Date: Wed, 26 Dec 2007 15:41:28 -0400
From: Ruthless <ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca>
Subject: Gilles
I don't look like too much, not bad and not good. I'm ordinary
looking; a little bit short as I'm only 5'7" and a little bit stocky but
not fat. I've got this light brown hair with just a tinge of red in it so
that some people say I'm ash blond and some people just say I have brown
hair. I've got an ordinary face, regular not very memorable features.
Sometimes I think I have the ugliest cock in the world because it's
uncut, so the skin comes down around the glans when I'm soft, and it looks
short and stubby. But this one time I measured it, wondering was I really
that much under-equipped in the jock department, and it turned out when I'm
hard my cock is eight inches long, eight and a quarter if I cheat and pull
it towards me to make it longer. It's just that my cock is fat and thick,
it makes my dick look tiny when it isn't.
I'm a bit on the dumb side of average, sometimes the last guy to get
a joke, but not the guy who is always the butt of a joke. I get by
okay. Usually. I didn't have too many friends in high school just one guy
who went to college and moved away and Henry Scott who still lives in
town. Henry was one of the popular kids and he had lots more friends than I
did, but he put up with me okay. Sometimes we studied together or tossed a
ball back and forth together when he was training for baseball.
After I got out of high school I got a job at Home Warehouse and
they put me on a forklift course, so now I'm a glorified stock boy - I
drive the machines, I check the paperwork in receiving and I put stuff out
on the shelves. A lot of the stuff is reasonably heavy, paint cans and
plywood and cartons with china sinks in them, and you can't rearrange it
all with a forklift, so my job is mostly manual labour. The result is that
I'm more fit than I used to be in high school. I never had any gut then and
now what I have is built abs and build shoulders and my legs are reasonably
muscular from walking up and down in the warehouse. I work on my feet you
see.
I used to think I had an okay life, except that I had never got
laid. I was wild to get laid when I was in high school, and there were a
couple of girls that I used to follow around hoping I could get them to go
out with me. I think I creeped them out. Because I was too shy to really
talk to them. And even now I'm still too shy to talk to the girls, or
anybody outside of the people I know real well for that matter. A couple of
times I went to bars and it made me sick because the idea that the only way
I would ever get laid would be to score with a girl that was so drunk she
didn't care who was doing what to her confirmed in my head that I was a
real loser. So I gave up thinking about getting laid and just went on
living.
One thing I do is make models of things, models of airplanes or
boats, or Vietnam War dioramas. I'm good with my hands that way. Somebody
once told me I should have gone to art college, but I just wasn't art
college material you know? I'm not arty, just good with my hands. The other
thing I do is take my dog Jinks out running. He's a medium sized brown mutt
that I inherited from my older sister when she got tired of him. We go out
running a lot.
Well, it was four years after I got out of high school and I decided
to do something more with my life, so I started taking trades training part
time at the community college. Of course they didn't like that too much at
Home Warehouse and they started moving my shifts around so I couldn't make
it to class all the time. But that was okay. I'm stubborn. I got to all the
classes I could and did some make up work, and maybe I had to take some
parts of the course over, but I was nine-tenths of the way through to
getting my masters certificate in plumbing.
Between getting the dog out of the house, working, and the courses
at community college, I probably didn't have time for any more friends but
at that point the only friend I had was Henry Scott. Sometimes I would go
over and have a beer with Henry and sometimes he would come over and make
cracks about my models and we would watch a DVD or we'd go out and shoot
some pool. I didn't go out with Henry a lot, since he would end up getting
drunk and then I'd go home. Three beers is around my limit. I dunno what's
wrong with me. I just never understood why getting drunk was supposed to
feel so good. Truth is, once I get a few into me I get to feeling all
melancholy. I'm a sad drunk. Well, I'm smart enough I know I didn't need to
be any sadder than I have to be, so as much as possible I don't drink.
One night afternoon Henry called me up and he asked did I want to
come over and see this DVD he had picked up. And to be honest I figured his
other friends stood him up and I was his last resort, but I said sure. I
had no class that night and had time to take Jinks out for an hour and a
half before he wanted me to turn up. So home I went, got a good long run in
so Jinks was exhausted and then I took a shower, hopped into my car and
went and bought a six pack to bring along with me.
Henry was bright eyed and cheerful that evening. He invited me in
and waved me down to his den where he had a great big wide screen TV that
he was paying for through some finance company. He'd moved the furniture
around a bit to make a clear wide space in the middle of the room like it
was a theatre and he'd supplied him self with a case of twelve of his own,
even though he knew I'd bring the six pack. That was the way it was with
Henry. I'd drink three beers in three hours and he'd have seven or eight
and be starting in on his ninth when I was heading home. It meant he was a
lot more relaxed most evenings than I was. He teased me a bit. He already
had one or two beer in him by the time I came in.
He gave a wide sweep of his arm showing me the new furniture set up
in his den. "Ta da! A great evening awaits your viewing pleasure, courtesy
of Scott Entertainment! We have popcorn, pretzels and
peanuts. And... should you get tired of Matt Damon, we have Scott's Adult
Entertainment!"
Henry had a porno and he waved the DVD under my nose. There was a
picture of two blond chicks with big bubbies with their tongues in each
other's mouths and I gave him a grin but I said nothing. I can't quite keep
up with Henry. He's this jokey, fast talking guy, never serious but a bit
of a quick temper. So all I did was smile because most likely I didn't want
to watch no porno with him. He'd be one lewd crack after another and
probably sound pretty witty if I had more than three beers in me, but I
also had to get up at six the next morning for class on spot welding.
"Man, wouldn't you love to fuck this baby?" He shoved the DVD up
close.
I just gave a nod.
"Yeah, you could fuck this one and I'd do the other one..."
I nodded again, "Cool," I agreed. But meanwhile inside I was
thinking, what's wrong with me that I don't want to see the chicks make out
together? I didn't, that was all.
So we settled down to watch Matt Damon wreck cars and dangle upside
down off buildings and every now and then the screen swelled orange with
the massive explosions and I sat nodding at Henry's commentary.
By and by there is this short-haired blonde she-Nazi type coming on
to Matt Damon and Henry starts crooning, "Come onto me, Baby. Come and sit
on my fuck stick, come on, see what Daddy's got for you here, little girl."
I'm thinking the girl in the crew cut is probably the bad guy,
double agent in the action flick and she's not in love with Damon's
character, she's trying to get him in her power, so I look over at Henry
because honestly what I'm thinking is that chick would be bad news. She
looks hard, man. And Henry sees the look. And this is one time that it gets
Henry pissed off because he wants me to agree with him so suddenly he
flares with the temper.
"Fucking Faggot, don't you ever get hot for a girl? You're such a
fucking fudger you don't want her, you want Matt Damon."
I just give him another look. It's the same look and it means, shut
up, Henry. But he glares at me and I think he stays a bit pissed for the
rest of the movie. He's looking at me sideways. It doesn't help when the
Nazi-girl tries to choke Matt Damon to death. At the end of the action
movie when the credits roll Henry looks at me sideways resentfully and
says, "You wanna see this porno or not?"
"Not," I say. And then I add. "I'm not watching a porno unless I get
to beat off and I'm not going to beat off while there's another guy in the
room."
So that was that. I'm going to leave, but Henry gets the idea I
should drive him off to this bar where he wants to go on drinking. I don't
particularly wanna drive him. He could always take a cab. Only I know Henry
might not take a cab. He might drive himself. A guy watches out for his
friends, right? He's too drunk to drive now and sure to be much too drunk
to drive back. But if I drive him there his car will be at home and he'll
have to take a cab back.
And Henry argues that he owes me money and if I take him to the bar
he'll see his buddy there and his buddy will give him the money that Henry
owes me. The money is just thirty bucks which is not a lot, especially
since Henry is usually good for the money he sponges off me. But in this
case it's been nearly two months which is a long time for a casual loan
like that to go, and it would be real convenient for me to get the cash so
I don't have to hit the bank machine on my way into class tomorrow morning.
But most of all I'm thinking if it's Henry's idea to pay it back this way I
ought to be grateful and just drive the guy where he wants to go.
Besides by now Henry is over being ticked off at me and chuckling a
bit to himself over the jokes he makes. So I say I'll do it.
Henry and I get in my car and he tells me where to go to get to this
place. It's on Clayborn Street. Now there are parts of Clayborn Street
which aren't so bad, being just kind of industrial and other parts that are
really sleazy. The part where Henry wants to go is so sleazy it's full of
crack whores, lingering on the sidewalk and kind of showing their arses in
short skirts to all the cars that drive by.
He wants to go into a brick building that is the back of a lot
behind a couple of other buildings, one of them a check cashing joint which
is closed at this time of night. It's all steel bars. So I'm half thinking
Henry, you don't have the smarts to even pick a bar to drink in where
you're not going to get rolled, and half thinking what's the matter with
me, I'm such a tight ass prude. I figure he's safer if I go in with him
than if I stay behind. So I go into the bar with Henry. There's a big sign
up top the building and the name of the bar is Dicks. But there's no light
on the sign.
Inside it's practically empty, just a couple of really brawny types
like longshoremen sitting at the bar, and the bartender a skinny guy with
way too many piercings. It's still really dark. I sort of stop short
thinking, huh, not much chance of either of those two solitary guys being
the one friend Henry is sure of meeting... And I'm right, but Henry just
leads us through the bar to the back, goes past the pool tables and there's
a room there where a big guy with a bald head and biker boots is smoking a
cigarette and four other guys with leather jackets are seated around a
table looking stoned, even though the smoke only smells like tobacco. One
of them has a tattoo that says Fuck Jesus. Wonderful. A biker bar.
I look about me warily, trying not to look like a woos while Henry
goes up to the big bald guy and begins explaining himself real fast in a
low voice. "If you'd just give it to me, we'll be right and square. You
know I got it for you before. Can't you just do this for me this one
time...?"
None of this is making me comfortable, but then one of the guys in
the leather jackets turns around and glares at me, so I know I'm crowding
him standing so close to his shoulder behind Henry. So I take a few steps
back. I know you're not supposed to show you're intimidated, but frankly I
also know I'd be an idiot to pick a fight with this guy by crowding him. So
after that I don't get to hear the rest of the conversation, but what's
thinking is, oh Lord, what kind of business does Henry have with this guy?
And my thought is that maybe Henry is dumb enough to have been getting
crack off this guy or something like that. I didn't think Henry did drugs
but now I'm not so sure.
Also, it looks like the big bald guy is wondering if I am learning
too much about his business because he flickers his glance at me across the
room a couple of times. He's not just looking at me, if you see what I
mean; he's looking at me and he's thinking about it. So I'm thinking,
Henry, fucking give it up and let's go. Only of course Henry doesn't get my
telepathy.
But by and by the guy fishes out a wad of bills and he gives that to
Henry, which flusters Henry because he sorts the bills counting them and
nearly dropping them. This makes me feel a huge amount of relief. It's not
a drug score. I am being paranoid. Then big bald guy is not a dealer and
Henry is not buying or pleading for drugs off him. He's just getting some
money, which is what he said the guy owed him.
So I restrain myself from saying out loud, Henry, let's go, like a
nervous wife, and showing all these tough dudes how spooked I am. And I
think we're about to leave anyway. It turns out Henry has other ideas. He
goes back into the bar at the front of the building and says, "Give us a
couple," to the bartender.
I keep my voice down, "I'm not drinking here!"
"Whatsamatter? You're not so drunk you can't handle another one,"
protests Henry.
"I don't want another one," I say.
"What, you're such a fucking pussy you're scared of a guy 'cause he
shaves his head?"
"I'm not drinking here!" I say. And then the bartender with the
piercings in both sides of his nose, and the piercing in his forehead and
the row of studs in his lower lip comes with a couple of open bottles.
"You'd better drink it," I say.
"Come on," says Henry.
Against my better judgment I sit down for a few minutes. After all,
though the place looks tough the joint is almost empty, and Henry didn't
get in trouble. The bald guy gave him cash. So maybe I am just a bit too
jumpy.
Henry has to count his cash again, to sort my thirty out of the
about three hundred bucks that the guy has given him, though he doesn't
give it to me yet and then he has to complain that I haven't even tasted my
beer yet, so I take a sip. And then three of the biker types from the back
room including the bald guy are standing behind us leaning over the table,
and I couldn't get up without pushing my chair back into one of these
guys. He's standing so close to me I can feel his body heat and smell the
sweat on him.
"I can give you another five-hundred," says the guy to Henry, "But
if you want more you have to come in on Monday. Monday or Tuesday."
This is not what you call a threatening conversation, since the guy
is offering Henry money. I just sit there stiffly. One of the bikers, to
the left of me speaks up, "Hey, are you a new face here?"
"I'm just with him."
"What's your handle? What do you go by?" he pursues.
"Gilles" I say.
"Jill??" says the biker.
"Gilles," I repeat. "It's a French name. Starts with a G."
He's incredulous. "Szeel? Sounds like Jill to me. You sure you're
not one of those tranny boys?"
