Tuesday, 14 February 2012


TK'n'C welcomes top writer, Eric Beetner, with this nasty offering, which the faint of heart need not read (and who shouldn't be here anyway)...

Mexican Souvenirs

Ryan could swear that girl was flirting with him.

Must be the heat. Ten days in Mexico and not a single girl had given him a second look. Every damn one of his frat buddies stayed so knee deep in pussy they’d run out of condoms by the fifth day. Ryan still had three Trojans making rings in the leather of his wallet.

But, the Mexican beauty waiting for a security check to board same flight back to Chicago, she gave him the eyes.

It could’ve been he was horny, or frustrated with killing time in the hotel bar every time he saw a coat hanger on the hotel room door. It clouded his judgement more than usual. He believed a girl that hot could see something in him.

The guys gave him shit for leaving early.

“It’s spring break, dude! What’re you doing?”

“I got midterms to study for.”

“But... spring fucking break.” Spencer let out his patented I’m-here-to-party yell, “Yeefuckinhaw!”

Kris, the sensible one, put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.  “You don’t bail out of Cancun to go study. It’s like fucking your sister, it’s just not done.”

“I already changed my flight.”

They all knew. They’d seen him strike out night after night in a south-of-the-border replay of every weekend since Freshman year. Seth, the engineering major, liked saying Ryan was a chick magnet whose polarity had been reversed.

In the closest thing he had to smooth move, Ryan dragged his duffle bag up the long, unmoving line to a drink vendor behind where the girl sat on her suitcase. He nearly tripped over a woman breast feeding her baby. She recoiled from the impending collision and the baby pulled free, exposing her boob and the engorged nipple leaking milk. Ryan apologized and hoped like hell the girl hadn’t seen.

He ordered a horchata and tried to act casual as he slowly turned to spy on her from a new vantage point. She was gone. Shit. Probably went to the hotel to fuck anyone wearing a Rho Delta Omega shirt. Anyone but him, that is.

Ryan turned back to the counter and jumped when he discovered her standing next to him.

“Hola,” she said.

“Hi there,” he said. “I mean, hola.” 

“You’re American?” Damn cute accent. She didn’t need any help, though. Thin, dark hair, green eyes, full breasts. Put this girl on a tourist poster and Cancun would be sold out for a year.

“Yeah, American. What about you?” IdiotKeep it together.

She laughed. “Carmelina.” She held out a hand. Ryan shook it.


“Come with me,” she said.

He obeyed. Carmelina picked up her purse, took his hand. In his head Ryan began composing his letter to Penthouse Forum: I used to think this kind of thing didn’t really happen...

She led him away from the security line. He worried about losing his place in the glacially moving line of frustrated passengers. Screw it, give his seat away. Midterms can wait.

Carmelina threw looks over her shoulder, smiling in a coy SeƱorita way that made Ryan erect already. He tried to keep calm, not seem too eager. 

She scanned the terminal left, then right. No one paid attention. She pulled him into the restroom.

Ryan’s heart sped up to a dangerous pace. Giggling, she brought him to the stall farthest from the door. He heard a toilet flush from another stall. She put a finger to her lips, “Shhhh.” He couldn’t help the goofy grin plastered on his face.

She pulled him in and kissed him, locking the door behind his back. Ryan dropped his duffle on the floor, unconcerned about the sanitation of a Mexican airport bathroom.

She turned him around, away from the door and broke their kiss. “It’s okay?”

His grin was back. His erection never left. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

She moved in for another kiss. She ran a hand down his shirt, ending on his belt. She unfastened it like an expert safe cracker; one-handed, eyes closed.

Feeling behind, Ryan latched a hand onto her left breast. He knew he was squeezing too hard.

She playfully bit his lip and spun his body around, his face inches away from the white tile walls. She was in control and that was fine by Ryan. He let her lead wherever she wanted to go.

His pants were quickly down around his knees, boxer shorts with them. He heard a snap like rubber. She even brought her own condoms!

A click of something metallic confused him for a second but whatever this girl was in to, count him in.

