“Who are you?” The large man spoke. His voice wasn’t loud but it seemed to shake the entire room.

“My name is George Lattimer. I’m --”

“What are you doing here?” he growled.

George stared up at him. The man wore no shirt and appeared to have muscle upon muscle, all covered in hair. None of the friends and neighbors had this level of musculature. When George’s parents hosted pool parties, everyone hung out in bathing suits, all pasty white, scrawny and clean-shaven.

George couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s chest. The other two men in the room were also muscular, tan and hairy but not to the extent as the first.

“What are you doing here?” the man repeated, bellowing.

George jumped at the outburst. “I’m just hitchhiking cross-country,” he said weakly.

“In the middle of nowhere? Miles from the nearest highway?”

“I got lost,” he protested.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Why would I lie?”

“I can think of a lot of reasons.”

George was stymied. Why was this guy so paranoid? What was so special about this dilapidated hideaway?

“First of all,” the man continued when George didn’t answer. “You don’t have any identification. Where’s your billfold? You don’t travel with money?” He pointed to George’s clothes which were hanging over the back of another chair.

“I lost it when I ran away from ...” He caught himself. “When I ran into the woods.”

A slight smile crept into the man’s face. “Why did you run into the woods? Who were you running from?”

George’s face heated up as if a fire had been built under his chin.

“I seem to have touched a nerve, George.” the man sneered when he spoke the name.

Embarrassed by his experience with Louis, George tried to decide on a story, a believable one. In halting speech he managed to fumble through telling how he stumbled upon their secret place, omitting the part about being forced to suck Louis’ dick.

The three men seemed to relax slightly. George didn’t know if they believed him or not, but they no longer had their fingers on the triggers of their weapons.