He's not like rumbling menacingly, he's just saying it like he
doesn't believe it. "I'm sure," I say. Or maybe he's dissing me, but he's
not scaring me, so I just deny what he asks. But it kind of is funny the
way they are looking at Henry and me so fixed and thoughtful. This is not
our territory, I think, and that's what they are telling us. But maybe not
because Henry's big bald friend is taking on about Bill not coming around
much lately, and has Henry seen Bill, and maybe Bill is working on a
special project doing some training of some kind, that's why he doesn't
come around lately, because Henry has seen less of whoever-the-fuck-it-is
than Big Bald has.
Big Bald is just telling Henry to tell Bill that he can help Bill
train his boy, when Henry starts to get nervous and tells me, "Drink up."
I pretend to take another drink of my beer. Now I can see that Henry
is getting nervous but I can't see why. He keeps darting glances at me. The
three guys standing over us are just talking. But I am feeling mighty
crowded, so I shift my chair a bit, then shift it again and finally look
the leather jacket dude on my left in the face and say, "Move over will
you? I want to get up."
"Where you going, Peaches?" asks Big Bald.
"Just to the can," I say, although that is not where I want to go. I
want to leave and I am trying to signal that to Henry without letting it
show on my face.
So Leather Jacket number two, the one who didn't think my name was
Jill steps aside and I get up and head for the can. At least it's a chance
for elbow room, even though I don't want to go. I am getting a pretty heavy
vibe here, but I am thinking no, this is just a regular biker bar, just a
regular place...
I stop telling myself that when I wake into the men's room. First of
all there are these great big holes drilled in the side walls of each and
every cubicle. These are glory holes, I know. They are just at crotch level
if you stand up. And then there is this young guy covered in tattoos
wearing some kind of a leather harness just standing in one of the
cubicles. I blink twice because someone has chained him to the toilet. He
has nothing but leather chaps and his leather harness on so that his dick
is hanging right out like he is showing it to me. The young guy looks at
me, steady and I look at him, not so steady and then I turn around and go
down and stand by the urinal for a minute and a half. I don't get my dick
out. I'm in a fucking gay leather bar.
Henry is out of his mind. How could he be so stupid??
I have just flushed trying to make it sound like I maybe really had
to take a whiz when Henry comes into the room, saying, "Hey Gilles..."
"This is a fucking gay bar!" I say in a whisper.
"What?" He doesn't hear me.
I say it again, just as quiet but pulling him close to me so I can
still whisper, "It's a fucking gay bar, Henry."
"So?" says Henry, not lowering his voice. "What do you care? You
don't go for girls anyway."
That, as you might say, is enough of that. No, it's more than enough
of that. I come out of the washroom, walk across the bar and head straight
out the door with every bristle cut head in the place turning to look at
me.
Henry catches up to me in the parking lot just before I reach the
car and for once he seems to be hurt feelings instead of ticked off at
me. "Why are you going?"
"I don't hang out in gay bars, Henry," I say, which is when I get a
sudden thought. I told you I'm not the brightest crayon in the box. But if
Henry is known to Big Bald and if Henry knows Bill-whoever-the-fuck and if
Henry brought me here, then surely Henry knows it is a gay bar. So maybe
Henry swings a little bit both ways!
"What about the cash I was going to give you?" He's still upset.
"Okay," I say.
He reaches into his pocket, hesitates and then says, "It's back in
the bar,"
"What?" I say.
"It's back in the bar."
"How could it be?"
"I gave it back to Chet again," Henry stammers.
I just look at him. I don't know what he's doing. Of course this
isn't totally unusual for me. I'm too fed up to wait around for thirty
bucks I don't really need that badly anyway. "That's okay," I say, keeping
my voice patient. "You can pay me back next time we see each other."
You know how confused I am now? The only thought I can keep straight
in my head is that maybe Henry is bi, and don't want to hurt the poor
bastard's feelings right then by being too gay-negative. So I don't flare
at him that he's a jerk and a cunt for taking me into a bar like that one
and not even giving me any warning. I just tell him stiffly that I am going
to go.
"Gilles," says Henry pleadingly.
Which is when Big Bald and his two friends, Leather Jacket One and
Leather Jacket Two, come out of the bar and aim for my car. I get into my
car, but Leather Jacket One is standing in front of the front bumper and
Henry is standing where I can't close the door. And anyway at that point
Big Bald Chet takes a black jack out of his pocket and takes me by the
collar and pulls me out of the car.
I'm about to get myself stomped, I think. I've never been stomped
not since junior high and it's not the same thing when it's only kids doing
it to you, kids your own age. Guys this size are going to put me into the
hospital So I twist and I manage to get myself out from under Big Bald's
arm and I manage to spin Leather Jacket Two around so that I get past
him. And then to hell with the car, I make it into the other end of the
parking lot, which admittedly is a small one. Then I turn around to see how
Henry is doing and I see that Big Bald has him by the arm.
Shit.
Not a thing I can do because I know I'm nowhere near as tough as Big
Bald and his buddies. I'm no fighter and I don't know if they're packing
anything worse than a black jack but it's not going to be me winning if I
come running back to rescue Henry.
"Gilles!" says Henry and he has got these big eyes, and Big Bald
gets his head tucked up under his arm like you might carry a football.
Big Bald holds the black jack up in the air and says, "Better come
back here and talk to me, Peaches, or Queer Harry is going to start to
cry."
I just freeze. I have to make up my mind. My mind says, sorry. If I
come back then Big Bald and his pals are going to stomp me into the parking
lot ground and I'll be very lucky if I can take Jinks out for his walks
again in less than a week or two. It might be a question of never. If I
come back Henry and I will both get stomped. But if I run for it I can get
away, Henry will get stomped but maybe I can get the police here in a few
minutes, stop some portion of it, though realistically if they keep
stomping him long enough for the cops to get in, then chances are they'll
be stomping a corpse with a broken neck long before that time. Either way
I'm still not going to be any help to Henry if I stick around.
But it's one thing to think of it and another thing to act on it so
I freeze. Maybe I freeze for three seconds, maybe it's for five
seconds. Anyway, Big Bald and Leather Jacket One and Leather Jacket Two are
not moving towards me so I freeze while I think about it. And then a voice
comes from behind me, "I got him, Daddy," and I feel a big hand take me by
the back of the neck.
This time I don't get to twist out from under the grip on my
neck. This time in fact I get a bloody nose as a reward for twisting. There
wasn't just Leather Jacket One and Leather Jacket Two, but Leather Jacket
Three, one of the men from the back room was standing in the shadows in the
parking lot and has come up behind me.
Happily and unexpectedly I only get that one crack in the nose. I
don't get stomped. The punch in the nose is bad enough that I see a big
flash of light and it really hurts a lot. I have to stagger a bit. Then I'm
leaning forward with my head tucked under the asshole's arm and one of my
wrists twisted up my back a bit. He makes me walk forward and the blood
comes in a stream down my upper lip.
"Good Boy," says Big Bald to the man who captured me. He makes them
bring me and he leads Henry around to a side door of the building and we go
inside. I am thinking, and oh fuck, I have nothing but my wallet in my
pocket not even any cash in my wallet, oh fuck they will not be too
impressed when they see that I have nothing worth stealing on me.
They let go of my neck when we are in the place. Big Bald kind of
tosses Henry into me so that we collide. But I am alright on my feet by
then, only a real mess is pouring down my upper lip. I try to hold it back
with my fingers.
"Did you break it, Boy?" asks Big Blue.
"No, Sir, I don't think I broke it, Sir," says Leather Jacket Three
and I realize they are talking about my nose.
"Your pretty little looks are still intact, Little Boy," says Big
Bald to me.
I am heaving for breath and I don't say anything, but Henry
says. "Why are you keeping us here?" He's talking in a shrill artificial
voice like he's pretending he's not scared into a higher register.
"You slipped out on me," says Big Bald reproachfully. "I ain't done
talking to you two worms yet."
"I'm sorry, Sir," says Henry nervously. "Please don't do anything
bad to us, Sir."
"I don't know about that," Big Bald rumbles. "You gonna play ball
with me?"
"Yes, Sir, we're going to play ball with you, Sir," says Henry.
I notice that he is sounding kind of like Leather Jacket Three but I
don't realize why yet. I think they are both kind of intimidated by Big
Bald, which is nothing compared to how I feel about him. I am scared
shitless.
I take my wallet out, "This is all I have," I say faintly.
They are going to force me to give them my pin number I figure, and
then they are going to take my bank cards and try and go get some cash. But
I have only about a hundred bucks in that account because I've got a
paycheck, the old fashioned paper kind to take to the bank. So they aren't
going to get anything out of me that way.
Big Bald takes the wallet away from me and opens it. I busy myself
with trying to keep from bleeding all down my shirt and only succeed in
getting my hands bloody to the point where they are dripping too.
Big Bald examines my wallet with interest but he doesn't get mad at
how little money there is in there. "He spells it G-I-L-L-E-S," he reports.
"I spell it J-I-L-L, Jill," says Leather Jacket One and that raises
a laugh.
"Okay, Jill-Girl," says Big Bald to me, "Are you ready to show me
you can be a brave little boy? Or are you just a sissy little girl cunt?"
"What do you want?" I say.
"I want your cherry, Little Boy," he says. "You ready to give that
up to me?"
I look up at him in horror. I realize he is talking about buggering
me and he means it for real. So before I can stop myself, I spit out curse
words, "Fuck you, Cunt! No fucking way you are going to..." And this point
I am turned all the way around and Leather Jacket Three has got a grip on
me "...take my cherry! I'll fucking kill you! I'll..." And then I've
gotten half way across the room and gotten away from Leather Jacket Three
as far as Leather Jacket Two who has put me on my knees. He knows just how
to do it. I can struggle if I want and if I do I will break my arm. I stop
talking right in the middle of the yelling because I realize that they can
take my cherry. They will if they want to.
"Don't make them mad, Gilles," says Henry nervously. "There are real
tough guys. You don't know how mean Chet can be. He'll punish you if you
fight."
"That's right," says Chet coming in close to me. "You ain't being
exactly respectful, Little Boy. Did I hear you calling me a cunt?"
I pant. I am in so fucking much trouble.
"You're going to get a beating for that, Little Boy," he tells me.
"Oh, you fucking asshole," I say softly. "Oh, you fucking cunt."
Even though he just told me I am about to be hurt for mouthing off to him,
I have no sense to stop myself saying it. I am just too stunned on it yet
to think I might lessen the trouble for myself by watching my mouth.
So in a minute they have me down over a chair. When Big Bald says
he'll give me a beating he means that the way he says it. I have been put
belly over a chair with my arms threaded through the rungs, and then hand
cuffed them to my ankles. But before they did the handcuffing bit they have
pulled my pants and my briefs down so that my naked ass is jutting right up
in the air.
Now it's not like I can't move at all. I might not be able to walk
being chained up doubled up like that but I could get myself spinning
across the floor taking the chair with me. And the truth is being in a
vulnerable position like that I am going to. I am too spooked to stay
still. I want to scream and run and fight somehow.
"Now you come here, and you hold that chair steady," says Big Bald
to Henry. And Henry holds the chair by leaning on the back of it while
Leather Jacket One takes off his wide leather belt.
"You're going to count each stroke, Little Boy, and you're going to
say thank you," Big Bald informs me.
I don't say anything. Leather Jacket One sends his belt cracking
through the air and it bites me hard, a shock of white pain flaring across
my naked ass. I open my mouth real wide as if I am screaming but I don't
make a sound.
There's a second's pause and the belt comes flaring down again,
crack! I jerk in the chair. In fact it is taking all of Henry's strength to
hold it down to keep me in place. Again I just let my mouth open wide in a
silent scream but I don't make a sound.
The belt comes down again and again. I have a fuzzy thought that
this is going to look really funny when I turn up in emerg but I don't
scream and I don't have anything to say for myself. I feel the heat on my
ass like I'm sitting on a stove now. It really hurts. I think maybe I got
hit nearly ten times. It's pretty close to that many when Big Bald speaks
up. He says, "You know it doesn't count unless you say thank you and say
the number, Little Boy. We can go on whipping you long as it takes to make
you say what I said."
That's when I realize that he has some kind of a ritual going. It's
a gay sado thing. He wants for me to count them and I have not. But even
when the next one comes down I just make a kind of a gagging noise.
There are two, three sharp cracks whaled viciously across my butt
before Henry speaks up. He's kind of choking a bit. "Come on... Come on
Gilles. You got to count."
"Oh my God," I think. I say it out loud. Could they even maybe whip
me to death like this? How long is it going to take? But then the pain gets
so bad that at the next crack I heave over sideways, wrench the chair out
of Henry's grip and make it fall over sideways to the floor. I'm still
stuck on it and the impact when my side hits the floor makes me know that
my ass has become one big hot welt. "Uhhhaaahh," I say. I can't bear it at
all.
