Unfinished Business

The school groundskeeper. He was the reason I was back. It took me a while to figure that one out, but there was nothing else in this crappy little town to draw me back here. It wasn’t until I saw him, sharpening his scythe with a whetstone on the edge of the playground that I knew. Even as the school children cowered and moved away from him, just as they always had, I felt myself being drawn in. There was something deliciously malicious about old Willie. Something dangerous. Something exciting.

He still looked exactly the way I remembered him. Disheveled blazing red hair, bushy red beard, bulging, demented eyes and that trademark kilt. There was no way I could forget that kilt. Many a fevered dream had centered on that kilt. There was so much that remained a mystery about the man who wore it, even after all these years. His cloudy past. His barely suppressed anger. His legendary celibacy. His obsession with a long forgotten murderer and a famous Scottish princess. He was, in a word, an enigma.

Once I realized that this man was the one I’d returned for, I followed him as he went about his business, skulking in the shadows like a stalker, awaiting my chance. That chance came later that night, as he sat next to a roaring fire, outside his little wooden shack on the outskirts of the school grounds.

I took a deep breath and approached the fire. The Highlander ignored me. He was rolling a cigarette with stubby, callused fingers that were a lot more graceful than they looked. He licked the edge of the paper and fixed me with heather green eyes, overshadowed by thick red brambles. In his strong Scottish brogue, he said something that sounded like, “Ken ay help yew, boyo?”

I stared straight into the inferno flickering in those eyes. “Do you remember me, Willie?”

He pondered, crimping the edges of the cigarette into tight prupices. “Aye, I remember,” he growled. “A real trouble maker, yew. I heard yew were sent away when yew were 12, after being raped by the clown. Can’t say as yew were missed.” The humor in his voice was unmistakable. He was making fun of me, in his rough Highlander way. He stuck the entire cigarette in his mouth and pulled it out again, smoothing it with his generous lips.

“It wasn’t the clown,” I said evenly. “It was his sidekick.”

Pulling a stick out of the fire, Willie expertly lit the cigarette, then jammed the stick back into the flames, causing sparks to rise up into the night and cast diabolical shadows on his craggy face. “A clown’s a clown,” he burred. “I also heard it wasn’t rape. Some say he didn’t deserve what he got.”

I pondered the commentary. Willie was nothing if not truthful. And he didn’t care how much that truth hurt. “He’d had it out for me for a long time,” I said, trying to sound controlled and dangerous. “He deserved what he got, alright. Maybe not for doing that, but for other reasons.”

Willie chuckled. “So, now yew’re all grown up and back for more, ey boyo? Bad news. No clowns here.”

I ignored the dismissal and decided to get to the point. “I didn’t come back for any clown. I came back to see you.”

“Yew’ve seen me.”

I hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I heard a few things, too, back then.”

Willie didn’t answer. He just inhaled deeply from his rolled cigarette and stared at me with that maniacal gleam in shadowed eyes.

“I heard that you’re harboring a weapon of mass destruction under that kilt.”

Willie smiled. “And yew thought yew’d come back here to find out?”

I didn’t answer. It was the truth, forged by an incident in my youth, when I’d pranked Willie by lifting his kilt in a crowd of townsfolk. The reactions by those who’d witnessed the full brunt of the prank were indelibly imprinted onto my mind. The gasps would have been enough, but when one of the older women actually fainted, curiosity was born. That childhood curiosity had since grown to full-blown adult obsession.

Willie laughed, then leaned back and spread his hairy legs wide. The ubiquitous kilt rose and grew taught, perfectly framing a monstrous piece of meat, a wide fleshy canvas for the dancing flicker of the flames. A single drop of liquid hung poised on the edge of the puckered tip. I had never seen so much foreskin on one dick before. I was mesmerized.

Suddenly, Willie slammed his legs together again. The spell was broken. “That’ll be enough of that, yew blouse-wearing lily-hugger. Yew’ve seen what yew came here to see. Now leave Willie in peace.”

My mind raced. That couldn’t be it. That couldn’t possibly be all there was. I hadn’t come all this way to be turned away so easily. Then, as it had so often in the past, an idea popped into my fevered brain. Simple. Masterful. Sublime. “I have something for you, Willie.”

The groundskeeper eyed me suspiciously, drawing deeply on his hand-rolled cigarette. “Yew’ve got nothing I need.”

