Red Winged Black Bird on a fence post in a field.

Meeting Pig Roger


Category: prose

A light beamed down on the naked man. A small stack of bricks lifted him into the hands-and-knees position. Chains ran through the metal grating floor to hold his hands and knees down. The yellow of the light gave his skin a sickly cast around the dark of his tattoos. He shook his head and raised it up to look around.

A raspy, old man's voice came out of the darkness. "So you're finally up. You city boys sure like to sleep late." The sound suggested the room was much bigger than the lighted area.

The naked man blinked and looked around. Horizontal pipes made a cage around him. The red paint on the pipes was worn and chipped. Something in the distance grunted and made snuffling sounds. He finally noticed the stench.

The air stank all around him. He wasn't sure what it was. His nose wrinkled. "Man, what's that smell?"

The voice from the darkness answered, "I didn't think you drug bastards could smell anything."

That woke the naked man to the real problem. "Who are you? What are you doing to me? Whatever it was that you're mad about, it was somebody else."

The voice snorted. "I know it was somebody else. He's going to suffer too. You're going to suffer first."

The naked man pulled at his chains; they didn't budge. "Why me? I didn't do anything."

"Sure you did. You sold him the drugs. You sold him the drugs that he put in my daughter's drink so he could rape her."

The naked man's eyes widened as he realized how much trouble he was in. "Look man, I don't know what anybody told you, but I don't do that stuff. I just arrange parties for other people and stuff. I don't get messed up in any drug dealing."

Foot steps moved around in the dark. "The police are looking for you right now. They know that you're a drug dealer and that you're messed up in the rape and murder of my daughter. This'll be your third strike if they catch you. You'll be headed back to prison for life."

"You're just going to hand me over to them then?"

The voice in the dark chuckled. "No, the police will never find you, not ever again."

Another light came on. The tattooed man saw another naked guy trussed up the same way but in a different pen. The other guy was about seventeen and looked really scared. A bandana gag kept him quiet. Another bandana seemed to be holding his head up to face forward. Tears ran down his face.

The voice explained, "This is the young man who thought it would be fun to video tape himself raping my unconscious daughter. He talked on camera about how he got the drugs from you and put them in her drink and how he was going to do it. Then he videoed the act itself and then he videoed him leaving her there to die of a drug overdose."

The tattooed man struggled against his chains. "Hey man, you can't take the word of some punk kid. They always lie about where they get drugs. They don't want to get their real dealers pissed so they say they got the junk from someone else. I get that you're mad, but you got the wrong guy; it wasn't me."

The footsteps moved closer this time. "I wasn't taking his word for anything. He still had the container in his pocket when the police caught him. It had your fingerprints all over it. I have the right guy."

"You don't want to do this, man. I got friends; they'll be looking for me. When they find you they're going to hurt you real bad."

The footsteps stopped beside the tattooed man, just on the other side of the pen. "I'm not too worried. You won't leave here and nobody's going to know what happened but me and junior over there, and he's not going to talk."

"Why? What are you going to do to me?"

A gloved hand reached into the light. It held a white, plastic spray bottle. With a few squeezes, it sprayed a clear liquid at the top of the naked man's backside.

The tattooed man pulled away. "What the hell was that? What did you just put on me?"

The hand pulled back into the dark. "That is what we farmers call sow piss. It is the urine of a sow in estrus. She was in standing heat, ready for the next boar to come along."

"What the hell did you do that for?"

The farmer chuckled again. "Now you smell like you're ready for the next boar to come along. Good thing Old Jack is over there and ready to go."

"What!" The tattooed man looked around as best he could while chained down on the bricks. "You bastard! What are you going to do?"

"That seems kind of obvious, don't you think?" said the farmer. "Here in a minute I'm going to open the gate that lets Old Jack here to your pen." His footsteps moved around behind the tattooed man. "Did you know that the penis of a boar is shaped like a corkscrew? That's so that it won't come out until they are completely done. Don't you worry though; they are usually done in about twenty-five minutes."

The drug dealer really pulled at his chains now. "Really, man, you don't have to do this. I have money; I can get you money, just don't do this."

"But I have to do this or the kid over there won't know what he's in for."

"The kid?"

"Yep, he's going to get the same treatment you're getting, but he gets to watch you go through it first. That way, he knows what to expect and can suffer a little more from anticipation. In my grand pa's day this was called 'Meeting Pig Roger' but I figure that don't matter to you."

The sound of rusty metal against rusty metal echoed in the room. "Come on, Old Jack," said the farmer, "I got you a new girlfriend."

The sound of cloven hooves on the floor joined the grunting and snuffling. A large, red boar walked into the light in the pen. It sniffed around the floor and the air as it moved forward.

"I wouldn't worry about that twenty-five minute thing. Old Jack here weighs over four hundred pounds. You got other things to worry about than romance."

Jack seemed to catch the smell of the urine and moved closer to investigate. He pressed his snout to the tattooed man's rear.

"Stop it! Get it off of me! You crazy old bastard, you can't do this!"

A hickory cane came down from the darkness to hit the drug dealer on the head. "Be quiet or you'll make Old Jack nervous."

The strike of the cane left the dealer dazed for a moment. By the time it wore off, Jack was mounting.

The boar straddled the dealer and moved forward to find his position.

The air rushed out of the man and his eyes bulged. He gulped and gasped for air, but the weight of the pig pushed the pile of bricks into the man's chest and belly. He pulled in a little air, but the shifting boar pushed it out again.

The seventeen year old rapist closed his eyes and sobbed; his whole body shook.

The dealer winced and grabbed at his chains. His body rocked to the rhythm of pig love. He still gasped for air.

The farmer walked to stand near the kid. "Don't you worry about it none, there boy. I'm not going to use a big boar like Old Jack there on you. Nope, I have a much smaller boar for you, a two hundred pounder. I don't want you passing out and croaking like your drug dealer friend there. No, I'm being nice to him."

The tattooed man's head slowly lowered and then only moved when Jack moved. The man's grip on the chains loosened and his arms hung limp.

A gloved hand reached into the light and slapped the kid on the side of the head. "Take a look, boy. He's just passed out now. In a few minutes the lack of air in his lungs will kill him dead. Old Jack don't care; he'll keep doing what he's doing even though who he's doing it to is dead. Hey, that's just like what you did to my daughter. What do you know; you and Jack got something in common." He slapped the kid again, this time really hard.

Blood trickled down the side of the brick pile that held the dealer in the standing ready position for Jack. The weight of the boar ground the human flesh and ribs into the bricks.

The farmer sighed heavily. "It looks like that drug dealer of yours is pretty much done. I guess it's time."

A gloved hand reached into the light. It held a white, plastic spray bottle. With a few squeezes, it sprayed a clear liquid at the top of the kid's backside.

The kid squeezed his eyes tight and sobbed.

Comments (3)
You gotta pick the right guy to do the job.
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If gibberish is outlawed, only outlaws will kitty canoe bongo.