It's Big Bald who sets the chair up again, and sets me up putting me
up in smacking position again. He sets me up so I can see his motorcycle
boots. They are right near my bloody nose. And he says to me, quite kindly
and persuasively. "You better start counting, Little Boy. You were only
supposed to get twenty and you've had at least that already."
So the next time the belt comes down, sharp smack sound resounding
in my ears and lance of pain where my ass is a throbbing mess of pain, I
gasp up some air and I make the sound they want to hear. "One..." I say
faintly. "Thank you."
I hear Henry give a kind of a smothered squeal and I know he's glad
I started to count. Of course the beating goes on. The strokes are worse
even than when they started. I lurch with each stroke and I choke but I
get the words out. "Two... thank you.....Three. Thank you."
It seems to me they are not as loud at the end as they were when he
started. That might be because my skin is getting soft or something or
swollen. I know it's pretty swollen back there. It's twenty full strokes
from when I start to count. I have my eyes closed and my body vibrates with
every crack. At last it's done.
"You look a mess, Little Boy," says Big Bald.
This is when Henry surprises me. He speaks up in a meek little
voice. "Can I go now?" He quavers. And then adds, "Sir?"
"Now why should I let you go?" I see Big Bald's boots go strolling
over towards Henry. "You're a part of this, you are," he says "You're going
to put this toy up your friend's ass."
I look up. It's a rubber or plastic prick, probably life sized with
a handle on it molded in the shape of a pair of balls. It's a completely
obscene looking thing. God, I want to die, I think. I don't know where Big
Bald picked up a thing like that, seemingly out of the thin air in this
shabby little room, but then he's a gay pervert and they maybe keep things
like that around.
Henry takes the dildo and brings it around be hind me. I feel him
put the tip of it into against my asshole, where at least my crack seam was
a bit protected from the welts. Then he gives it a shove and I give a
grunt. The pain makes spit come from my mouth and makes me really, really
have to hang on to keep from moaning.
"Please," I say and my voice has a quaver like Henry's did. "Please
don't do this to me."
"But you called me a cunt, little boy," says Big Bald. "You called
me a cunt twice and an asshole."
"I'm very sorry," I say humbly. It's not even the fear of being
buggered now. It's the amount of pain I am in. If this is what they've done
to me getting me ready to be buggered it's going to be far past my
tolerance for agony before they time they're done.
"Want a popper?" Big Bald's voice is soft, almost helpful. He holds
something up in front of my bloody nose.
"What?" I focus on it. It's some kind of a bottle and dimly I
remember that was something I had heard about. Drugs. "No."
"Feel way better if you do," he coaxes.
"No," I say
He takes it away. In fact, I think that maybe he holds it up in
front of his own nose and inhales on it. Either way, it sounds like he and
the other guys are rustling around a bit. My own pain has me dazed and very
self absorbed but I twist my neck and get a look at Henry. After all, he's
in as much trouble as I am.
The guy is just standing there, staring at my ass like he doesn't
believe it.
In a few minutes Henry gets ordered to pull the dildo in and out of
my ass which is what he does. And Leather Jacket Three comes over with a
big handful of wet paper towel which he uses gingerly to wipe up all the
blood that has now formed some drops on the floor as well as coating my lip
and chin. I held my chin still stiffly while he wipes my face.
"Pull your pants off," I hear.
I'm not surprised when a man with bare legs and a naked cock comes
in front of my face and kneels down on the floor in front of me but I am
surprised when the man turns out to be Henry. Big Bald is steering him by
the shoulder and Henry looks shell shocked. He also has a partial
erection. I look at that in disbelief but the pain in my butt is such that
I am sort of swimming over details. It just hurts bad, the dildo going in
and out. I guess someone else one of the Leather Jackets got delegated to
take over from Henry.
"How good are you a cocksucker, Little Boy?" says Big Bald.
"I don't know how," I say.
"I'm going to train you," says Big Bald. "Put it in his mouth."
Now I understand why they are putting Henry's cock in my mouth. They
are afraid I will bite and they don't care if I bite him. Henry, being
obedient, bumps the tip of his cock against my lips. I keep them sealed but
mentally I am getting so dizzy that I feel sick. The dizzying thought is,
they can whip me into doing this.
They don't whip me. Big Bald takes my jaw in his two big hands and
pries it open pressing on my teeth from both sides and prying, and Henry
shoves his three-quarters hard dick onto my tongue between my teeth. "Ooh,"
says Henry. "Oooh."
If I could back up to get off Henry's dick I would. I can't. So I
take it, his curly pubes against my recently bloody mouth and the head of
his cock triggering my gag reflex until I'm starting to make gulping
sounds.
"Rock it," says Big Bald and Henry, keeping his crotch mushed up
into my face, begins to rock it a little bit so the cock in my mouth is
moving. That is bad. It's not getting any smaller and it goes so deep into
my gag reflex that I puke. It's hard not to bite when the bile suddenly
splats up my gullet, hits the dick that is corking me so I can't breathe
and subsides burning. I get a quarter-breath as Henry rocks back a bit and
the same thing happens.
I'm drowning! I want to say. I can't say it. Instead I'm being
smothered on cock. Only a tiny bit of sound comes out because I have only
a tiny bit of air. If I had enough air I wouldn't have to try to scream for
it. But I can't scream and I go, "Uggmm... mmmh!" Then Henry pulls his
cock back enough that I do puke and it all goes splat, the popcorn I ate
scratchy on the way through, warm disgusting and yellow. I even manage to
barf partially on Henry's cock.
This puts a temporary stop to what was happening to my ass. I'm
pretty sure the dildo was gone and it was something smaller, fingers that
were ass raping me. But it just hurt enough that I didn't want to think
about what I was feeling and the imperative to breathe was much stronger. I
gasp and the motion in my butt stops and Big Bald comes to inspect the mess
I made.
They're going to kill me, I think, deliberately choke me to death. I
turn up my eyes to look at Big Bald's enquiring face.
"Naughty," he says and then shoves his finger down my throat. I am
so shocked I don't bite it. I gag up another mouthful of bile with a
painful cough.
"This one has an over active gag reflex," Big Bald reports. "Put it
back in his mouth, Henry, but not so deep."
I cough and find that this time I have a semi soft cock poking down
my throat and moreover Henry is a little bit back so that he doesn't block
my breathing altogether. Apparently getting his cock puked on seems to
have wilted Henry's erection a little bit.
"Take it slow," says Big Bald.
That's when I realize that Big Bald is peeling a condom down his
cock and I know my anal virginity -what was left of it after the dildo and
the fingers- is about to go. Henry fucks my mouth slowly while Big Bald
levers my ass up higher and places the rubbered tip of his prick at my
hole. There is something cold and smooth. He has lubricant on the
cock. Otherwise I don't think he could get it into me. The pain is
enormous. He bores down until I am split wide, wide open.
"Ooh," says Henry and I realize that his cock in my mouth is three
quarters hard again.
I'm in real trouble. The distension in my ass and the constant smack
of Big Bald's hips against my raw welted butt makes me want to scream and
thrash. The cock in my mouth is threatening to choke me again. But luckily
I have nothing much left to puke so I'm not drowning in my own vomit
again. Somehow I control my gag reflex so that at least sometimes I can
breathe.
Big Bald has a monster cock. It has wrecked my sphincter. I am round
open wide and trembling with the pain of it. I make a few gagging noises
and survive the rape.
"Are you a little pig?" says Big Bald. "Are you my sow, pig fuck
sow? Take it, you squealing little boy. Squeal for me."
I don't squeal, not so much because I am resisting him as because I
am too stupid and slow to obey and besides I don't think he means it other
than to taunt me. He changes his angle as he fucks me making the pulling
stretching pain worse and then he gets an angle that goes so deep I whimper
way deep down. Something weird is happening to me and the pain is not just
pain but a sensation a bit like warmth. I suddenly wonder if I am going to
piss myself but it is out of my control. I suffer it and it doesn't make me
piss. It's a weird kind of a pain, and not the strongest sensation by any
means.
"Sir... sir..." Henry pants. "May I cum?"
"Yeah, boy, you can come. Give your load to your cherry friend," Big
Bald pants.
He's going to be able to cum? I think. I'm in complete disbelief
when Henry starts fucking my throat hard on purpose. I can't believe it and
try to scream at him to stop. But at that point I don't have the air to
breath and then a minute more I start to black out. That is when I feel it
surging. He holds his cock in as deep as he can and cums in my throat.
Then when Henry is starting to pull his cock out of me again, I puke
once more, this time mostly Henry's own cum mixed with some bile. He
doesn't pull out fast enough and I puke on his prick for a second time. I
am stunned on it and no more stunned when Henry's hand comes glancing in
and smacks me hard on the face. I wheeze and whoop just trying for air. My
dangling head rolls side to side as I try to get more breath in. Big Bald
is pumping deep in my ass. He gives some kind of a laugh and he starts to
come.
Shot after shot of his hot cum goes into me. I feel his cock
pulsing. I don't feel the cum because it's in his condom. He pulls out,
brings the condom to my mouth and puts the rolled rim of it into my
lips. He starts to squeeze the blobs of white salt cream out of the condom
into my mouth. "There, boy," he says. "You took it like a man, boy. You get
your reward now."
I've forgotten to fight, to try to resist him, to spit or turn my
head. So when I taste the bitterness of cum I swallow it gagging only
slightly.
They unfasten the handcuffs from my wrists and ankles now and make
me stand. But they peel my pants off my legs and my shirt off my body
leaving me naked. They hold my shoulders to steady me and show me how to
stand as they do this. My eyes roll around. More bad stuff is coming. I
find Henry. He is re-zippered and watching me a look of weird fascination
on his face.
Naked I see where the handcuffs have drawn blood on my wrists and
ankles when I pulled. I didn't even feel it so I don't know if I did it
during the beating or the raping or both. I don't give them any trouble
when they put me on my back on the hard wood top of a dresser. They don't
tie me they just hold me there. My legs are in midair and my head is
dangling back off the side of the dresser. I see Big Bald take a big swig
of scotch straight from the neck of a bottle and hand it to Leather Jacket
One. He hands it to Henry holding it up to pour it and Henry takes a big
swallow. Then they bring it to me, poke the glass into my mouth two inches
and tilt it until a quarter of a cup of scotch goes into my mouth and then
runs down my upper lip because I don't drink it.
Something painful is being done to my nipples. Clips are being put
on them. This is not a bikers stomp ordinary white guy scene; this is a gay
pervert scene. The clips would ordinarily make me yelp but not this time. A
third clip goes on my scrotum and that does make me yelp. The yelp is the
moment when they put the neck of the scotch bottle into my mouth and pour
out another quarter of a cup full. This time while most of it goes flooding
back out and some of it runs down into my nostrils I actually swallow a
large mouthful involuntarily. But that doesn't matter. I instantly gag on
it and a cough sprays it back out again before it comes near reaching my
insides.
Something leather is fastened around my neck. There are chains on
the leather. They go to leather cuffs which are put on my wrists. I don't
know what the point of this contraption is because it doesn't tie me down
in the least, not like the handcuffs before. But perhaps they mean to grab
the chains that link the collar to my wrists and control me that way if I
struggle. I don't struggle. There are four men taking turns holding me down
and getting me posed for another mouth fuck and anal rape session.
This time Big Bald controls it more. He feeds a Leather Jacket's
cock into my mouth and gets the other Leather Jacket to put a condom on to
put it in my ass. My butt cheeks are spread wide and the prick starts
pushing into my sore anus. It pushes until it pops and meanwhile I am
getting dick fed down my throat.
Leather Jacket fucks my face a lot more skillfully than Henry ever
did. That is, by now I am actually sucking and trying to bring the guy off
so that he will stop and go away, and he isn't just hitting the back of my
gullet wham, wham, wham triggering gag reflex after gag reflex. I can see
the four leather guys one on each side of the dresser, holding my knees
wide and back, and feel them gripping by shins and my shoulders and
arm. But I can't see Henry and I think, maybe he could get to a phone... If
he tries I assume they will kill him.
I get my ass fucked and my throat fucked until both those men
come. While they are doing it they hold poppers up under their noses
pausing between strokes. I hear one man chuckle deep with the pleasure he
is feeling. My ass has given up somehow and there is less pain because it
is no longer clamping down on the invasion any more. But now I am raw with
it and my ass is raw from the beating and my nipples and scrotum have those
clips on them so I am just one sea of pain and now I am trying only to
breathe around the cock in my throat and to ride on that sea of pain, to
blank my body and my mind out. It's hard to do because they touch me and
talk to me and Big Bald says, "Cum- slut, you're getting enough cock now,"
and I have to answer him. I say, "Yes, Sir."
That's because every one of them, everyone in the room calls Big
Bald Chet sir, even Henry does so I do it too.
And then when they finish fucking me they bring Henry in between my
legs. They tell me I'm going to suck the last guy's cock, the cock that
belongs to Leather Jacket Three. But they pour some scotch down my throat
and some scotch down Henry's throat and they tell him he's going to suck my
cock.
"Me?" he says. "I don't suck cock. " He adds, "Sir," hastily.