A cold knife blade came to rest against his neck. 

“Stay still,” she said.

He felt pain but not from the knife. His asshole was being opened and something shoved in – needless to say – against his will.

His reflexes ignored the knife, Ryan spun his head to look behind him.

Carmelita was wearing one surgical glove. The gloved hand came out of her purse with a small, but not small enough, plastic-wrapped bundle of white. He saw an open container of Vaseline on the tank of the toilet. When had she gotten that out?

She dipped the plastic in the lubricant and it disappeared up his ass to join the one already in there.

When he started to scream, the knife bit in. “Stay quiet,” she ordered.

She forced the package inside him, deeper than he thought possible. To his horror she was making room for a third delivery.

Once the bundles were inside his rectum she removed the knife, stripped off the latex glove and stepped back.

Gently, Ryan turned around. His erection was long gone and he’d never needed a shit more in his life.

She spoke and suddenly the accent wasn’t so charming. “There are three associates with me on the plane. You fuck with us and you die. Once we get to O’Hare we’ll do this in reverse. You’re good to me and I’ll even hold your balls when I do it. Try anything stupid and I’ll rip them off. Understand?”

Ryan nodded. He understood he’d been an idiot to think a girl like Carmelita would give him a second look. 

He got back in the security line, feeling her stares on his back, his cheeks clamped shut and wondering what the hell he was gonna tell the guys when they got back. 

Spring fucking break. Yeefuckinhaw.

Eric Beetner is the author of Dig Two Graves and Split Decision, co-author (with JB Kohl) of One Too Many Blows To The Head and Borrowed Trouble. His award-winning short fiction has appeared in Pulp Ink, D*cked, Off The Record, Grimm Tales, Discount Noir, Murder In The Wind and the upcoming Million Writers Award: best new online voices. For more visit ericbeetner.blogspot.com


  1. A few years ago, I may have been sucked in by Carmelita too. Ryan's just learned a life lesson: If it's too good to be true...

    Superbly drawn characters, neat twist (though you knew 'something' was awry) and tightly penned.

    Bravo, sir!


  2. I felt for Ryan - and I mean I REALLY felt bad for Ryan when the Vaseline came out. You made the pain feel real.

    Well done - an enjoyable read (epecially since I'm not Ryan)!

  3. Wonderfully told from first word until last. A sense of place and character dominuated until the reader found out the horrible truth. Poor Ryan, I hope his privates were saved.

  4. Brilliant - very nice work! (Poor Ryan!)

  5. Slip and slide, Ryan... slip and slide.

  6. Thanks for the comments, all. And thanks to Col for giving this orphan story a home. I'm happy to say it is not based on personal experience.

  7. LOL @ LILY ...

    Saving Ryan's private parts? For an orphan story to hit TKnC? Brilliant beat of Beetner bargained with Bury for delivery.

    I go back now twice Eric in the smooth reread of you - first time I marvel at the story; next run through, the deliberate ease you put into the pacing of your tale and characterizations along the way. Something told me "Yeefuckinhaw" was too damn cool of a college cheer to get only one interplay.

    ~ Absolutely*Kate

  8. At least she lubed! Poor donkey forced to be a mule. Tight and fast story that never felt anything other than leading up to pain. Great job.

  9. HelloEric, great story poorzitfaced guy. Alesson tobe learned by all horny youngguns. Terrific write.
    Keith Gingell (my ACTUAL name)

  10. Hard to imagine a sexual encounter in an airport restroom not ending well.

    Oh wait it's not. :)

    Thanks for the great jolt!

  11. Funny thing is, is it's believable as hell. That's a trademark of Eric's stuff. Slam back a couple of Mescals in Cancun, fall for a couple of black coral eyes and bad girl lips, take your finger off your . . . um . . . number and most anything can happen. Had me all the way, Mr. B. Cool.

  12. Ha! Brilliant.

    Though I kind of just wish he got some action and made it to the plane on time. Call me an optimist!

  13. Eric - really good piece there; enjoyed it. Just like Ryan, I never saw that end coming!