I swung my duffle bag off my back and set it on the ground, then dropped ceremoniously to one knee to rifle through it. Willie tensed, like a snake ready to strike, but watched me quietly. It was there somewhere. I dug deep seeking the key to unlocking Willie’s resistance. My fingers settled on it and I clutched at it, pulling it from my duffle triumphantly. Willie stared at the prize I held aloft.

“Twine?” He sneered. “I’ve got spools of it in my shack.”

“Not like this, you don’t,” I crowed. “This isn’t just any twine. It’s piano wire. Strong and unbreakable as cable, yet thin enough to slice flesh. Perfect for the job HE needed it for.”

Willie cocked his head. “He… who?”

I had him! Now to deliver the coup de grace. “The Aberdeen Strangler.”

I had to hand it to Willie. He didn’t overreact and for a moment or two, I thought I might have overplayed my hand. His eyes widened only slightly, then settled on the coil of wire in my hand. He stared at it, then dropped his maniacal gaze to meet my own. “That’s his own wire, is it?”

“The one and only.”

“And how is it that yew have come into possession of such a prize, yew clown-humping blaggart?”

“I stumbled upon it by accident, while traveling through Europe.” The story slowly unfolded in my head and I was carried away by it. “As luck would have it, I stopped into a Glasgow pub and fell into conversation with an older woman. A lovely thing she was, ruddy of complexion with a wild fall of red hair only just starting to fade with age. After a few pints, this lovely lass revealed to me that she was the only victim to survive the Strangler’s grasp. The last victim. The one who turned the tables on him.”

Willie’s eyes grew increasingly wider. “The Duchess of York,” he whispered almost reverentially. “Sarah Ferguson, herself?”

I had to stifle a laugh. “None other! I was invited back to her flat where we made passionate love for hours. Then, when I was dressing to leave, she told me that she wanted to give me something to remember her by. She pulled open a chest and pulled forth this cord; the very cord that had been used to strangle all of those innocent women. The cord that had almost spelled her own death! She entrusted it to me as a token of her affection.”

“Yer lyin’, boyo…” Willie growled.

“Am I?”

He stared at the coil of wire in my hand. “Are yew tellin’ me yew sullied the grace and perfection of my Fergie?”

“Yes, but I did it for YOU, Willie,” I said dramatically. “I did it in honor of you!”

The groundskeeper was thrown off balance, unsure... “Fer me? How? Why?”

“I’ve been obsessed with you for years, Willie. I knew I couldn’t have you, especially back then, but I knew I could have the next best thing. I could BE you for one evening.

And now that I’m back… I want to bestow on you this blessing which is rightfully yours.”

Willie’s bulging eyes narrowed and he swallowed hard. “Whut’s yer price?”

I chuckled. “It’s simple, Willie. Let me complete the circle. I’ve been you for an evening. Now I want to have you. All I ask is just one night and this holy relic will be yours. Forever.”

Adrenaline pumped through my system as I teetered on the edge of the precipice. Would the old Scot take the bait I had so expertly laid out before him? Would he break his legendary vow of celibacy to own the one thing he’d never dreamed of possessing? Would he give it up for a piece of wire I’d stolen from my sister’s grand piano last time I’d visited her?

The old man’s lip curled and danger flickered in his fire lit eyes. “I know yew, boyo. Yew canna fool old Willie. It’s a trick to make me lower my guard, so yew can make me the butt of one of yew’re cruel jokes. Yew and yer malicious friends…”

I lowered my hand and spoke so quietly the groundskeeper had to lean forward to hear me. “There’s nobody here but us, Willie. You. Me. And the spirits of both the murderer you secretly admire and the woman you secretly love.” I held the cord out toward him and watched his eyes fall hungrily upon it, as firelight played along its coiled lengths. “What’ll it be? One night of passion for a lifetime of possession, or years of regret because you didn’t take the offering that was yours for one brief moment?”

Turmoil played in the groundskeeper’s wild eyes. He furrowed his brows angrily, then his face softened and his eyes grew watery. Still he remained silent. I nodded and slowly made to return the cord to its resting place deep within my duffle.

“Wait…” he said. I paused, not looking up. The cord hung poised just inches from the lip of the duffle, a fading memory retracting into bleak darkness.

