“Nicky, stop it. I’m not your kid sister any more. I know you love me and want what’s best for me. Look at me. I’m a grown woman and I’m more than capable of making my own decisions.”

“But, I don’t trust that asshole Maurice…”


Denny and Lenny were twins. Not identical. Both shopped at the Oversized Man stores, but Denny liked to wear his shirts tight. He wore a size 2XL. Lenny, on the other hand, was partial to a more traditional fit, a 3XL. Each had blacksmith-like hands pressed on the shoulders of a bound and gagged the cowardly asshole named Maurice.

“I love this time of year. Who doesn’t? Well, I guess the turkeys don’t. Do you know how many turkeys are killed in the weeks prior to Thanksgiving?” It was Nick, the fourth man in the deserted medical supplies warehouse, who had raised the question. “Relax guys, it’s a rhetorical question. I’ve got the answer, 45 million turkeys. That’s a hell of a lot of dead bird. But, that’s why I love this holiday, the food, the family get-togethers, all of that stuff. Denny, what’s your favorite Thanksgiving dish?”

Without hesitation, “Drumsticks! Guess I’m a leg man through and through.” He laughed, but kept the pressure on Maurice’s shoulder.

“How ‘bout you, Lenny?”

The twin hesitated, his voice incongruously high. “I guess it’s the stuffing, but it has to be the canned stuff. I can’t stand that homemade shit.”

Nick stared down at Maurice. The latter’s eyes were wide. He fought to control his bladder. “I have a different question for you, Maurice. What does ‘No’ mean?”

Maurice lost the battle. A growing wet stain expanded over the crotch area of his slacks.

“Let me be more specific. When my sister said ‘No’ to you last night, what the fuck did you think she meant? Exactly what part of ‘No’ didn’t you understand?” Maurice squeezed his eyes shut. Nick continued in a soothed tone, “These are also rhetorical questions, like the turkey question. I’m not looking for answers, ‘cause I already know…no means no! Simple shit.”

Nick head-gestured to Denny who temporarily removed his grip on Maurice. Denny undid Maurice’s belt, pants button and zipper. His trousers dropped toward the cold cement floor like a free-falling elevator. Nick pulled two latex gloves from his pocket and twisted them onto his hands. “Oh shit. Look at you. And last night you were such a tough guy. Tut…tut. Wet yourself? Don’t be ashamed. No sir. Happens to the best of us. Shit, that’s even happened to me…when I was three! You know, Maurice, that’s the last piss you’re going to take for the next couple of days. See, this warehouse is closed for the long Thanksgiving vacation.” Nick pulled a tube of Strong Arm Glue from his shirt pocket, opened it, and squeezed half the tube’s contents onto gloved fingers. He applied the glue all over the head of Maurice’s penis. He smoothed the edges of the application as if he had put the finishing touches on handmade pottery. He was satisfied, stood back and admired his handiwork. He looked at the tube and squinted. “Says here the official glue of the NFL. Perfect. My sister told me you’re a big Cowboys fan. This’ll be like a double reverse…enema. It’s 100% waterproof, amazingly strong, and dries to form a perfect sealant. There’s even a warning about adherence to human flesh, although it doesn’t specifically address the dick area. Shit works on everything. And, it’s unaffected by temperature and dries in minutes. That’s great, given the lack of heat in this place and the fact that three of us have to get out of here and enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with our families.” He turned toward Denny and Lenny. “Let’s go.”

The twin brothers double-checked Maurice’s bindings, including the handcuffs used to secure him to a large forklift. Nick pulled from a rack a sealed catheter and slid it across the floor toward Maurice. “You’ll need this come Monday morning when this place opens up and the workers find you here. Instructions on the back. Read ‘em carefully.”

“No…” echoed Maurice’s voice, but the three were gone.

~ fin ~

Bruce Harris is the author of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson: ABout Type ( He enjoys relaxing with a Marxman.