A Starr is Born

Blackness.

Sweet, refreshing, carefree, thought-free, blackness. Is this what death feels like? Am I dead?

No.

I was asleep. All it took was a fluttering of my eyelids to realize that I was still alive. I can see I’m in “my” room because it’s the only one that has the door busted from it. Why did I choose this room to collapse in?

What time is it?

I turn to my side and see it’s late into the day. Had I seriously blacked out for that long? I feel legitimately refreshed and able to conquer the universe. Maybe I am dead. My eyes go from the clock to a glass sitting on top of the nightstand. I see a stem in the glass, and I trace the stem to find a single red rose in the glass.

Okay.

Either I’m in heaven and Jesus loves me, or I’m in hell and the Devil is making fun of me. I figure it has to be the latter. I have no idea what to make of this colorful and lively intrusion to this otherwise off-white and dead room. Was it always here? It’s fresh, that much I know. Who put it there? Did….he…? No, no way. Maybe? Impossible.

I rise from the bed and move cautiously to the opposite end of the room, figuring it might be possessed by a demon. I stare it down like a matador to his bull. I need to let it know it’s not the boss of me. Perhaps I can burst the glass with the power of my mind by channeling all of my hatred. No avail.

I establish the rose isn’t going to hurt me, considering it’s relatively inanimate and I’m so much bigger, so I try to decide if I should set up a fortress in another room or establish my surroundings. My stomach has an answer. I’m starving, but first, a much needed shower.


After my shower, I head downstairs in the old man’s bathrobe to find the kitchen is empty, save for a note on the counter:

“Won’t be back tonight. I think you know better than to try to escape.”

Huh. Do I?

I go straight for a window, opening the blinds only slightly. It leads to the backyard, but I can’t see any of the usual clown guards. For real? No, there has to be a hitch, a joke, a trick. I’m going to turn around and there’s going to be one right behind me . . . nope, no one there. Am I really alone?

They must be hiding in the bushes and the trees, waiting to ambush and take my innocence. He just wants me to leave so he can have an excuse to rape me. Well, I’ll show him. I’ll show them all that I won’t fall for their traps. I’m going to stay right here!

Oh, right, I’m hungry. I go the cabinet and find a full un-opened box of grape nuts. Normally I would find that undesirable, but it’ll have to do. I grab a bowl and some milk and sit myself on the floor in front of a window leading to the backyard. I open it a hair and stare. I’m determined to find his guerrilla clowns. They can’t hide forever. Surely they’ll have to get up from their hiding places to go pee or something.

One hour later.

No stirring.

Two hours later.

Nothing.

Three hours later.

My box of grape nuts is empty.

Four hours later.

A much needed bathroom break resulting from the grape nuts.

Some time later.

A door slams, somewhere. I must have nodded off. It’s dark outside. I realize the sad state I’m in, lying facedown on the floor in a dead man’s bathroom with an empty box of grape nuts beside me.

Two up-turned brown shoes step in front of my eyes. I look up to see the Joker starring down at me; the corners of his mouth up-turned, but his eyes expressionless. He picks up the empty cereal box at my side. He shakes the empty contents.

Shit, maybe that was his dinner.

“Hmm,” his head turns to the side to look at the window, opened just a crack, “Hmm?” He tosses the empty box behind himself, and he’s still…but he’s looking at my chest, and I suddenly realize my boobs are scarcely covered and pressed into the floor. I sit up and close my robe in a display of modesty. I notice his body is still, except for his fingers, twiddling by his sides, as if he’s repressing a great urge to straddle me and fuck me two feet into the floor.

“Read a book next time,” and on that, he turns on his heels and traipses upstairs.

The next morning.

I made a point to throw away the rose, only to wake up and find that rose was replaced with another rose. I make a point to throw away that rose.

The next morning.

Another rose in place of the rose I threw away. I throw that one away. What the fuck is this guy trying to pull?

Later that week.

The garbage is filled with roses. I just don’t get it. I don’t get what game he’s playing now. I don’t know what he’s trying to do. Is he apologizing to me? No way, he’s trying to make me think he’s apologizing to me, so that I’ll break down and let him have sex with me, so then he’ll murder me and I’ll be more upset than usual because I thought he loved me.

Normally, I would think I’m reading way too into things, but this time, I’m wondering if I’m actually spot on.

I go downstairs expecting to see the usual note. My favorite one was from yesterday, “I’m not going to be around, don’t leave or I’ll burn your dog alive and feed you the ashes. HAHA! XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO” but in the notes place is an unmarked brown box.

Is it a bomb? Is it filled with killer bees? Is it pass out gas? My mind goes crazy, and I decide I should just open the box. I do a 360 around the box, and then I realize, to my horror, it’s a cake box. No. Not possible. Zero percent reality…

It is.

It’s a nine inch chocolate cake. Not only that, it looks like the most delicious chocolate cake in the world. The aroma hits me and my loins start quivering.

Am I supposed to eat the cake? Is it poisoned? Is its middle layer a layer of broken glass? I’m not going to touch it. I sit the cake down on the kitchen table and sit myself across from it. Maybe it is just a frosted bomb.

“Do you like my present?” My eyes shoot open. I must have nodded off, again. Not surprising because I have nothing else to do here. He’s standing at the kitchen’s entrance. “It’s yellow-chocolate,” he says as he comes forward, “that’s your favorite.” He stands next to where I’m sitting and places his hand securely on my shoulder.

