Buy The Silent Hustler
by Sean Meriwether
[Lethe Press, 10.2009]

Originally published on VelvetMafia.com [10.2008]

Hands

The mysterious ailment escalated over the course of months until his hands dropped to his sides, dangled from his useless arms like dead pigeons. David could feel nothing with them, not the laces of his shoes, not the skin of his own body. He couldn't even unzip his pants to piss and had to have his boyfriend help him go to the bathroom. He couldn't even feel Ethan when David cried against his muscular shoulder, asking, Why is this happing to me?

The numbness was preferred in retrospect. After months of inactivity David's hands took on a life of their own. The right one crossed over first. The devil’s got it, he told skeptical doctors. His fingers would dart under the bed sheets and pinch Ethan purple, or ball into a fist and punch the wall, or crush a glass into shards leaving him bleeding but still numb. He had Ethan tie his hands to his sides with a belt, but the reprieve was short-lived. The left hand, which seemed to be the smarter of the two, would craft an escape and free his partner. Then both would conspire against him, tearing at his clothes and hair, threatening to injure him unless he forced his feet to move him closer to the things they wanted. Food, alcohol, cigarettes, Ethan….

His hands would grab Ethan, who initially responded with trepidation but quickly succumbed to blind ecstasy as David’s right hand worked his boyfriend’s cock with alarming skill, his left tweaking nipples and exploring dark orifices. Ethan would close his eyes in unbearable pleasure, his body writhing beneath David’s alien hands; he’d explode in breathless gasps, hide his face in guilty contentment. David would turn away, despondent that his hands had become better lovers than he had ever been.

Finish reading "Hands" in The Silent Hustler