Matt couldn’t hear the world outside of his car. He only heard their lips smacking, his shuddery breaths, and Miki’s sensual moans. It was as if the homeless community—which seemed to grow every day in Los Angeles—had vanished as soon as they started kissing. He couldn’t see much in the dark vehicle, either. He had tried to turn on the dome light, but Miki stopped him. Shadows hid her scarred face. The alcohol flowing through Matt’s body helped blur his vision, too. His seat was reclined, one hand on the nape of her neck and the other on her ass.
Miki was sprawled on top of him and the center console. Her boots thudded on the steering wheel and dashboard as she writhed in pleasure. She leaned away from him to catch her breath. He lunged at her, kissing her lips, cheeks, chin, neck—everywhere. Miki moaned again. It was so loud that it caught the attention of two black cats laying on the brick wall next to the car. The sidewalk was a few meters away, but the transients couldn’t hear them from the other side of the dumpster. The local self-proclaimed preacher, yelling about the end of the world down the street, helped mask their noise as well.
As Matt kissed her jaw, Miki whispered, “Unbutton your pants.”
Like a trained dog, Matt did as he was told. He unbuttoned his pants while kissing and licking Miki’s neck. Then he pulled his pants and boxers down, letting his erect penis flop out.
“Take off your jacket,” Matt said.
“Not yet.”
“Come on.”
“No, not yet. I like it like this.”
“Yeah? You like CFNM?”
CFNM stood for ‘clothed female, naked male.’ It was a genre of pornography Matt occasionally enjoyed. Miki didn’t know what he was talking about, but she nodded anyway. Her gloved hands went down to his crotch. She massaged his scrotum, then she stroked his penis—one hand at a time. His dick made a squishy sound because of the pre-ejaculate pooling under his foreskin.
“Ah, shit, that’s good,” Matt murmured.
“Close your eyes,” Miki said.
“Take off your clothes, baby.”
“I will, but you have to close your eyes first.”
“I wanna see your—”
Miki stroked the shaft of his penis with her left hand and rubbed her right palm gently against the glans. Matt hissed as if he had burned himself on a stove. He felt the warmth of ecstasy coursing through him. He put his head against the headrest and stared at the ceiling with a dumbfounded expression. He blinked slowly, as if he were dozing off—as if Miki were pulling the life out of him through his dick. Then he closed his eyes.
“How’s it feel?” Miki whispered into his ear.
Matt said, “Amazing… I want to… fuck you.”
“I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’re going to wish you never met me.”
Matt laughed like a dentist’s patient under nitrous oxide. He wanted to say something along the lines of: ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ But pleasure stole his voice. Miki took her palm off his glans, but she kept stroking him with her other hand.
Matt blindly reached for her arm and said, “Don’t stop.”
“Shh.”
“Come on, please don’t stop.”
“Shh.”
Matt heard her coat shuffling. Her foot hit the radio and her knee struck the door.
“You getting naked?” he asked.
Just as he lifted his head from the headrest, Miki kissed him and pushed him back down. She moved on top of him, but she stopped touching his dick. He thrust his hips up at her, fucking the air like pollution.
He whispered, “Don’t tease me like that. Let’s just fuh—”
He yelped in pain. His eyes snapped open and his mouth widened, but he couldn’t see or say anything. He arched his neck, tilted his head back, and cried again. He felt a hot, stinging pain at the base of his scrotal sac. Then the pain spread into his scrotum. A hot liquid splashed on his thighs and dripped onto the seat.
As if he had finally realized something was wrong, he began to panic. He screamed and thrashed about under Miki, arms and legs hitting the door and the center console. Another jolt of pain burst from his genitals. His testicles were unbound, prolapsing from a wound at the bottom of his scrotum. Saliva spurted from between his gritted teeth.
“S–S–Stop!” he cried.
Matt pushed Miki up. The back of her head and neck hit the ceiling of the car, but she stayed on top of him. Through his tears and the darkness, he saw the shears in Miki’s hands and the blades in his scrotum. Miki squeezed the handles again, cutting up towards his penis. The blades severed his spermatic cords. One of his testicles—pink but beaded with blood—bounced on the seat between his thighs.
“Stop!” he repeated, desperation straining his voice.
Miki said, “Almost done, baby, almost done.”
Matt threw a punch at her, landing a jab on her chin. He was a weak young man, though. The blades in his ball sac didn’t do him any favors, either. He hit her again. The corner of her mouth turned red. He swung at her again and hit the ceiling, knuckles popping upon impact. Miki smirked and squeezed the handles. The shears cut into the shaft of his erect penis. Sobbing hysterically, Matt pulled on the door handle.
But he had locked the doors because he was afraid of the local transients.
With another snip, his penis and scrotum were severed. One of his testicles was still attached to the scrotal sac by some veins. Blood poured out from the bottom of his amputated penis and squirted from the dick stump protruding from his crotch. His eyes jutted from their sockets as he stared at his penis in Miki’s raised hand. Connected by some skin, his mangled scrotum dangled from his severed dick.
In terrible, debilitating pain, he put his hands over his crotch and bellowed, “Ahhh!”
Miki closed the shears and thrust the blades at the center of his neck, immediately silencing him. They entered his throat under his Adam’s apple, piercing his larynx and esophagus. Red and sweaty, his face knotted, his eyes shut, and his tongue stuck out. Miki twisted the shears to widen the wound. He moved one hand up to his neck. He touched the blood around the gash, then the shears, then Miki’s gloved hand.
His lips moved, but only the sound of him gargling his own blood came out of his mouth. His head swayed on the headrest. His hand slid down to his chest. He remained conscious, but he was brought to the brink of death.
As she pulled the shears out, blood spurted from his throat and hit her chin. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing his blood across her jaw.
“I told you you’d wish you never met me,” she said.
She watched his suffering with wide, unblinking eyes. She had seen death—murder—several times before, and it was always beautiful. It was like reliving her first love again and again and again. She looked at the bleeding hole on his neck, then at the severed cock in her hand. The penis was flaccid but firm now.
She said, “A man once said he wanted to ‘fuck my tiny Asian throat.’ I always wondered what it would be like to fuck a man like that.”
She pressed the glans of Matt’s penis against the hole on his neck, then she twisted it left and right, as if she were screwing a nail into a wall. Thanks to the blood, the glans slid into the wound. She mashed as much of it in as possible—about two centimeters. The penis clogged his airway. Another lump stuck out of his neck like a second Adam’s apple.
Some men could suck their own penises, but most men couldn’t throat-fuck themselves like Matt.
The rest of his dick hung out of his neck. The scrotal skin, as well as one of his genitals, swung around the dent between his collarbones. It looked like a bowtie of flesh—a genital bowtie. One limp hand on his chest and the other on his crotch, Matt passed away while his penis was being pushed into his throat. Worried about getting caught because of her mask, Miki hadn’t murdered anyone since the boy at Griffith Park. Matt’s death encouraged her. She was ready to proceed with her plan.