20. [Bonus Chapter 5: Spring Break in Mexico]
We're in Mexico City, enjoying a day off as a full-time serial killer.
To be honest, Lawrence and I haven't set foot in what's considered "civilized society" for a long time—if this place, ruled by drug traffickers and rife with gangsters, can be called "civilized society"—specifically, we avoid crowded public places like tourist attractions, large shopping malls, government offices, and various entertainment venues. Staying on the highway and in motels all the time is quite boring, and Lawrence and I occasionally want to do different things in different places, like going to the movies. The advantage of being in a different country is that nobody knows us here, and we can go wherever we want.
Hollywood has already put Lawrence and My Story on the big screen, and that's exactly what we're going to see. A few days ago, Lawrence went to a very old Mexican traditional knife shop and bought a lot of souvenirs, including, but not limited to, twelve blued knives of various functions (very beautiful, their color resembling the wings of a South American blue morpho butterfly), an engraved Colt Front .45 caliber revolver (supposedly the beloved gun of a general during the Mexican Revolution), a 400-year-old Aztec obsidian axe, and even a genuine "Iron Maiden" torture device from the Middle Ages. If the movie is too bad, we'll use these things to kill the producers, director, and screenwriter when we get back to America.
We also went to a tattoo shop. Lawrence got his machete tattooed horizontally across his groin, so every time I gave him oral sex, it would feel like I was handing him the machete with my mouth. A while ago, Lawrence was into throwing all sorts of things and having me fetch them; that meter-long machete was his favorite frisbee. Honestly, I couldn't even lift that knife with my hands, let alone hold it in my teeth, so Lawrence chose this shortcut. On my lower back, I got a vertical scabbard tattooed, the opening facing my anus, so every time Lawrence entered me from behind, it would feel like sheathing a sword. He even found a professional skin-cutting tattoo artist, pointed a gun at his head, and forced him to teach him his unique skills, then personally carved two twin red roses on my chest. It hurt a lot, but he said they were as beautiful as the blood of a nightingale's heart, and my face instantly turned redder than the roses.
It's Valentine's Day, and the movie is showing late at night. Our hotel is a two-hour drive from the theater, and parking wouldn't be convenient if we drove there in our van, so we took a taxi. Once we got in, the driver realized we weren't locals and kept taking detours, eventually even trying to take us to a remote suburb—his intentions were obvious. It had been a long time since anyone had threatened us with death on the highway, and Lawrence and I found it quite amusing. So, before he could pull out his gun, we killed him, locked his body in the trunk, and drove to the theater. Finding the way took us quite a while, and by the time we got there, the movie was almost starting. We quickly bought two buckets of popcorn and two bottles of Coca-Cola—apparently, Mexican Coca-Cola is made with cane sugar and tastes better than the American version—and then groped our way to the last row of seats in the dark.
The film is an adaptation of Lawrence's *The Turnpike Killers*, and the plot is fairly faithful to the original work, but I always felt the casting was really off. I wouldn't blush at anyone other than Lawrence, and Lawrence wouldn't show pity when I begged him. The actor playing me looked too delicate, and the actor playing Lawrence wasn't handsome enough… We have a million reasons to be dissatisfied with this film; after all, we are the original authors, and no one can surpass Lawrence. I hugged my bucket of popcorn, leaned against Lawrence, and he whispered his description of me in my ear:
The soft sunlight streamed through the car window, illuminating his face with a gentle glow, yet also revealing a complex mix of emotions, including inner turmoil and pain. His skin was almost translucent, his nose small like a puppy's, and his lips full and slightly parted, revealing pearly white teeth that gleamed in the sunlight. While not exceptionally handsome, his face possessed a restless charm. Was this restlessness due to his thick, long eyelashes? They seemed to cast a mysterious blue hue over his entire face. Or perhaps it was his large, light green eyes? These eyes, like green apples, were filled with shyness and tenderness, yet also resembled the eyes of a snake, flashing and captivating, creating a dizzying effect.