"You're going to suck this one," says Big Bald, and then Henry
argues with him.
"I won't suck him. What's he going to think of me if I suck him?
Anyway... anyway he's soft. Sir. How'm I going to get a condom on with him
soft like that? Sir." I realize that Henry is very drunk, drunk enough that
he is starting to have trouble talking. But Big Bald doesn't hit him or do
anything like I might have expected to punish him for defiance. Instead he
takes Henry by the back of the neck and forces his face down to my crotch.
I look at it in disbelief as Henry takes my soft prick into his
mouth, grimacing and grinning all at once, weird in the eyes and yet
nuzzling into me. I stare at him though it hurts my neck to hold it up like
that. I just can't figure it out. And then Leather Jacket Three, the man
who gave me a bloody nose takes my head in his two hands and starts to
guide a latex covered prick into my mouth.
So I suck again, while Henry sucks on me. The cock sliding into my
jaw is rock hard, big and swollen. I mouth on it when he draws back trying
to convince him not to ram into my gag reflex. He fucks my mouth, drinks
scotch, pulls his cock out of my mouth, pours scotch into my mouth and then
when I let it all slop back out of my mouth again and run down the side of
my cheeks and face, he puts his cock back in again. They are trying to make
me drunk and I think they are all quite glazed or stoned themselves. That
doesn't seem to be a help, since them being drunk like that doesn't mean
I'll get a chance to escape. It just means that they don't feel pain very
much and don't care much about the consequences of what they do to me.
"Aww... he's still not hard," Henry complains.
"Get him hard them," Big Bald orders.
Henry tries. It's warm and it doesn't feel bad but what chance I
might have had of getting turned on by my first blow job ever is taken away
by the miserable pain I am in from everything else they have done to me.
Eventually, Leather Jacket Three cums in the condom in my mouth.
And then Big Bald and Henry get into an argument about making me hard. It's
Henry whining to Big Bald, who is telling him off "I told you to make him
hard."
"Nobdoy could. Nobody could," Henry says.
And then Big Bald takes Henry by his shirt and jacket at the front
and shoves him away from me. He stands close, talking harsh to Henry. "No
fucking use, are you, Boy?"
Unbelievably Henry gives a giggle.
""When I give an order I expect to have it obeyed, Boy. Would you
like a beating like we gave him?"
"Didya like him?" says Henry. He giggles again. "Did ya like him?"
He pushes at Big Bald to make him back off. Big Bald doesn't raise his
fists and smash Henry. He just puts him back against the wall.
"You pathetic worm," says Big Bald.
And Henry giggles again, which is when I realized that I was set
up. Suddenly it all comes clear. Henry really knows this guy and Henry is
not afraid like he's being mugged. It's a gay pervert scene and Henry knows
it. He's not supposed to be the bottom boy in this. I am. That's what Henry
set up with Big Bald, that they'd get a chance to attack me. I don't
understand it. I don't know any of the details yet, but I do know that
Henry not only knew Big Bald from before, but he brought me over to the bar
and to meet the guy for the purpose of setting me up.
I don't say anything. What I do is hiccup some foul air that tastes
of cum and scotch. I'm sick from being abused and the mouth fucking forced
air into me. I can't get off the dresser because they are still holding me
there. I can't do anything about knowing that my friend betrayed me.
But Big Bald takes Henry into the next room and I can hear them
talk. "Ya did. Ya did," says Henry. Big Bald is not really mad at Henry,
but I hear Henry pleading. I think they are in the next room because Big
Bald doesn't want me to know that Henry set me up. "Aw, you can fuck him
again before ya let him go. I don't want none of that shit," says
Henry. "Give me another popper."
"Sir," says Big Bald warningly, loud enough that I can hear him.
"Give me some more booze then, Sir," giggles Henry.
Henry comes staggering back into the room with another bottle. This
one is not scotch, it's clear, like vodka or gin. Big Bald comes back into
the room and they take me off the dresser and put me on the floor on my
knees. Leather Jacket number Two puts his knee on my spine and pulls on the
two chains so that he pulls my wrists back against my sides. Big Bald puts
his motorcycle boot on my head and forces it down to the ground. I don't
resist him at all.
"You're a worm, Boy." He says. "You've just begun your cock
training. How do you like a man's cock?"
I'm supposed to answer his question. I puke instead. I'm not exactly
liking the game he is playing with me.
"Too big for you, huh? You'll get used to it," says Big Bald. "You
want another few smacks on the butt? What are you supposed to say now?"
I think I know the answer to that, so as I grovel there with his
boot on the back of my head and my nose almost in the puke spot of bile on
the floor, I say, "Thank you Sir."
He gives me a contemptuous little spurn with his boot. And then
amazingly, they are done with me. They let go of me and just leave me there
while they go into the other room with Henry, laughing.
At first I stand up. Then I look at the door and the other room
where I can see them. Then I look around and see my clothes just thrown
bedraggled on the floor. Nobody stops me when I bring the cuffs up in
front of me and unbuckle them. I unbuckled the collar from my neck. It is
made of black leather and has three buckles on it. I pick up my pants
slowly and nobody stops me.
So then I step into my pants and yank them up, grab my shirt and
yank it down over my head, step into my sneakers. From the weight in my
pocket I know my keys are still there. I leave my socks, my briefs and my
jacket. I go at a run for the door. I hear voices, murmuring conversation
as I race for it. They are ignoring me. They are done.
I get the door open and run for the car. I am staggering. I get the
car door open and sit down and howl with pain. It hurts too much to sit. I
twist so I am only sitting on one buttock as I fit the keys into the
ignition. I am writhing in pain as I start to drive. I drive badly. I yank
the clips off my chest from under my shirt. I turn a corner, rip open my
fly, scrabble and tug the clip off my scrotum with a groan. I clutch my
scrotum one handed. I turn another corner, come to a light and rock in my
seat with the pain, moaning. I drive home.
Jinks meets me at the door, sniffing, moving back as he sees me
lurch. I am whimpering now that there is nobody there to hear me. I strip
off my clothes in the hallway, not caring that there might be someone
seeing through the window. I go into the bathroom. Twisting I can see that
my ass is covered with welts and the welts are spotted with blood oozed out
of the crossing of the weals. I have other bruises on me I don't remember
getting. I have a big pink mark on each nipple. Moaning I try cold water
for the pain. It doesn't much work. I gulp down two Advil tablets and limp
groaning to my bed. Then I get up, grab a robe and run to the doors. I
double-lock the doors. I can't even let Jinks come near me when I lie down
on the bed, face down on the bed to keep my ass from any kind of contact
pressure. He jumps on the bed and lies down along side of me keeping a
space between us, eyes on me mystified.
I was set up. I was sold. Oh my God, the money that Big Bald gave to
Henry, that was for me. And the drink... I realize the drink the bar, the
beer Henry bought me that I wouldn't drink -that had probably been
drugged. Rohypnol. My head tosses from side to side and I make no sound of
moan. My friend. My friend. I had thought the asshole was my friend...
I am not a happy man. I am a man who is very sore, so sore I can
hardly move. The next morning I miss my welding class. I miss work that
day and the next. I move around the house gingerly, either standing with my
robe on so that nothing is held firm around my ass, or lying down, face
down. I don't want to lie face down because it was face down that I got the
beating and first got raped. It reminds me of that. I think about Henry and
I think about what a dumb piece of shit I am.
How could I have not realized what Henry thought of me? I thought
because he would call me, because he seemed to want me hanging out with him
that I was his friend. All that stuff about friends looking out for their
friends. That was just me being too dumb to live. God, I am dumb. I went
into a gay bar with a friend who hated me and let him set me up. How could
I have been so dumb that I went in there?
I'm kind of angry at Henry too, but most of all I am angry at myself
and I punch the pillow wishing I could just somehow punch myself, punish
myself for being so dumb and somehow maybe knock myself unconscious so that
I don't feel the pain anymore. But I don't sock myself. I just grit my
teeth and go through with it.
The first two days I still have to look after Jinks and take him for
his walks, so I am functioning. The third day I go back to work although it
sure hurts to sit. My ass is one big bruise. But the open broken skin is
sealed and the weals have gone down so I just grimace a bit when ever I
have to put my butt down into a chair.
Meanwhile I am doing a bit of thinking and the thinking I do I don't
like. The first thought I have firm in my head is that I am going to stay
clear of all gay guys, always and forever. I don't want a repeat of what I
went through that time. No. It's real plain. If I even think a guy might be
gay I'm going to walk right away from him. This time no hanging around to
be polite, to make it look like I'm not homophobic.
And the funny thing, the thing that makes it really pathetic is that
I decide I probably am mostly gay. That's why I never went with a
girl. There's a part of me, a hidden small part deep down that says male
cock and male bodies are what I go for. But not now. I wasn't sure of it
before. I was actively being as straight as I could before, to hide the gay
part of me that was hidden to myself underneath. But now I got a really
good look at all that stuff. I know girl stuff is boring and gay stuff
is... too big a thing for me to want it. It's a horrible thing.
So I don't go on being as straight as I can any longer. I stop
trying to be interested in girls. I go around being not gay, instead. I
look at the guys I work with, Marco on the forklift, and Tino telling a
customer where to find varnish and paint stripper and I think, could they
be gay? So I keep a distance from them, more than I did before.
Jinks is my only friend. He's a good friend, for a dog. He's
dependent. I take him out for his walks and I look after him and I talk to
him sometimes and I tell him he's a pretty decent dog. I don't see Henry. I
don't call Henry and he doesn't call me.
Then it's four months later and I sit for my written test which is
easy after I passed my practical and I have my plumbing certificate and I
get a check and write it to pay my union dues, and I put my name in with a
plumbing business to do subcontract work for them. I do all that stuff. Of
course I can't go out and start my own plumbing business. I don't have the
tools for it.
Pretty soon I have a second job working construction, and the
plumber I know calls and asks me can I go unblock this woman's toilet, go
this evening as a favour to him because he has too many other
jobs. Plumbing is probably a stupid job to get into because it involves
doing people's toilets for them. But the pay is really good, better than
Home Warehouse so within a couple more months I give that up and work
mostly in construction. It's decent pay, long hours starting early and not
a bad job where it's doing installation of new stuff.
Of course this means I meet a bunch of new people. I have new
co-workers and sometimes some of then get friendly. I have no trouble
giving them the brush off. Whenever they say to come and have a few beer
with them I tell them that I don't drink and when they press me I say that
I can't drink, which means that a few of them get the idea that I'm going
the AA route but I don't care. I don't care what they think about me so
long as they don't think about me like a guy they can fuck around with.
Now it happens in the winter we are doing a job at a condo site and
then my fucking car won't start. It's too cold and there's a line frozen,
something like that I'm sure. I'm way out, fifteen miles out in Rowling
Park and I have to get home, so I want to call a tow truck but my foreman
says hell, I can grab a lift with him. It's about seven at night and I am
fool enough to do it.
The foreman's name is Jeff. He has nice teeth, a square chin, an
easy quiet grin and lots of dark hair, badly in need of a comb. It's the
hair probably that does it for me. He's not bald and bristly like that
crowd at Dicks. So I get into his truck with him late at night and Jeff
drives me home.
On the way he's driving, and it's bad driving, icy so he is taking
it slow, Jeff asks me a bunch of questions. He tells me he is single but
he's not giving me details of his life he asks me where do I live and then
do I live alone and stuff like that. He's just calmly asking questions so I
am answering them hesitating a little.
I tell him I live alone but for Jinks and I have no girl friend. I
tell him I have an older married sister who lives in Fairborough and a
couple of older parents who are retired to a gated community in Florida. I
tell him I used to work at Home Warehouse and that I have welding, and a
pile of carpentry experience as well as plumbing. I tell him I had adequate
grades in high school but that I wanted to go for manual trades. I tell him
I have a hobby of building models because he asks, specific what do I do
for a hobby. And he doesn't laugh at that the way Henry did. Of course he
hasn't seen my models. I even tell him I lift weights down at the Fitness
Factory, and it turns out Jeff does too.
And then he is pulled up in front of my door so I get out.
The way I saw it I had to answer his interrogation to be polite to
get the ride I got, but I also figure he's being polite to me, thinking
making me talk about myself will set me at ease. Either way I figure he'll
never talk to me like that again.
But when we are back on the job it turns out Jeff remembers the
stuff I said, because he gives me the job of putting in some ductwork and
some interior framing, putting in some wainscot moulding in a pricy home we
were doing. He says he likes my work. He says in fact, that I am better
with my hands than any other guy on the crew and when he gives me a job he
knows I'll do it real neatly and efficient.
I'm okay with getting praise from my foreman. It's okay to talk
about the job, right? But I feel a little bit funny inside myself for
liking it.
And Jeff says, "When are you going to the gym?"
"Saturday morning," I say, thinking he is setting up a weekend job
for me.
"What time?"
"I was going at ten," I say, figuring how I could rearrange it which
is no problem.
"Good," says Jeff. "I'll see you there."