“Promise me it’s not some form of cruel joke,” Willie whispered. “No cameras. No friends lurking in shadows. No newspaper reporters waiting to pounce…”

“You have my word, Willie. It’s no joke.”

He sighed and I looked up. Our eyes met and slowly his legs parted again. This time, they stayed parted and the glory of his Highland broadsword lay revealed for my inspection. I stared at the offering triumphantly.

“Do with it what yew will, boyo,” he whispered. “It is but flesh and not easily tempted, but to possess this holiest of relics, I will perform all manner of perversion.” He stood and, in one swift movement, ripped his shirt open to reveal that magnificent rippled torso, blanketed with thick, curly red hair.

I nodded, dropping the cord into my bag and pulling the string taut. He watched it disappear with understanding and made to unbutton his kilt. I stopped him. “Wait. Let me have that honor.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. I stood and walked around the fire, feeling its warmth diminish, as I grew closer to the realization of my own heated fantasy. The heady musk of his masculine body assailed my nostrils and I felt blood surge into my nether regions. My hands shook as I raised them to slowly caress the muscular, hairy pecs, then slide through luxurious fur over six-pack abs and to the waistband of the tattered kilt. Willie’s breath came slowly, but he never opened his eyes.

My questing fingers found the flap and crept under. An expanse of rough fabric grazed fingertips, heightening their sensitivity until the roughness gave way to the warmth and suppleness of naked flesh. Willie’s cock flexed as my fingers stroked its length, then wrapped around the thick, heavy stalk. He was growing turgid. He opened his eyes and looked at me, but said nothing. I squeezed the growing member, slipping down to pinch the puckered foreskin. I was rewarded by a dollop of sticky fluid. I removed my hand and brought my fingers to my lips, licking the stickiness from them.

I had to have it. Dropping to my knees, between the crackling fire and the burly Highland god before me, I lifted the kilt and ducked my head under it. Instantly I was enveloped by the smell of sweat and sex. His sex. The growing cock brushed my cheek as I buried my nose in his bushy ball sack. They hung low and heavy, responding to my ministrations by jerking upward spasmodically. I inhaled deeply, then flicked the soft skin with my tongue. Somewhere above me, Willie groaned. I smiled and began licking at the hirsute testicles with earnest until they were soggy with my saliva.

By now the erection I’d been hoping for had become a reality. I pulled my head out from under the kilt and, with a flick of two fingers, unbuttoned the waistband. The kilt unfolded and slipped away, leaving Willie shivering in the night, his enormous cock bouncing stiffly now that it had been freed from the confines of the heavy cloth. The foreskin had rolled back just enough to reveal the tip of a purple head. Fluid oozed from the exposed piss slit. I sat back on my heels to take it all in.

Willie’s cock was huge. Nine inches long, I figured, but thicker than any I had ever encountered. I would be hard pressed to get an entire hand around its girth. Veins encircled it. Large, pumping veins. Puckered flesh bunched around the tip, unraveling slowly as I pulled it back to reveal the angry head beneath. It was both the ugliest and most beautiful cock I had ever seen and I wanted more. I licked the precum from its slit and Willie’s knees buckled slightly.

“Not here,” he whispered coarsely. “Inside.”

I nodded and watched as he turned and walked toward the mythical shack which, to my knowledge, no human eyes except those of Willie himself, had ever borne witness to; the place that had once been described as “outside all laws of man and god.” My eyes lingered in the hairy slabs of Willie’s butt as they flexed with the exertion of his stride. He stopped at the door and turned toward me.

“Yew comin’?”

I nodded. He turned and pushed the door open, then stepped through into the darkness beyond. I stood and followed.

Once inside the shack, I was struck by how expansive it seemed. From the outside it seemed barely large enough to hold a few tools and maybe a man while standing upright. I had often wondered how Willie could sleep in what seemed like little more than a freestanding closet. I could see now that I’d been mistaken. The shack was large enough to be comfortable for one man. Sharpened tools hung menacingly from every wall. A roughly hewn table sat smack in the middle, covered with tools, rags and cleaning supplies. Beyond that was a tattered mattress pushed up against the far wall, lending a semblance of comfort to the sparse surroundings.

Willie stepped around the table, kicked a tangle of blankets aside and squatted before the mattress. Without turning, he asked, “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect.”

