It was like waking from a dream. The television droned on about another body found. A suspected serial killer in the Venice Beach area. The reporter, Kim something or other was giving all the gory details, “A sixth victim was discovered in a room at the Venice on the Beach Motel. So many similarities with the other victims lead investigators to believe that a serial killer was on the loose.”
I blinked my eyes, trying to will myself awake, ‘Where the hell am I?” I wondered. This sexy reporter, I swear I’ve seen her in porn movies, went on, “No witnesses again, and just one knife wound to the chest. This is Kim Oliver, KISZ Action News Twelve.”
I faded off to sleep again but was awakened by the sound of the door. Still half awake, I saw him take his hoodie and sunglasses off. “Who are you?” I tried to ask. I know my lips were moving, at least I thought they were, but there was no sound. It was as if I were dreaming it all.
He looked at me with a pouting smile as if he were my mother about to check my temperature. Sitting on the bed by my side, I felt his hand on my cock. I tried, again without a voice, to tell him that I was not gay. With another of those pouty smiles, he stroked my cock. I was confused and already hard. Why was I hard? Hell, why was I naked?
“I want to taste your cock,” he whispered, “Would that be okay?”
I tried without success to protest. I just couldn't get the words out. He gave me that same sweet smile. Watching the look on my face. I could see a trail of precum leaking from my cock and over his hand. ‘No one would know,’ I thought.
“It's okay. I know it's hard to talk,” he whispered, still gripping my shaft, “ Just blink your eyes twice if you want me to.”
I looked up at the ceiling and my eyelids closed twice. It's as if I had no control. I didn't watch him but felt the warmth of his lips kiss the head of my throbbing cock. Even warmer when he took my entire length into his mouth, sucking me down his throat.
Was I enjoying this? I wondered, looking back down to watch him take my cock in his mouth, so warm and lovingly. He slowly took my length in, sucking gently. I found myself trying, without success, to push my hips up when he took me in. ‘Getting a blowjob from a guy doesn’t make me gay. Does it?’ Kept going through my mind. I wanted to touch him, stroke his hair. My hands wouldn’t move.
He turned to smile at me, cum running from his lips. Had I cum? It was all too dreamlike. Opening his mouth, he showed me the result of his efforts. His tongue cupped a puddle of pearly white liquid. Another smile and then he swallowed.
“You taste so good,” he whispered in my ear, “I’ll want another helping soon. Now you need to rest.”
He pushed a syringe of clear liquid into an IV bottle that hung above my head. His hand stroked my hair and he smiled a wickedly sweet smile. I could not gather my thoughts. Everything seemed so scrambled. I can’t remember falling asleep, but I woke only seconds later.
He sat at the foot of the bed watching television. I must have moved or made a noise because he turned to smile again. I could tell that I was naked and that my cock was erect. My body felt rested but I was very hungry. Why was I so hard? The drapes were closed but I could tell that it was late in the afternoon. Don’t ask me how, but I could tell.
That reporter girl was on the screen again. She gave an update to the Seaside killer. They had given him a name I guess. All of his victims were found in hotels near Venice Beach. It seemed that he left them in the room, an IV needle still taped to their arms. The authorities released information that they had found traces of a strong muscle relaxer and, oddly, Viagra in the blood of the victims.