Well, I don't know what to say to that but there is no harm to
seeing a guy around, some of the same places you go. I'm at the gym doing
squats when Jeff comes wandering by and he nods at me and he does some
bench presses on a machine near me. Then presently he asks if I'll be a
spotter for him because he wants to use the free weights instead, so I'm
cool with that. I do the job for him. When he offers to do some spotting
for me I say no. It's my habit to stick to the machines, you know.
It's all cool, casual, doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean
anything when I see him in the grocery store either, pushing this cart. We
live pretty close, no surprise we'd be shopping on the same time off at the
same store. And all he does is nod at me.
But the problem is I am starting to feel weird in my stomach, low
down in my belly about Jeff. What's that in aid of? I don't know what it
is. At first I say, yeah, maybe I want a raise too bad, I want his
recommendation, the jobs that are going to pay more. So I'm nervous about
him, he's practically my boss, I'm going to be nervous. I'm nervous about
everybody.
Then I know it's not that. He couldn't possibly be gay, I think to
myself. It's not that I want his approval; it's just that he couldn't
possibly be gay.
By and by I realize the weird sensation down in my stomach that I
get around Jeff is thinking that I maybe want to feel at ease with
him. Just because I'm fucked up and gay in some ways doesn't mean I don't
want a friend. All it is, is that I want to feel comfortable around him
count him, kinda, if not as a friend but as a dude I'm comfortable with.
So by and by I talk a bit to Jeff and he talks a bit to me and I'll
maybe say Hey to him, more than just take the job he gives me and do it
silent. While Jeff for his part asks after Jinks and he tells me what
weight he's pressing when it goes down because he has a wrist strain. What
I like about Jeff is he doesn't boast. I mean he's doing some heavy
weights. He has a much bigger build than me; his height is five eleven or
six foot and he can take more on the machines. But he talks like what I
press and he presses are the same, easy. I don't know how to explain it,
but there's a part of me comfortable about Jeff and a part of me that still
has this little bit of a stomach ache.
The stomach ache gets worse when Valentine's Day comes around and a
couple of the guys are shooting the shit when we get called together for
coffee time and a round of instructions. This one is saying he's bought a
couple of dozen roses for his wife and that should get him some decent
pussy tonight. And that one is bitching that his girl expects the earth
from him, cards and shit he doesn't know how to give her. It's like there's
this brief exchange how soppy the day is, but girls like it so what can you
do? Jeff is trying to give instructions so he breaks the conversation up,
by saying it's time to give the jobs out, so a guy named Vittorio says,
"Yeah, Jeff doesn't have a girl. He don't get no pussy even if he does buy
a ring and some roses."
I'm thinking... yeah, Jeff doesn't have a girl but he's not
gay. He's no more gay than I am, just because I don't have a
girl.... There's this kind of double think in my head where I'm not being
gay so in my head it makes me straight, only my thoughts pull up short and
I think, any guy who doesn't have a girl, he must be gay.
"I'll pick you up Saturday morning, take you to the gym," says Jeff
"No thanks," I say.
"Why not?" he says.
"I like to drive my own car," I say.
"I say something?" He looks startled and I realize I must have
sounded crisper than I meant.
I want to say, I don't take rides from guys but that's not true
because I have taken rides from him, I have to sometimes in the back of the
crew cab when we're transferring from site to site. And he is looking at me
mildly, so I don't know what to say. "I like to drive myself," I repeat.
Now most likely Jeff doesn't give as much as a moment's thought to
this stuff but I do. I'm thinking I'm acting like an asshole, looking
stupid. I don't agonize over it or anything, but I just wish I wasn't such
a dumb ass, that was all. I come to the conclusion that Jeff thinks I'm a
surly dumb ass, but he doesn't mind.
It's probably the last week in February when I go to the gym real
late one night, after eleven o'clock. You see Jinks has a hurt paw from
getting some ice in it, so I couldn't take him out for a proper run. I knew
if I went out for a run without him he'd be all sad, so instead of putting
on my running gear I take my gym bag and I go out. I need a work out. Jinks
settles down with a sigh but he's not broken hearted.
The gym is fine and it's midnight before I'm ready to leave. I come
out into the main entrance with my hair wet from showering, my body tired
out and relaxed from working it hard, and my gym bag in my hand. And there
is Jeff at the front desk. He's wearing a leather jacket. He's with another
guy and that guy has a leather jacket and his head shaved -no, I'm not
saying he's one of the fucking creeps who raped me. I'm just saying it's
the same style.
I stop so short that Jeff can't help but see me. And he walks
towards me starting to talk, "Gilles..." But then I see what I didn't see
before because he was in front of the desk, that he has black jeans on and
some kind of a black leather belt with studs and a fancy metal buckle on
it. It's the whole costume, right?
I don't say a word to him. I take off through the side door so hard
and so fast that I break the top pane of glass in it as I go.
You are such a dumb ass, I tell myself. You are such a dumb ass. You
have fallen for a gay guy... I lie on my bed and I pet Jinks' head in the
dark and his tail thumps as I scratch his head. The look.... Jeff has the
look. I seal my eyes up tight but I still can see it.
That doesn't mean I don't go to work the next morning. And Jeff is
there in his dark green work pants and his oil stained brown work jacket so
I don't say anything. Like what is there to say? He doesn't say anything
either. None of my business if the fucking asshole is gay. He can be gay if
he wants. I don't care if he's gay. Why the fuck should I care if he's gay?
I'm gay too.
So I don't talk to him all that day and the next.
It's Saturday and I'm at the Gym and Jeff comes over to be casual in
his working out shorts and a towel around the back of his neck and he says,
"You want to spot for me?"
For a moment I look at him, just look at him real hard and then I
say, "Sure," and get up and come over. I spot for him and while I am a bit
gruff at first we talk like everything is normal.
The only thing that maybe gets said about it at all is when I am
whaling away at a punching bag and Jeff comes up behind me and says, "You
trying to kill that punching bag?" Which doesn't sound like it was saying
anything about my freaking out at the sight of him in gay gear, unless
you're in my head. There's a part of me that says come on, not every guy
who wears a leather jacket is gay, and not every guy who is gay is a rapist
out to get you, but I won't buy it. I am convinced that Jeff is gay and I
am as mad as hell about it. If he were straight you see, I could pretend to
be straight and then we'd have had the potential to be friends. But he's
not so we're not.
But I forget to tell Jeff that we can't possibly be friends and his
slow amiable courtship goes on. He knows what I like in my coffee -one milk
and no sugar -and he knows that I don't want to work more than a twelve
hour on account of Jinks and he lets me go after ten hours. And he nods at
me and he smiles easily and he comes and asks me to spot for him. He even
asks me if I like to take in a game and when I admit I'm so much not a jock
the only game I play is pool, he invites me to play pool with him like I
used to do with Henry.
"No," I say. "No. Thanks."
One morning, it's April and it's a weekend and I am running along
the sidewalk with Jinks. It's an easy steady run with his tail flying out
like a flag and him loping and me not sprinting but taking it steady. It's
about seven o'clock in the morning. We've only been running for ten
minutes, we're half a mile from the park and it's a good day. I mean I am
not feeling too fucked up about the world nor the way I feel about Jeff nor
what a dumb asshole I am.
Then there is a man on the sidewalk walking towards me and the
closer I get the angrier I feel in the pit of my stomach because the man is
a guy I haven't seen since it was last spring, nearly a year ago. It's
Henry.
He gets this flat non expression on his face as I run towards him,
eyes go narrow and shoulders hunch up a bit. I have nothing to say to Henry
any longer, not ever again, so what I do is just run past him. But I am
maybe three steps past him, three strides and going fast when I remember
that little giggle he gave when he asked Big Bald "Didja like him?" In fact
I think I heard it, that Henry has given a nervous giggle because I have
just run by. So then I go insane.
I turn around and punch Henry in the back. He turns around so I
punch him in the front. He punches me so I keep punching him. I have this
idea in the back of my head that Henry is more of a jock than me like he
was when we were in High School. So I think I won't really be able to make
a mark on him. I won't really be able to wipe the giggle off his mouth. But
that was then and in a minute my knuckles are really gashed and bleeding
where I hit them off his teeth. In another minute we are both staggering
because he goes into the street to get away from me. A horn blares and a
car veers sharply. The gust of it passing by eight inches from us blows us
back onto the sidewalk, but only for another minute because Henry keeps
backing away from me and he backs into the street again.
I am red mad, blind mad, not seeing what I see except what I see is
a target so I keep punching smashing blows to get him. I hit Henry real
good. I know he hits me but I don't feel it. All this while Jinks is going
mad with confusion, jumping up and down, running around us in a circle,
yelping and not knowing what is happening. Of course he's never seen me hit
anyone before and he wants to help. Only he's a good dog; he would never
bite anybody. So he's just circling, terribly distressed. I such a dumb
shit I don't see what I'm doing to my dog.
There's a horn blowing again, a meaty thonk, and Henry sinks down,
knees folding, waist folding and rolls on the sidewalk. I'm going to start
stomping on his face but I think, Jinks, and I turn around.
Jinks is in the gutter by the curb. He's been hit by a car. There's
a little bit of blood on his muzzle and he rolls his dark eyes. He's wet
himself, his belly fur smells like pee and his eyes are looking dazed but
there's no bark and no whimper. I sink to my knees on the sidewalk and I
bend over him with a moan.
You see what a dumb ass I've been, I've killed my dog.
So Jinks is not dead yet and I am kind of rocking back and forth. I
pick him up in my arms so I can hold him and I rock a bit and I put my face
down to his muzzle so we are touching nose to nose, which is when I realize
that we both have bloody faces but of course I don't care about my
own. Henry is flat out of it, not going to be able to sit up for awhile, he
probably needs an ambulance, I've committed an assault but all I care about
is my dog. Jinks. Oh God, Jinks is maybe dying.
That's when somebody's hand comes down firm onto my shoulder and it
is Jeff. I don't know what he said. He must have said something, but I
stagger up holding Jinks and he holds my arm and steers me over to his
truck which is parked in the lane with the door standing open so nobody can
come by so close that another car might hit Jinks or me as we huddle
together on the edge of the road. Jeff gets me to get into his truck with
Jinks on my lap and I wail when I see the way Jinks' leg is trailing. Jeff
gets into the driver's seat and he drives.
All I can think is that I've killed my dog. I don't care that I'm
about to get arrested for beating the crap out of a guy. All I can care
about is my dog. So I don't know what I'm doing and I don't care either.
When I hear Jeff on his cell phone talking to a veterinarian,
telling the person that he's coming in with a dog that was hit by a car I
realize what he's doing. But all I do is just groan, "He's going to die!"
"You don't know that," says Jeff. He keeps driving pretty fast. He
has to talk to two veterinarians on the phone because one of them isn't
open yet and can't meet us fast enough, but the second one does. He goes
through yellow lights, cuts through the corner of a gas station and he gets
us to this low house with a big board showing cartoon kittens playing in
front of it. "Animal Luv Animal Hospital" it's called. I go staggering in
with Jinks who is now crying in pain.
"Oh my God," says the woman in the white lab coat who meets us
halfway across the linoleum. "Why didn't you take him to the hospital?"
"He's not hurt as bad as the dog," says Jeff, and then he says,
"Save his dog."
So the woman vet does. She puts Jinks on a metal table and a moment
more she's got an IV run into him just like he was a person. But then she
looks at Jeff and he knows what she means is your dumb ass friend is
holding onto my table, falling onto the dog he's killed and he's in my way
so get him out of here. So he takes me out of there into the waiting
room. We're surrounded by glossy magazines full of show Pomeranians and
Lhasa Apsos and I'm in one seat and Jeff is in the next. He's holding my
wrists so I won't fall down.
I curl up and rock some more. I've killed my dog. Or maybe.
When I get over that little bit of hysteria Jeff levers me out of my
seat and takes me into the bathroom. Here he cleans me up with a bit of
paper towel. While he's doing this I remember how they wiped spit and blood
off my face so they could rape my mouth and I look at him but he doesn't
know why I'm looking at him like that. Probably I already look just too
crazed to make any sense. Anyway, when he gets the bit of blood off my chin
and off my two hands and wraps my hands in some gauze the women tells him
that he can take out of a drawer I don't look so bad. My hands are oozing
but I still don't feel it. I don't look like a guy who has been in a fight,
I look like a guy who has just about killed his dog.
By and by Jinks lies completely still and the woman comes out to us
in the waiting room. I can see Jinks lying on her table and I think she is
coming out to tell us that he's about to die. It turns out that they are
going to do an operation on Jinks and they think he may lose a back leg,
that is if he survives at all.
"Do what you can," I say. And then I remember all the money that I
had saved up meaning to start my own plumbing business in a couple more
years and I add, "It doesn't matter what it costs."
Jeff takes me home after a couple more of the vets arrive. I can't
stay with Jinks and given the way they look at me and the way I looked all
messed up when I came in there they don't want to let me stay, so Jeff
drives me back to my apartment. He even goes into the place with me.