He nodded and crawled onto the mattress, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. I followed, lowering myself down between his hairy legs and returning to my ministrations upon his crotch. His cock was still rock hard and he sighed again as I slipped the foreskin back. A dark smell caressed my nostrils as I wrapped my lips around the head, sliding down to take it all in. My mouth barely accommodated it. There would be no way I would be able to engulf the shaft, too. Using my hand, I rolled the loose skin up and down along the shaft while licking and sucking at the head.

I don’t know how long I’d been attacking the mythical cock with relish, but it was sopping wet from engorged tip to lathered balls when Willie groaned and began to pump feverishly upward.

“Whoa, Nelly,” I said, backing away. “I’m not ready for you to blow just yet, old man.”

Willie groaned again. “So, it’s torture yew’re after then.”

“Hardly,” I responded, standing and quickly shucking off my own clothes until I was as naked as Willie in the shivering darkness of the shack. Willie looked confused. I turned and ran hands over the smooth, moon-bright globes of my ass. “Your Fergie had an ass like this, Willie,” I whispered.

His breathing grew brisk again. I squatted down beside him and waited until rough hands first cupped, then roughly caressed my ass.

“Would you like to come inside?” I asked. “Would you like to feel what I felt when I made love to her? Would you like to make love to her… through me?”

“Yew talk too much, boyo,” the Scot groused gruffly.

Taking that as an answer in the affirmative, I turned and straddled Willie, stopping when his engorged head grazed the crack of my ass. I reached back and spread them wide, then rubbed my soon to be stretched hole across it. Precum oozed out to lubricate both. Willie was ready. I just hoped I was.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I situated my asshole over his cock and pushed down. Willie’s rough hands grasped my hips and his own rose up to meet them. A moment of stretching, followed by momentary pain and the purple plum of his cock head popped inside. I took another deep breath, blew it out and surged downward. Willie’s breathing quickened. He pushed upward and I almost screamed. Before I knew it the entire length of his shaft had penetrated me. I felt lightheaded and couldn’t catch my breath.

Willie, on the other hand, was encouraged. Using his hands to lift me up by my hips, he slammed me down onto his shaft, then did it a second and third time.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” I cautioned. “You’re gonna split me in half. Slower. Slower!”

One of Willie’s hands shot up and grabbed my face hard. My eyes popped open to find him staring maniacally up at me. “Yew’ve gone where no man has gone before, boyo! Yew wanted this, now yew’re gonna get it. All of it. All that Willie has to offer and more!”

I barely had time to register the threat when suddenly Willie grasped me like an expert wrestler and with a twist and a roll, I was on my back with the Highlander heavy upon me. His acrid breath was in my face as he settled in to the new position. My ass screamed and the sound worked its way up to my mouth. A callused hand squelched the scream as soon as it emerged and Willie began pumping roughly into me like a wild, otherworldly beast.

“Yew want to be my Fergie?” He huffed. “She got away once by clocking me on the noggin with a haggis press. Willie had forgotten all about that, until now. Until yew awakened the memories with yer base desires. Yew want to experience love the way Willie would give it to that scheming, faithless bitch? To all of the faithless bitches who rejected him? Enjoy it while it lasts, boyo. Enjoy it while it lasts!”

Willie’s breath came quicker and quicker and his pumping increased until he was jack hammering my aching asshole like a piston machine. Smashing into my internal organs like a plundering Gaulish invader. As he grew closer and closer to orgasm, his hands wrapped around my throat and he began to squeeze.

“Feel me!” Willie shouted. “Feel my love, Fergie! Yew got away once, but yew’ll nay get away again!”

I stared up into the face of my fantasy in realization and horror, trying desperately to breathe through constricted airways. His obsessions with the Aberdeen Strangler and the Duchess of York weren’t just quirky fascination on his part. Why had nobody ever questioned the mysterious past of Groundskeeper Willie? Why had nobody ever probed the demons that haunted him? Why had nobody ever put two and two together?

My vision began to swim and the world around me to telescope outward. I was drowning. I was being sucked down into a thick, swirling void until even the pain wasn’t registering anymore. The last thing my dimming eyes saw was the beast awakening fully as Willie howled and pumped his hot murderous essence deep into my bowels. Then, predictably, there was only darkness.

* * *

This story originally appeared in the anthology Hard Working Men (2010), edited by Shane Allison. Republished in my anthology Dimensions of Desire, Renaissance Books, 2010.