Ben La Rosa

by Horror Sleaze Trash on August 8, 2017

Ben La Rosa is an award-winning writer, except the award has nothing to do with writing, it was for “Best Header” in a tween recreational soccer league and the award was a lie, he never headed the ball once all year! He once got paid a hundred bucks for writing a porn script, otherwise, a life wasted.


“Frank’s Sister”


Ben La Rosa



          She was 17 and told him she hated her nose, that is was due for The Knife; then she would be perfect.  Riley smiled, going along. 

          She chewed her gum and smiled back, clasping the tip of her tongue with her white teeth.  Riley thought her smile looked like a bitten hamburger the way it exposed layers:  lip, gum, teeth, tongue, teeth, gum, lip.  He wanted to not see it.  So he scooted down the couch and tried kissing her.  She laughed in the middle and broke off.

          “Honey, you don’t know how to kiss!”  His eyes dropped.  So many things he didn’t know.

          “I’m sorry.”

          She cleared her throat and looked away.  When she looked back she showed him The Hamburger and said, in her Minnie Mouse voice, “You have nice eyes.”  She did this over and over, stabbed him then patched him.  Riley smiled sheepishly.  Normally humorous, sometimes sharp, he now could not think straight.  It was the physicality.  Many lonely years his body cried for warmth and contact, desperate for Touch.  Now suddenly, Frank’s sister, liking his looks, fading his wits.

          “Want to . . . lie down?”  His hand found her neck, touching lightly, reverently. A miracle.

          “Sure,” she said, and snapped her gum.


          His body lay stiffly as she kissed his neck and ears, electrifying him.  Every sensation was new, overwhelming.  If he tried reciprocating she moved away, that was the only thing.  She sat up and he sort of felt her breast through her bra.  Glory!  Excited, he wiggled out of his shirt.

          She screamed, then cupped her mouth and giggled.

          “OhmyGod!  Riley, you’re HAIRY!”

          It was true.  Rich black hair curled over his chest and . . . back.

          “Riley, body hair is such a TURNOFF!  Like being with an APE!”

          Riley lay silent, careful to hide how badly shaken he was.  Then he sat up and began pulling on his shirt, slowly.

          “Does your brother . . . have a razor here?”

          “Oh, Riley!” she said, and patted his head.  “You’re such a joker!”


          In the bathroom, running water hid his choking sobs.  He never should have dropped his guard; love and the rest belonged with the Tooth Fairy and Santa.

          His watery eyes fell on a toothpaste tube near the sink, squeezed flat:  it expressed how he felt better than the sorry face not looking in the mirror.  He opened the medicine cab, put the toothpaste in there, looked at other things, items representing Frank’s fears . . . his lay out there . . . and curling out of his chest (and back).

          “Hey!  What’re you doing in there?”  Her giggles hacked him through the door.

          He rubbed his face violently in the towel, sniffled, stopped the water and came out of the john.

          “Look,” he said hopefully, “found a razor.”  It lay on his open palm.

          She laughed, showing The Hamburger.

          “Here, give it to me.”

*                 *                 *                 *

          Nicks wept sticky on his chest, tiny clotted mouths stinging his flesh.

          Heavy breathing.  Her head rolled to one side as he worked excitedly between her legs.  Sweat dripped and ran easily on his new smooth skin.  Still working, he cupped her chin and turned The Hamburger to his lips.  Freeing it with a smack, her head rolled back and off the bed, thumping lightly.

          Laughing, Riley thrust on.  His penis numbed and burst at the tip.  Milky drops rolled down the feminine crease, coining the reddened sheets.

          Cleaning up afterwards, his first thought was that Frank would need an explanation.




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