I stand there with my hands kind of dangling like paws in front of
my stomach, vaguely realizing that they are starting to hurt a lot. I am
incredibly, incredibly sorry that I attacked Henry, only because Jinks got
hurt. Otherwise I might not have minded if I'd killed him. Jeff makes
himself at home in my kitchen. He makes me a coffee, one milk and no sugar
and steers me into a chair and he says, "How are we going to find out about
that guy?"
"What guy?" I say.
"The man you beat up," says Jeff.
"Do you know who he is?" asks Jeff.
"Yeah," I say. "He used to be a friend of mine."
"Shit!" says Jeff.
I look up and he explains. "That means they're going to know who you
are, and most likely you'll have a couple of cops at the door in a few
minutes."
"Oh," I say.
I drink coffee and wait for the vet to call and say if Jinks died on
the operating table or not, or for the cops to come in at the door. I shake
a very little bit and I think I should have kept on hitting Henry because
once Jinks was hit by the car there was nothing else I could do. Jeff stays
with me. He makes coffee for himself and he inspects my apartment and he
inspects the little models that I have made, the dioramas that I have all
on a set of shelving in a display case I made for them.
"Whew," says Jeff. "You really do fine work. How come you didn't get
into making models for the movies?"
I look at him in amazement. I am just a plumber for Christ's
sake. It occurs to me after nearly an hour that I don't know why he is
there but then again I don't particularly want him to leave. But he seems
to know about it so I ask, "How much trouble am I likely to get into for
beating Henry up?"
"That depends on if he fingers you or not," says Jeff. "Have you
ever been arrested for getting into fights before?"
I shake my head.
"And it depends on if he's hurt too bad," says Jeff. "Depends on a
lot of things. Is he going to finger you?"
I think about that. It seems to me probably he would. Why would he
care if it came out that he set me up to get gay raped? His word against
mine, and who is going to believe me? So I just hunch my shoulders in a
shrug.
"Why'd you do it?" asks Jim.
"I hate his poisonous ass," I hiss.
It's not too much longer before the vet phones to say that Jinks is
out of surgery, that he he's doped up so he has no pain, in fact he's not
conscious and that it is fifty-fifty whether he lives or not. But on the
plus side she thinks the might well have saved the leg, assuming he lives.
"What a stupid dumb ass thing to do," I say.
"You couldn't know your dog would jump in traffic," he said.
"Yeah, but I knew he was freaked out. I knew he was jumping around,"
I said.
Around noon Jeff says he better go, but if the cops come and if I
need anything I can call him. I write his cell phone number down because he
insists and then he goes.
Jinks is out of the hospital in four days. He is not on his feet
yet, in fact I have to bring him into the vet once each day and he has to
have his food put right in front of him, so he can eat it while lying on
his side. Mostly he just drinks a bit. He's not hungry. I'm supposed to put
him on paper in the house to let him pee but instead I carry him outside
and put him on the grass so he can pee there. He's a good dog and wouldn't
piss or crap on my newspaper if I left it on the floor so of course he
doesn't understand unless I take him outside. Jeff lets me run home from
work two times during each day so I can look after Jinks and I am only
working a eight or nine hour shift anyway.
After a couple more days Jinks gets up unsteady on three legs and
just lets his back leg drag a bit. He's putting no weight on it. He totters
about on three legs, very slowly and he still needs me to carry him down
the back step so he can go outside. But it is definite that Jinks is going
to survive and be a gimpy dog, limping along wherever he goes for the rest
of his life.
So I've lost my running partner but I've sort of, kind of got a
friend. The thing is Jeff is no different than he used to be, coming around
the gym and looking over my jobs at work. But I'm thinking about what I
used to believe when went out to the gay bar with Henry. If you're a guy's
friend you stick with that guy and you don't leave him alone in
trouble. That's what Jeff did with me, taking my dog out to the vet when I
was a crumpled heap of useless on the sidewalk, and then waiting around to
see if the cops would come. He might only be a guy I know and not my friend
at all but he treated me like a friend.
So without making up my mind to, I'm a lot less wary about Jeff. I
come around and let him talk to me and of course he asks how Jinks is doing
so I describe it and he asks did I ever hear anything at all about the cops
and I tell him no. It looks like for whatever reason Henry is not going to
finger me as being the guy that beat the piss out of him.
I feel okay, but not when Jinks comes hobbling along. When I take
him out that summer he limp-lopes slowly a few feet, stops and limp lopes a
few more. He just can't run. But he can nose around in the bushes and cock
his hind leg to piss on things although he does it at a different angle now
and only the right leg, and he can bark at squirrels, and he can play
fetch, provided I don't expect him to go diving out pow, quick as he used
to be. I tell myself his quality of life is alright and I just don't take
him running any more. We go out for lots of short walks and some medium
sized walks. What I do a lot is drive him out to the park so we can roam
around there and he's near to the car if he gets tired and I have to drive
him home.
He's a good dog.
This one day we are doing a job overtime, on the weekend, and I
bring Jinks with me in the car so he can wait for me in the shade and he at
least gets out of the house. I am meaning to take him out for a walk in the
park after I am done. And Jeff is there. When he hears I've got Jinks in
the car he wants to come and see how he is doing, and how well he can get
around. So after we finish the work, it just takes four hours, Jeff and I
go over to my car and Jinks gets out to run around and piss and look at the
area that is going to be a lawn someday. Jeff gets down squatting and rubs
Jinks' head and Jinks sniffs his hands. I'm pleased to show Jeff my dog
and not feeling out of sorts in anyway until this guy drives up, waves his
hand in the air and then comes over to Jeff talking real fast, "So why
didn't you have to work today, and we tried your cellular, couldn't you
bring the truck over for one o'clock if you can't make it for noon," and
some other kind of stuff like that. But what I see is the guy has both
ears pierced and he's kind of shrill, swish with his voice going up excited
like that. I don't say anything, I just move back a bit.
The new guy is named Ned and he's organizing some construction on an
apartment for another pair of guys name Kyle and Brennan, and he is just
insisting that Jeff is going to help him, Jeff's help will be
invaluable. But could Jeff get someone to put the new sink in? They're
having a carwash to raise money for the supplies bill, and it was wonderful
that Jeff helped them with all the windows..." Jeff can barely get a word
in, but he nods amused and says yes, he'll come around with the truck later
today, yes, he'll get someone to help with the pipes and the renovations in
the hall. I notice Jeff glance at me but I go away and throw a stick for
Jinks.
Ned goes away calling cheerful thank yous, blessing Jeff and saying
he's a hero. Jeff comes back to me and says, "You seem to be a bit
homophobic."
Now he's not talking shit when he says that. I am and it shows that
I pulled away from Ned and probably got a look like I thought I'd be
bitten. He doesn't bother asking could I tell Ned was gay and I don't
bother denying it.
"Yeah, I am," I admit.
"Why's that?" he says.
I just look at him, stuck, stymied, no idea how the fuck to say it.
"You know I'm gay," he says.
"Yeah, but you're different," I mutter.
"Not so different," he says. "Ned is a good guy."
"Yeah, but gay guys -most gay guys scare the piss out of me," I
mutter.
He doesn't say anything to that, though he raises an eyebrow, he
just says, "So how about you volunteering?"
"What?"
"Did you hear Ned?"
I had to shake my head.
"He was loud enough," Jeff grins. "He's looking for someone to move
some pipes around, take an old sink out and put a new sink in. We're
renovating an apartment for a couple of guys and it's all volunteer
labour."
I give him a suspicious look, "Couple of guys?"
"Yeah," says Jeff. "Gay guys. One of them is just coming out of the
hospital and the other one is his lover bringing him home to look after
him."
I shake my head. Jeff doesn't ask me for much and somehow I'm not
surprised to hear he would get into doing a thing like this himself,
volunteering, but I'm not ready to put my head into the trap so easily.
"Why not?" he says.
"I'd be too damned uncomfortable around them," I say.
"If that's all it is we can go over on Sunday and get it done. There
won't be nobody in the apartment. They're not moved in yet."
"Are you sure?" I say.
"Yeah, I'm sure. It'll just be you and me there."
So that is how I end up volunteered to help fix the plumbing in an
apartment on my day off. Not that I mind working the day because there's a
limit how many movies a guy can watch, or how often he can go to the gym,
and Jinks isn't taking up my time with long walks any more. By now I'm
pretty comfortable around Jeff, gay or not, so I say I'll be there. He
writes down the address for me and I show up at nine.
The place is a real dump. Apparently they are getting the place for
free. And one of the guys is dying so the other one has to be a full time
caretaker for him and doesn't have time to hold down a job. Their friends
are helping out by getting the place fixed up so it will be livable. The
kitchen is done already and glossy with paint but the bedrooms have the
wallpaper half stripped off the wall and in the living room a cast iron
fireplace insert is leaning against the wall where the hearth stands
crumbly with rotten mortar. There had used to be a sink in the hall. My
job is to take the old pipes out and put a new one in, but put the new sink
in the bathroom. Jeff is there with me to help, but most of the time he is
going to be working on the fireplace.
That is okay. Ripping stuff out doesn't take too much time and once
I ascertain that for a miracle the water shut offs really do work, I am
able to get down to the job. I make a great heap of debris where I pull
down rotten plaster along with the copper pipes. Someone is going to have
to put new gyproc up here.
By noon I have the old pipes out and the basic part of the new pipes
in. It is just going to be the fiddly work of connecting the new sink to
the new pipes and making it all fit. I am banging around feeling okay,
since the apartment is empty except the pair of us and anyway Jeff is in
the other room.
He comes in and says, "Can you help me put the fireplace back?" The
sucker is heavy. By the time we have it eased in amid the new bricks he's
put in and made sure it would fit and measured and then taken it back out
because Jeff needs to put some tiles in along the top and he can't until
the mortar is dry, it's afternoon so Jeff says to me, "You want some lunch?
I'll order it."
"You don't want to go out?"
"Naah, I'll order it."
Jeff gets us a couple of pepperoni pizzas. There's no place to sit
in the apartment so we stretch our legs out on the bare floor and eat
together companionably. And he says, "I couldn't have asked any of the
other guys, you know. They'd have said fuck this, if they're not getting
paid."
"I didn't have any plans for today," I say shrugging. Then I feel I
should add, "I don't have nothing against gay guys. They just make me
uncomfortable."
He gives a nod.
Then I say, carefully, "Most of the time you dress ordinary. I only
saw you in that leather jacket type of gear once. You dress up like that
too often?"
"Sometimes." He measures me with his eyes. He knows the time I
mean. "That night I was cruising."
"Like, doing pick-ups?" I say. "You do that?"
"I've got a couple of friends I go with mostly," says Jeff. "I don't
need to do any pick-ups."
"But you've done it?"
"Yeah," says Jeff. "Why are you curious?"
I hunch my shoulders. "The look. I don't like the look."
"You don't like a gay guy to look gay?" he says.
"Hell, I wish they came with a sign on them, like a great big red G
on their chest so you could know anytime you see them right away."
He's got his eyebrows lifted like he's not approving of what I say,
but I don't care. "Like a pink triangle maybe?" he suggests.
I'm pretty sure I understand the reference. It's something about the
way gay guys got marked in Nazi Germany or something. I just shake my
head. "No, I told you, I'm fucking scared of gay guys. I'd want them to
have a big red triangle saying 'danger" or something."
He laughs. "Come on. We're not that dangerous."
"You're not maybe," I say. And then I say, "That guy I beat up, he
was gay and I didn't know it."
"That's why you beat him up?" Jeff's eyebrows still didn't approve
of me.
I shake my head. "He got me beat up, him and four other guys, beat
shit out of me a year ago. First time I saw him alone since then. He fucked
me up bad, I had to take a couple of days off work. I had bruises for
weeks."
"What did they do that for?"
"I guess it was my fault," I say.
"I guess you got to be careful what you say," Jeff suggests.
"You think I said something?" I say. "Hell, I didn't do nothing to
bring them down on me. Only after they started beating on me I called this
one guy an asshole, that's why they kept on hurting me so bad."
"What did you do?"
"I went into a gay bar,"
"What did you say?"
"Nothing 'til after they hit me. I was in the bar to get thirty
bucks Henry owed me. He was supposed to get it from a guy there. Instead
the five of them, Henry too lit into me. Just for thirty measly bucks."
"Which bar was it?"
"Dicks," I say.
"Yeah, that's a bar to stay out of unless you like it rough. They're
pretty crude there," he allows.
"I had no idea it was a fucking gay bar when I walked in there."
"So do you swing bi?" Jeff asks suddenly.
"Me? No," I say. And then I say, "No, I don't do girls."
Now he looks at me with his eyebrows raised way up under his
hairline.
"I thought you knew," I say.
"You gave me an idea..." he says. "I mean I couldn't tell how much
you were this way. I just figured you had to be some."
I say nothing. I'm not eating the pizza any more. I look away across
the floor. Hell, I don't care if he knows or if he suspects or what he
thinks. He is Jeff and I don't figure he'll fuck around with me.
