft. He gave it a gentle stroke.
His cock came off in his hand.
Literally.
His entire cock and balls unplugged from his body.
Charlie stared at his genitals. He raised them to eye level. He turned them upside down. There were two thick prongs like an electrical plug on the bottom.
He felt between his legs. Two sockets. Or maybe not two sockets. The one in back was definitely his asshole. Which meant the one in front …
Charlie thought about that for several minutes.
He licked his fingers and stuck them into his vagina. Charlie hadn’t put his face near one of those things in years, but the smell was familiar. He slowly pulled out his fingers and traced them up the inside of his slit.
“Shit!” he gasped.
Who the fuck knew that thing was there?
Charlie touched it again. An electric jolt went through his body. He played around, trying to get the touch just right. Oddly, lighter was
Six scotches in, Charlie should have been able to push the dead man from his mind, but the story the widow told him was haunting him.
The truth was, Charlie had thought the homeless guy was black the first time he’d seen him. He was standing in the street dressed like a black man, talking like a black man. Hell, he’d even called himself a black man.
Coward can’t handle takin’ on no homeless brother!
Outside the dry cleaner’s, Finkelmeyer still looked black. He sounded black. The knife even looked like something a black man would carry.
Add to that the fact that the man’s own wife, now his widow, had claimed that he’d turned into a black man. She’d kicked him out of their home for it. She’d alienated him from his children. She’d barely given him scraps from her table.
So Finkelmeyer thought he was cursed. What man wouldn’t? He’d killed himself to end it. Charlie wasn’t going to kill himself. He’d spent his entire life scrambling to survive. No way in hell he’d take his own life, no matter how bad it got.
Honestly, how bad was it, anyway?
Not bad. Charlie could deal with what was happening to him. So what if people were treating him like he was an idiot? So what if blood was coming out of his prick and he felt bloated all the time? So what if his chest was sore, and double so what if it wasn’t really his chest, but his nipples?
Sue’s laughter traveled down the stairs.
Charlie closed his eyes. Instantly, he saw Sue being fucked by Burt Reynolds. He was behind her. His hairy chest was rubbing against her naked back. He squeezed her breasts as he rammed into her. She could feel his breath on her neck. His tight balls slapping her ass. His fingers reached down and touched her between the legs and—
“Jesus Christ!” Charlie jumped up from the table so fast that the chair fell over.
“Charlie?” Sue called, worried.
“I’m—” Charlie had to clear his throat to bring his voice down a few octaves. “I’m fine.”
Hell yes, he was fine. He was hard as a fucking rock.
Charlie picked up the chair off the floor and righted it. He sat down with his legs wide apart. His pants were tented up like Ringling Brothers. He hadn’t been this hard in twenty years.
Charlie laughed. What a dumbass he was. That stupid Jewish slit had him thinking he was turning into a woman. He could say the words now, if only to himself. The widow claimed Melvin Finkelmeyer had turned into the very thing he hated most. Charlie didn’t hate women. As a matter of fact, Charlie
loved
women.
He laughed again. You didn’t see a woman walk around with a boner like this between her legs.
He shuddered at the thought.
And then he listened.
Sue was chuckling at something on TV. The floor creaked as Jenny walked from the bathroom back to her bedroom. He heard her door shut.
Slowly, Charlie unzipped his pants. He stared at his cock like it was a long-lost friend. Jesus, it was magnificent. Not as big as most, but he could do a lot with it. Charlie spit in his hand. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft. He gave it a gentle stroke.
His cock came off in his hand.
Literally.
His entire cock and balls unplugged from his body.
Charlie stared at his genitals. He raised them to eye level. He turned them upside down. There were two thick prongs like an electrical plug on the bottom.
He felt between his legs. Two sockets. Or maybe not two sockets. The one in back was definitely his asshole. Which meant the one in front …
Charlie thought about that for several minutes.
He licked his fingers and stuck them into his vagina. Charlie hadn’t put his face near one of those things in years, but the smell was familiar. He slowly pulled out his fingers and traced them up the inside of his slit.
“Shit!” he gasped.
Who the fuck knew that thing was there?
Charlie touched it again. An electric jolt went through his body. He played around, trying to get the touch just right. Oddly, lighter was
Similar Books