“Why the fuck is it here?” I ask, belligerently.

I glare up at him, and he looks down at me, feigning innocence.

“What the fuck are you trying to pull leaving me all this shit? You think I’m that stupid. Why the fuck is this cake here?”

“Well, isn’t that obvious?” he asks.

“No, that’s why I’m asking,” I retort.

“It’s your birthday.” He smiles down at me, like a possessed mother.

I quickly calculate the days in my head. I was kidnapped the 18th, my birthday is October . . .

Holy shit. It is my birthday. My eyes begin to water. I can feel my face contorting in a feeble attempt to stop myself from crying. I avert my face from his stare. Somehow this one hit me hard. It’s made me realize how truly alone I’ve been and for exactly how long. How I haven’t seen my family with whom I’d be celebrating right now. Instead, I was stuck in this house, in this prison. I haven’t even breathed any fresh air, I’ve barely moved aside from going up and down the stairs and running away from him.

I can’t hold it in any longer. The tears come out and I’m weeping. I cradle my face with my hands, completely losing myself.

I can feel him pressing my head against his side, cradling me gently.

“Oh, shhh, shhh, shhhhh. Don’t cry. I know, you miss your family, but you have to realize that you’ll never see them again, that I’m you’re family now, so you better start-“

I can’t listen to this bullshit anymore so I elbow him as hard as I can in the stomach. He grabs me by both of my arms and pulls me out of my chair, bringing me face to face with him, his eyes burning.

I can’t even put up a fight anymore, and I cry some more.

“Go to your room…NOW,” he growls, and I run upstairs quickly throwing myself on my bed and weeping more into the pillow. I hear a knock on the doorframe, and he’s standing there.

“What the fuck – come in!” I scream at him, sarcastically, and weep more into the pillow.

“Oh, Auburn, Auburn, Auburn,” I feel the bed shift as he sits on it. He strokes my side, but I’m too distracted by my misery to put up a fight.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” I shout back.

“Me? All I did was get you a birthday cake. I think that’s pretty considerate-“

“You know what you’re doing!”

His arm stops. He’s silent for a little while.

“You’re right, Auburn, I’ve been harsh, but I’m a man, and you know how hard it is for men to show their feelings.”

What the fuck is he talking about now?

He comes down to my ear, “Hey, I want to show you something.” He gets off the bed, and I watch him. He leaves the room. He’s going to come back with my dead dog, isn’t he? He comes back with a chair and sits it directly across from the bed and myself. He pats the bottom of the chair.

“Sit,” he beckons.

I look at him.

“You can either sit here willingly, or I can tie you to the chair . . . with your legs open.”

I get up. He taps the chair one more time, and I sit, willingly. He pats me roughly on the shoulders, and he sits directly across from me on the bed.

“What’s going on?” I ask, shakily.

“I just think it’s time I show you how I truly feel about you.” He begins to remove his trench coat. I can feel him starring at me, but I’m too distracted by trying to figure out where this is going to engage him. He loosens his tie, and unbuttons his vest. He goes for his pants button-

And this is my cue to get the fuck out-

“Hey!” he warns.

I sit back in my chair, slowly, still facing the door.

“Look at me, Auburn,” I turn back, hesitantly, and as I do, I hear the sound of a zipper opening, slowly. He stands up, unclasping his suspenders and he lets his pants fall to the ground. I’m not sure where I should look. Do I look up or down? I lose either way.

And now the crowning moment. I gulp, audibly, as he shimmies his boxers down to his ankles, and I can’t help but look at his inarguably beautifully shaped cock, which is long, smooth, and fully erect.

He sits back down on the bed, and he removes one of his gloves, tossing it carelessly to his side. He brings the hand to his cock, and he gently strokes it, focusing most of his pressure on the underside. He moans, slightly, and I look up at him, to notice he’s starring at me, smiling, of course. My breathing quickens, but he seems comparatively calm, until he begins stroking with more pressure. I can see his chest heaving. He looks at me through hooded eyes, running his tongue over his lips quickly.

I brace myself on the sides of the chair. I can feel my knuckles are turning white, as his stroking hastens. His moaning becomes more feral-

“Oh, god,” I let out, as his stroking becomes even quicker, and I go to leave once more.

“Stay!” he growls back as he savagely tears the other glove off of his other hand with his teeth. I turn away quickly.

“Auburn?” I turn back to look at him. He’s now using his free hand to massage his balls. His breathing becomes more sporadic, and he lets out another animalistic roar as he removes his ball massaging hand and leans back on that arm. He keeps on looking at me as his breathing becomes deeper, quicker.

I don’t know where to look. At him? At his cock? I lose either way.

He’s getting close and I can feel that, and I can feel my breathing matching his. He’s looking me straight in the eyes and I’m thoroughly mesmerized now. I can’t look away. I can hear his stoking going impossibly fast. He’s close, and his eyes roll back with his head, as his breathing hitches and he comes into his hand. I look down to watch the semen shoot into his palm, dripping down his legs. He braces himself with both arms now, schmearing the bed I sleep on with his juices. He catches his breath, bringing his head back forward looking at me. He smiles, and gets up, not bothering to gather his clothing. He passes by me, “sleep well tonight,” he says while patting me on the cheek with his hand, still wet from his cum, and I’m alone.