"Let's go back to getting the sink installed," I say.
Thursday night I'm over in Kyle and Brennan's empty apartment fixing
the woodwork, and sanding it, and I work with Jeff like that. I don't
mind. There's a fair bit of woodwork to be done in the bathroom. I put in
built in towel bars and a heater. I'm over there a couple more times. But
before the apartment is finished, it's only about a week and a half later
when Jeff gives me a call. He knows my phone number from work but he's
never called me unless it was a job before. He says, "Hey Gilles."
"Hey Jeff," I say
"You wanna drop by my place and check a movie out?" It is the new
Jim Carey comedy. I'd said I was going to rent it. "You ain't seen it yet?"
he continues.
"Yeah," I say.
"You wanna come over now? I've got it rented. I'm on East Fourth
Street. It's number 214. You know where it is? And you can bring
Jinks. Give him a change of scene."
So I bring Jinks along. Luckily Jeff is on the ground floor or I
might have to carry Jinks up some steps. I find Jeff's apartment, no
problem. It is a guy's apartment for sure, but not the apartment of a total
slob and there is this big print of a guy in leather boots and not much
else on the wall, a great big blown up black and white shot. I look at Jeff
and it's my turn to raise my eyebrows. But he just grins, "Tom of Finland,"
he says.
The guy in the picture is dark haired. "He doesn't look Finnish," I
say. For some reason this cracks him up. He gets a big grin on.
So we settle down to watch Jeff's movie but I can't say I am feeling
comfortable. I have Jinks up on the sofa beside me with his head in my lap
so I can rub his ears and I am feeling really weird. I am horny but still I
think, you are so stupid, going to some gay guy's place; you even know this
guy is gay. And on the pretext of watching a movie, the same fucking thing
you did with Henry. One thing that scares me was how in the hell am I going
to get limping Jinks out of there fast if it all turns sour on me.
So I don't laugh at the movie much. Jeff does laugh, and he doesn't
give me a running commentary the way Henry had used to do.
After the movie Jeff switches the player off and then he goes into
the kitchen and he says, "You want something?" I hear his glass.
"I don't drink," I say.
"I know that," he comes out of the kitchen again, momentarily. "I
don't mean booze. I'm having a ginseng drink."
"Ginseng?" I say "What's that?"
"Sort of like ginger ale with out the fizz," he says. "It's healthy
for you." And he brings one out for each of us and a little piece of
pepperoni so I can have something to give Jinks.
He sits down again and I say, "Aren't you going to lay a pass on
me?"
That stops him cold. "I didn't figure you were ready for one yet,"
he says with his glass in midair halfway to his mouth.
I make a joke out of it. "I want to know so I can run out of here
screaming."
"How about if I don't lay a pass on you?"
"Alright," I say, still bravely quipping, "But I'm going to be
disappointed."
So then he comes over and sits on the couch with me so the dog is in
between us and he rubs the dog's head and looks at me. Jinks kind of likes
the attention as he'd liked the pepperoni, being simple he is easy to bribe
and sure that Jeff is a good guy. So for a minute or three Jeff sits just
opposite me talking about the dog and the he leans in, real slowly and puts
his hand up on my shoulder.
If he were a guy in a movie he'd be about to kiss the girl so I lean
over a little bit towards him and he knows I'm putting up with it, so he
put his lips against mine. They are cool from the ice in the ginseng drink
and warm and he parts them. We kiss.
"What do you want me to do, Gilles?" says Jeff.
"I dunno," I say. "You're seducing me, right?"
"Right," he agrees, "But I don't know what you'd like."
I grimaced. I am that nervous I don't have the words to say it. I
don't really think I'd like anything, but then there is my hard on. I have
a stubby stiffie in my pocket swelling up hard as I could need. There is
half of me thinking right, this is quite enough of this, stop it now, and
another half of me thinking I'm alright, I'm with Jeff.
"How about you show me your meat?" he says.
For that I have to get up and move the dog off my lap, so I do that,
but Jinks doesn't mind. He just lays down on the rug in front of the TV and
watches us. I un-zipper and get my porky little cock out and show Jeff.
Jeff doesn't say it is runty looking. He reaches out his fingers and
gives my meat a bit of a stroke and I sigh and spread my thighs a bit. He
rubs me. "You're pretty nervous," he says.
"I've done it before." I deny being nervous, but of course I haven't
actually done what we are doing. "Something like this before," I amend.
So he moves in beside me until the warm length of him is pressed all
along my side and he rubs on my cock. I didn't mind so much when he kisses
me but mostly I am not into that. I like it when he rubs on me. He tells me
to pull my pants down to my knees so it is easier to get a grip on my prick
and I do that. He opens his pants up too. He has a great cock, tall and
long and circumcised so there is none of that wrinkly skin on it to peel
back. Of course my skin is peeled back now with my hard on straining
upwards so he doesn't have to deal with it and anyway it doesn't seem to
bother him. To a gay guy, a cock is just another cock, right? They gotta
like them all, I figure. So anyway I let him jerk me and I jerk me a bit
and then he has his cock out of his pants and he was using one hand on me
and one hand on himself.
I come with a groan and a sigh. He keeps rubbing his own self really
hard but it takes him quite a few minutes more than me. By then my prick is
getting limp and I think it might gross him out getting all the skin back
so I push it back into my pants still slimy. Jinks watches us through out
all this not bothered at all. Jeff shoots and wipes and tucks himself away
about six minutes after I am done.
"That wasn't so bad," I say when he is tucked back in, but my voice
comes out a croak.
"That was kind of fun," he say.
I look down. "I guess we better go," I say.
"If you want to," he says. So I leave.
That is my first time doing anything voluntary other than just
kissing a girl, with anybody. It isn't so monumental. Anyway it doesn't
leave me feeling weirded out or overwhelmed or nothing. I jerk off
sometimes and this is pretty much the same as that. And besides when I see
Jeff at work he is just the same as he ever is.
But a few days after that he asks me if he wants me to drop by my
place with the specs for a job we will be doing, or if maybe I would like
to come by his place. "And if I'm coming over to your place I can bring
some take out."
"Sure," I say.
"Which?" he says.
"Either," I say.
He decides he is coming to my place. That is fine. I look around my
apartment. No pictures of buff Finnish leather boys, just lots of models
of war planes and things. Jeff is there about forty-five minutes after I
have got home from work, which means just five minutes after I have gotten
back from walking Jinks. He has brought an array of Mexican and he spreads
it out on my kitchen table and we dive in. But of course I am looking at
him and he is looking at me. So when he has finished the last bit of hot
sauce he licks his fingers and looks at me and he says, "Want to jerk each
other off again?"
"Sure," I say.
We retire to my bedroom and he begins to peel my clothes off. I am
not sure I like that. He is so much in control. And I am not sure I would
like to rip all his clothes off, but I think to myself, I trust this guy,
this is alright, I trust this guy, so soon he gets me undressed completely
and he is running his hands all over me. But he is completely dressed. He
cups my ass and he cups my balls and he jerks my cock slowly and runs his
hands over my pecs and my back. It all feels good, so I try to get into the
sensations of it, which is working as I have a pretty good hard on sticking
up.
He likes that and pulls me so that I am backing up into him up
against his hard canvas work pants and his work shirt, the buttons all down
my spine and his belt buckle at my waist and the lump at his crotch into my
bare butt. It actually feels real good, enough that I wriggle some in his
grasp to get more sensation.
So then he turns me around onto my back and comes down on top of me
and says, "I'm gonna suck you!"
That is what gay guys like so I know he means it; it's what he wants
to do. I lie back on the bed and groan. He takes my stubby dick into his
mouth and sucks on it like he's a hungry kid and it is a lollipop. He runs
his tongue up and down on my dick and then sucks and he varies that between
sucking and licking and then bobbing up and down. Pretty soon I am saying,
"Oh fuck... oh fuck... oh fuck, Jesus, Jeff, it feels good. Oh fuck..." and
I see him. He is grinning over my cock. While he is sucking he has wrestled
his own pants down to his knees and his tall red cock is sticking out of
his shirt tails. I am completely turned on and mind blown even more when he
sucks me so hard that I start to cum. He takes my load into his mouth and
sucks every drop out of me.
Afterwards I am damp with sweat, sand-bagged lying back and he is
kneeling over me with his erection still unsatisfied. I struggle to sit up
and I look at his dick.
Oh. I had my turn and now I suppose it is his turn. I think about
it. He didn't just jerk me even though he said that is all we were going to
do.
"Do you want to fuck my butt?" I ask slowly.
It's his turn to look real surprised. His eye brows go right up.
"I'm not a fucking virgin," I say.
"Well, alright," Jeff replies slowly. "I love ass fucking guys. I
just thought you'd maybe feel more comfortable with a hand job or sucking
me or something."
"There's no way I'm sucking you off," I say. "It makes me puke. But
you can choose which you like, fucking my butt or me using my hand on you."
"Let's try your ass, if you're willing," he says, and then he starts
feeling over me, rubbing his hands on my ass. I know, even if it is
monstrously bad and uncomfortable and painful there is no way it will be as
bad as when I lost my cherry with my ass cheeks whipped to oozing
blood. And I am right. First of all Jeff begins with a bit of finger work
and a lot of KY jelly. I'm not too uncomfortable with that.
But Jeff says, "You sure you're up to this? You seem pretty tight
assed to me."
"If you wanta you can try," I say. I hesitate. "I didn't like it too
much the last time I got ass fucked. Maybe you can do a better job of it
than the last guy did."
I think maybe Jeff takes that as a challenge because he starts
really working at my ass, massaging the cheeks of it and playing with my
balls and working his finger carefully and then his two fingers. And by and
by I brace with my head down and my ass up and again it's not so bad. It
hurts like fuck, nothing like when I got my ass raped, but he gets it
inside and rocks in me slow and careful. Jeff is breathing deep like the
sensations are real good.
"Fuck man, are you ever tight," he says. And a few minutes after
that but before the pain is bad enough to make me start struggling, he
comes inside me.
It's over, I think. Thank God. So he pulls out of me. I get out of
the undignified position and he fusses with the condom. It just happens
that I'm still on the bed sitting and he is kneeling so he takes it off
near my face and it comes off into the air right near my mouth and I spring
off the bed like he just belted me. I am remembering the condoms they
squished out between my teeth. I even feel a big gurp of bile come up into
the back of my throat. But I just stand there by the wall and Jeff just
looks at me.
"What?" he says.
Obviously I can't tell him what. I go over to the dog and pat Jinks
and I look at Jeff and I kind of shrug and then I put my pants on.
After that I am kind of Jeff's fucking shadow, waiting for him to
call me and if he doesn't call me for a week or so I call him up and we get
together pretty often. Sometimes we jerk each other and sometimes he fucks
my butt or he sucks me. I get better at having my butt fucked. It gets
almost good sometimes when the guy gets the right angle so he is bumping it
into my prostate, but it never gets really good, if you see what I
mean. What I like most is when he takes my clothes off and handles me,
before he puts his dick inside.
And Jeff kinda is the man in the relationship. Like, not only does
he call me and I wait around for the call, but when we get together I wait
for him to start things, to decide if this time we are just going to j/o or
if he wants to get his hands on me. I notice that, that Jeff is the one
taking the lead. He likes to get me out of my clothes and him still have
his clothes on and he likes to look at me, stand over the bed when I'm
stretched out not wearing nothing. But he is never rough or pushy and any
time I flinch a bit he just stays still to wait and see how far I'm going
to back off. So I have to admit I am really getting attached to Jeff and to
the cock sucking he does for me.
"You don't never cock suck, do you?" he asks me one time when I am
lying on his bed. I feel guilty because I know how good it feels and I
never do that for him. But I mean, I don't ask him to suck my cock
neither. It just happens when he does it which isn't too often. Mostly I
jerk myself off with him watching me and playing with his own prick. I
never suck his cock.
"My cock grosses you out?" he says. I can tell he wants it.
"I've got an overactive gag reflex," I tell him.
"Well, how about you get on your knees here and rub it?"
I get off the bed, kneeling on his round brown and green carpet
while he unzips. Now I can tell how submissive that is, me naked and
kneeling for him, and him standing there with just his hard on jutting
out. But I don't mind so much because he not making me do it. It's just
something I'm doing because it turns him on. In my head I am convinced that
if I stand up and say it's not happening Jeff will let me walk out of his
apartment.
So for awhile I jerk his cock for him while he stands there with his
legs spread and him looking down his chin at me. "Touch it," he says.
My both hands are pretty busy at that point so I look up at him to
see what he means.
"Can you touch it with your nose?"
"With my nose?" I repeat. I guess I can do that. I lean in and pull
the smooth round head of the thing forward so that I touch his dick to the
bridge of my nose. I hear him breath. It's not like a nose is an erotic
thing or my nose is sexy at all, but there's something about the intimacy
of that which Jeff likes. I can smell him as clear as clear.
"Do it some more," he says.
So by and by I am touching his prick to my nose and my cheeks, and
kind of rolling it around on my face, but to my lips never, and my lips are
tight. Jeff is breathing pretty heavy. He says, "Good boy."