Yes, that's who I am. I am exactly as Lawrence saw me. In that horror novel filled with killing, madness, and bloodshed, only this passage is gentle, like a breath of fresh air. Lawrence wrote me like Jesus, but the director cast a Virgin Mary to play me—it was simply offensive! By the middle of the movie, we had already decided how he would die. But no matter how disappointing the movie was, I felt happy because Lawrence was feeding me popcorn, one kernel at a time. Whenever he brought his hand to my lips, I would obediently take it, roll the popcorn in my mouth with my tongue, and lick the caramel off his fingertips. Lawrence loved feeding me like that. It takes six years for all human cells to regenerate, and we've been together for exactly six years. In these six years, my muscles, skin, hair, bones, and blood have all been formed from the food Lawrence provided. According to the theory of the "Ship of Theseus," I have become a new person. I am Lawrence's person.
Actually, last month, after the Czech Republic and Slovakia's "Velvet Divorce," we went to the Czech Republic, but we went there to get married. There's a place in the Czech Republic called the "Sedlec Ossuary Church," which contains the remains of over 40,000 people from the Black Death in the 14th century and the Hussite Wars in the 15th century, hence its nickname "Church of Bones." There, human spines are used for chandeliers, and human skulls are used as wall bricks—so cruel, so romantic. We exchanged rings under the altar of bones. When we die, our ashes will be burned into diamonds, set in the rings, and then we'll be buried together. Although same-sex marriage is illegal in both the Czech Republic and the United States, do two murderers care about that? Legalization is something for social activists to fight for; we're not from their world. In our world, the only law is Lawrence.
Back to the movie. Although I was mentally prepared, when I actually saw "me" being fucked by "Lawrence" on the big screen, I still spat out my entire Coke. Lawrence watched with great interest as "I" was pinned down by "him," while I blushed and wiped my wet pants. He looked at me with a very nostalgic gaze, and I suddenly had a bad feeling. I suddenly understood why he had booked the last row of seats and then occupied the aisle seat.
Lawrence's eyes narrowed; he was hungry. I frantically tried to escape, but he grabbed my waist, dragged me back, and forced me into a seat. This row was empty, but there were people in the front. Although the lights were off, the screen was bright, so the environment wasn't exactly secluded. Lawrence placed his hand on my thigh, stroking it suggestively. I trembled, but had nowhere to escape, so I could only sit stiffly, letting him slip his hand between my legs and knead my genitals. The fabric of his pants was still wet, leaving a sticky, sugarcane-like residue on my genitals, and the wet sound seemed to come from my anus. My face flushed red, and I covered my mouth tightly, afraid to make a sound. Fortunately, the people in the front row were quite focused and didn't notice me. I looked at Lawrence with tears in my eyes, begging him to stop, but instead of stopping, he kicked the seat in front of him. The person in front of me immediately turned around, looking annoyed. Our eyes met, and my ears turned red. I awkwardly crossed my legs to hide my half-erection. Although I knew he couldn't see my lower body, the feeling of being spied on still made me so ashamed that I wanted to disappear into the ground.
Lawrence showed no intention of apologizing and continued his harassment towards my crotch. I could only force a smile to apologize before he finally turned back to his movie. Lawrence looked disappointed, his eyes filled with even more malice. I couldn't take it anymore; I grabbed his wrist and shook it pleadingly, but he grabbed my wrist instead, pulling me towards him and turning his head to lick my lips. There was a hint of popcorn and cola sweetness there, which, along with the exchange of saliva, guided my taste buds, making the kiss incredibly sweet. My vision blurred, and Lawrence, enjoying the sensation, narrowed his eyes, one arm around my waist, the other unzipping my jeans. I felt a chill between my legs and instinctively gasped. Lawrence immediately pried open my teeth and shamelessly sucked on my tongue. Afraid the man in front of me would notice, I struggled to turn my head away, but Lawrence immediately grabbed my chin and pulled me back into a new round of kisses.
I was pinned between the backrest and the armrest, unable to move. Lawrence had already slipped his entire hand inside the zipper opening. I whimpered in discomfort, and Lawrence ravaged my genitals even more roughly, squeezing and kneading my still-soft penis repeatedly, not even sparing my scrotum. His fingernails scratched the groove between my testicles, sending a tingling, electric current up my spine; I felt like I was melting into the chair. Lawrence buried his face in my neck, kissing me, pressing his entire body against me. We could no longer see the big screen, but we could still hear my moans and groans coming from the speakers, seemingly from the scene of us making love in the snow at Christmas. My cheeks burned. Lawrence looked up at me, his eyes teasing and playful, and whispered in my ear, "Don't hold it in, moan. You sounded so lewd back then."
My eyes immediately welled up with tears of shame, and I helplessly squeezed my legs together, futilely trying to cover my exposed genitals with my hands. Lawrence didn't give me a chance; he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed my right hand to the armrest. My left hand was squeezed behind my back by my own body and I couldn't pull it out at all. Lawrence lifted the hem of my shirt and brought it to my mouth, his nails suggestively scratching my chin—a clear instruction for me to obey. I had no choice but to obediently bite down on the hem of my shirt, leaving my entire chest exposed. Lawrence's gaze swept over my body, checking each of the hickeys he had left the night before to see if they had faded. I trembled as I hooked my legs around his waist, eagerly rubbing against his genitals, wanting him to finish quickly. Otherwise, if the movie ended and the lights came on, and everyone saw me like this, I definitely wouldn't be able to stay in this country any longer. Lawrence, instead of taking his time, began to lewdly fondle my nipples, playing with them until they were red, swollen, and erect. I soon felt a warm, damp sensation in my panties; it was my nipples that were leaking fluid. My eyes welled up with shame, and Lawrence laughed gleefully, using his fingers to probe my anus along the cleft of my buttocks. He inserted three fingers directly, and I bit down on the fabric in pain, groaning, but my body involuntarily became even more excited. Lawrence's fingers simulated the rhythm of intercourse, thrusting in and out forcefully. I was terrified that the obscene sounds of our wetness would be heard, but my body involuntarily arched my back, urging him to penetrate even deeper.
The person in front of me suddenly stood up, seemingly to go to the restroom. He walked down the aisle, glancing at us. I immediately pushed against Lawrence's chest in terror, struggling against the handcuffs, loosening the clothes in my mouth, trying to cover my naked body. Lawrence beat me to it, pressing me firmly beneath him, giving the man a chilling warning look. The man, terrified, immediately fled the screening room, slamming the door shut loudly. I knew without a doubt that many more people were watching. In fact, they could only see Lawrence's back, but my body still involuntarily shrank back, only to be brutally forced open again by Lawrence. A loud "boom" came from the speakers, as if an explosion had occurred. I was dazed by his fingers, unable to recall which scene this was, letting Lawrence spread my thighs to his chest and slowly squeeze his thick penis into my anus. I whimpered softly and clung to Lawrence, who relentlessly thrust inside me. I scratched his back with my nails in pain, but he felt nothing and didn't stop. I was filled by him, collapsing against the back of the chair and sobbing. Lawrence kneaded my buttocks, thrusting gently for a while, until my anus became sticky and wet. Then he spread my buttocks apart with both hands and began to fuck me fiercely.
I had no idea if I was screaming. My mind was a complete mess, swirling with Lawrence's genitals, and he made no attempt to tell me to be quiet. Erotic sounds blared from the stereo. The fact that I was being violated by Lawrence—in novels, movies, and in real life—both confused and thrilled me. Lawrence slammed me backward, my lower back painfully pressed against the armrest, my head tilted back against the seat cushion next to me, and my legs draped over his shoulders. Lawrence, using gravity, thrust into me relentlessly, each stroke so deep it felt like he was going to pierce me. My penis thrashed wildly with his movements, and my semen and pre-ejaculate dripped onto my chin. I broke down in tears during my orgasm.
“Scream louder,” Lawrence breathed excitedly in my ear, “I want the whole world to know that I’m the one fucking you.”
I cried out "Caesar" over and over again, and Lawrence thrust even more fiercely, almost shoving me into the chair. Suddenly, Lawrence grabbed my neck, and I suffocated until my vision rolled back. I climaxed again, my penis leaking pre-ejaculate uncontrollably. He finally ejaculated deep inside me. Even after he pulled out, I was still sobbing softly from the intense orgasm. He unlocked my handcuffs, pulled me into his arms, and licked the cuts and bleeding on my wrists, like a satisfied lion licking its mate's fur. It took me a while to stop trembling, and I whispered, feeling wronged, "They must have heard everything..."
"So what?" Lawrence lifted my chin and kissed me. "Just kill them all."
We had already left through the side door before the film ended. As we got into the taxi carrying the driver's body, we heard a terrifying scream that echoed through the theater; it was probably the theater manager.
We exchanged a knowing smile. This is the atmosphere of a horror movie!
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