I drop his prick and scowl. "I'm not a boy. Jinks is a good
boy. Don't talk to me like I'm your dog."
Jeff pauses. He's grinning at me. Clearly he must like talking down
to me because right away he asks, "How about I call you soldier and bark
out a bunch of orders here?"
It's a dominance thing. Jeff really likes being a boss to me
somehow, for him that's a real turn on. I'd say that was a stupid game but
then again, there's a part of me likes to kneel down for him, and likes to
wait for him. I like knowing I'm going to get my cock sucked but not when
and I like the way he postpones it for me, makes me bring him off first. I
like it when he controls me. I just don't like it when he takes me
someplace I'm not ready to go and being called 'boy' like Big Bald called
me boy. I am not ready for.
"Aww..." I say, "Look, I'm not calling you Sir. You can be Master,
but you can't be Sir."
He laughs. "You fucking topping from the bottom?" he says.
I'm not a hundred percent sure what that expression means, but I
shake my head. "If I got to call you Sir or let you call me Boy I am
walking right out of here," I say.
He gets an odd kind of an expression and puts his hand on my
head. "Gilles," he says. "You mean you'd like to call me Master?" It's not
a sneer kind of an expression. It's a kind of a wry look half amused and
half sad.
"Sure," I say. "That turns you on, doesn't it?"
"Yeah." His fingers are soft in my hair.
"Okay, I'll be Igor and you can be the master," I say, and I rub
his prick on my cheek again.
"It's not a game, Gilles," he says seriously.
"You want to be my master or don't you?" I ask.
He doesn't say he doesn't. He just looks at me kind of crookedly
and I go back to rubbing his prick against my face and cranking it up and
down smoothly. So he lets me do that for him. By and by I am rubbing him
real hard and fast and I put some spit quick on my hand to keep it going
smoothly. And then when he cums I point it away from me and I catch it in a
bit of rag to clean it up.
Afterwards he gets me to lie out on his bed and I jerk off while he
watches me doing it. He tells me to pinch my tits while I am rubbing my
cock and to make pelvic thrusts, not just to rub my hand on it. His eyes
follow me closely while I do it. I cum pretty good, it's a big wet one and
I feel great.
"You know," says Jeff. "I think you're a born bottom. You're such a
natural submissive you even do part of the talk without knowing anything
about it."
"I'm not stupid," I say. "I've heard about some of it."
"What do you know?" he asks.
I hesitate. "Well, it's kind of sick thing. Guys that want to wear
leather and beat up on each other. Like I'd take..." I hesitate. "Amyl
nitrate and I'd let you whip me until there was blood all over my butt. And
you'd have piercings, lots of piercings. But I'm not like that at all. Pain
turns me off completely."
"Why do you think it's sick?" he says.
"I dunno," I say with a shrug. "I can't get into it. I don't like
pain."
"But you like me telling you what to do here."
"Not like that." I said. "You don't fuck me up."
The more often Jeff I get together for sex the more of a lead he
takes. Pretty soon he's making me wait for it. We get together after work
in his apartment and then he tells me take all my clothes off and if I
don't have a hard on as soon as I do that, he gets me to work it up until I
do have one. But I normally do have a hard on and he tells me to stroke it,
just enough strokes that I'm real eager, and then he tells me to stop. He
likes me to go around in his apartment with my hard-on sticking out. He
makes me wear only my work boots and my heavy canvas jacket, the one I wear
on the work site. When I wear that my butt and my cock are all bare.
I remember the picture of the Finnish guy on his wall pretty quick
and make the parallel. See, I'm dressed almost the same as Tom is, just
boots and a bit more. Only Tom is wearing leather and I'm wearing my work
stuff, so I don't mind it. The leather would just creep me out. Truth is
wearing only my boots and jacket for Jeff creeps me out a little bit too
but I also like it. This is because I know Jeff likes it and because I know
once he gets me to peel all my clothes off I am going to get my butt fucked
and then he is going to let me cum.
So I spend the whole evening just in boots and jacket and maybe
Jeff gets me to lie down belly over his hassock, this leather ottoman thing
he has, and he strokes on my butt and my balls while we watch the movie. Of
course when he does that I don't pay much attention to the movie. He keeps
playing away with me, hardly touching my cock at all, enough that I am
hard, hard. He makes me wait until the whole movie is over.
And then he wants me to worship his cock, which is the part I am
not good at, but getting better. I do a hand job on him and I rub his cock
against my nose and my cheeks and sniff that funky sweat smell. He makes me
beg him to put it in my butt. "Are you going to fuck me soon? I want you to
put it up my butt. Yeah, I do. I want you fucking my ass soon. You're the
master, you decide. But I want it soon."
I even kiss him on the cock. I don't mind kissing his balls -in
fact that feels kind of silly, so I want to chuckle about it when I do
that, but I don't like kissing him on the cock. I do that because Jeff
tells me to, and I trust Jeff. If he were going to put it into my mouth I'd
fight it. I wouldn't do that. I'd try and punch him to make him stop
it. But he never goes so far that I have to fight him to get away. Instead
I get to feel real good.
Since he gets me ready first, ready so I am dying for it, it feels
really good to be fucked in the butt. Now, the porn movies make out that a
guy getting fucked in the but feels like he's in heaven, it's going to make
him cream and he can't help cumming from being fucked in the butt. It's not
like that with me. The truth is it feels kind of comfortable, once I get
used to it, and my prostate prickles in a good sort of way, but it doesn't
get better than real comfortable. I feel like Jeff is so much bigger than
me when he is on top of me like that. I feel like he is a ceiling, some
kind of a shield on top of me so that I'd be safe if the real ceiling fell
in on me. He hooks his two hands on the top of my shoulders and I tilt my
ass back and up for him and I just relax and let it stroke in and out of
me, solid strong cock sliding in and out and fucking me good.
Then towards the end of the evening when I know I have to go home
to Jinks, have to go home to him soon before he ends up whining at the back
door for me to come home, at that point Jeff finally says that I can have
my own orgasm. He lets me beat my meat, kneeling at his feet and him
showing me his cock. Or he lets me beat it kneeling down when he stands
behind me and I know his cock is at the level of the back of my head and
maybe he puts his knee on my bare back and makes me lean a bit forwards
while I stroke it. "Alright, Gilles, You can cum now; you've been
good. Yeah, you can have it."
Of course, I know what a sorry excuse for a real man that makes me,
wanting to wait for my cum until he says so. It's pretty pathetic really,
being such a loser and a wimp that I want to wait until another guy says I
can cum. But it feels really good when I do that and the thing is, it is
Jeff telling me if and when I get to cum. And I trust him. I really trust
him, like with my life.
In fact, Jeff doesn't always want to see me. It's only maybe two or
at most three times a week that he comes over to my place or calls me and
tells me to come over to his place and get fucked. So I save my cum up for
those times and I don't do it to myself when he's not there, not giving me
permission to do it.
I'd like to get my electrician's certificate but I don't have
time. I am working so much, and a lot of overtime. Of course I have to pay
the vet bills for Jinks which are kind of shocking, being so high, but I
paid for all of them with my savings and I save up some more. I'm socking
away a prodigious amount of money because once the vet bills are paid I
don't buy nearly anything.
Everything is going just swimmingly, I have a happy and restful
life, I feel like I am being pretty successful and my sex life is working
out so that I have a lot of great times, when one day Jeff says to me, "I'd
like you to learn to cock suck."
We are lying out on my bed after I finally got to cum and it is
late one night and the only light in the room is the blue from the TV
screen after the movie has stopped. I am so comfortable I am almost
asleep. But then he says what he says.
For a few seconds I say nothing, and then I give a great sigh and
role over on my side. "You know I can't do that," I say. "You mean I've got
to learn it?"
"You got to learn it for me now," says Jeff. "It's time for you to
suck my prick."
Now I know he's been real patient with me, and letting me go slow
and learn everything. And he's experimented with me to see that I find out
what I really like. So I know he means not this very minute, he isn't
demanding I give him a blow job. He means that somehow, over the next few
days or maybe even weeks he means to cock train me. So I say,
"Alright. It's over."
That was maybe not the response he was expecting. I sit up and he
is looking at me. But he knows I mean what I say and maybe he can see how
much it hurts me to say it from the look on my face, because he just looks
at me for a little while and then he goes and puts his clothes on and goes
away.
I find out within a couple of days of him going that beating my
meat by myself on my own time doesn't feel so good anymore. It's not nearly
like it was with Jeff. I do it the first time and I say to myself well
maybe I just have to adjust and get used to. But then I hardly want to any
more at all because I miss Jeff so much.
I miss him more because I always see him. Nearly every day at work
we are on jobs together and he doesn't say anything companionable to me. He
doesn't grin. He just looks at me somberly and he turns his face away. I
couldn't do it. I turned him down. I told him that was enough. But I knew
he meant to cock train me, we couldn't have gone on like we were. He took
that possibility away from me. And I can't. I just can't. A couple of times
I think about it, late at night, lonely, trying to fit my mind around how I
am going to live without Jeff. And when I think like that hard enough,
trying to convince myself that I could learn to suck cock, then I have to
get up, quick and I puke to the porcelain god. It's bad for me because
whenever I resolve I will learn, I will go to Jeff and I will learn, then I
find myself having to puke right away.
He could never train me with a gag reflex like that.
It goes on into the end of the fall and into the winter. And then
one day, finally Jeff does come to me and he does talk to me about
something other than the work that he has to talk to me about on the
job. He comes to me and he says, "Kyle died."
I'm so self-absorbed at first I don't know what he means. And then
finally I think after a few beats have gone by, of course, Kyle was the
terminally ill guy, the one whose apartment we renovated together.
"Too bad," I say.
"I'm going to the funeral parlor," says Jeff. "Do you want to
come?"
I mean, I never even met Kyle. I'm sure he doesn't know who I am,
nor the surviving lover, Brennan, I think it was. There is no reason for me
to go to the funeral parlor. I don't know the people at all. But Jeff is
going. And Jeff is asking me to come. The last thing I really want to do
is go to some dismal place like a funeral parlor, see a bunch of people I
don't know and awkwardly tell them I'm sorry. But Jeff has asked me to
come. He is letting me know that I can still have some of his life.
"Alright," I say and my voice is so soft it is like I just croak
the word out. Also, I feel like I am buckling at the knees. I get to see
Jeff. I'm not happy to see Jeff, I'm really, really sad. I want to go away
somewhere by my self but if Jeff is going to let me see him then I am going
to see him the way he says.
He tells me to be waiting out front of my apartment at five thirty
tonight and to be wearing a suit. I have to go home really early and go buy
a suit because I don't have one. First I rush home and shower, then I rush
out to a men's fashion store and I try black suits on. They find one that
fits me but the pants that go with it are too long. So then I wait in the
store while they shorten the trouser legs, which they do for me right on
the spot because I explain I have to go to a funeral right away.
But I am in front of my house, wearing the suit in time when Jeff's
truck comes swinging along. He barely stops. I hop in and then he drives
off with me. I see that he is wearing a suit too which looks not quite
right on him. He looks best of all in his work clothes or maybe even in
that black outfit I saw him wearing that one night long, long ago at the
gym. Because even while I couldn't stand the sight of him wearing the
leather jacket, I know that it looked good on him.
Jeff is maybe angry at me. I feel good about that. I let him down
so he should feel angry at me. It is better than him just looking away from
me. I don't say anything. In fact I concentrate on breathing as softly as I
can so I don't fog up his truck windows because it is getting very cold.
By and by we pull up in front of a white building with pillars and
flood lights on it, looks something like Tara out of Gone with the
Wind. There are a lot of cars in the lot. We go inside and the first thing
I see is a fat woman wearing a tuxedo, with black spots on her nose showing
where she took her piercings out. Then we see a middle aged man in a suit,
he looks kind of normal, and there are a whole throng of people, milling
around and not saying much. There are some of them look a little outr‚, I
mean, flaming gay, when I use that word, like the skinny young man in a
lavender satin shirt. But most of them look like ordinary people. The place
smells of flowers really strongly, that sweet, stiff smell of
carnations. Jeff walks around talking to people, just greeting them and I
follow him lock step.
He hangs around there for about twenty minutes greeting a whole lot
of people, most of them male. I am feeling awkward and I try to distract
myself by figuring out who are the boy's family but I can't because there
is no normal looking middle aged woman and middle aged man with ravaged
faces. I know people are looking at me. There are quite a few guys with
goatees and not nearly any normal looking women so I know the crowd is
mostly if not all gay. Jeff doesn't introduce me to anyone, not anyone that
he greets like acquaintances, but they mostly all look at me after he talks
to them, so I meet their eyes. I'm at my very first gay party. The casket
is a black one with silver handles and it is closed.
Finally Jeff takes me over to meet a guy; there is a kind of a
receiving line. The guy is much older than I expected. I had a vision that
Kyle and Brennan were these two young lovers, but maybe not because it
turns out that Brennan is this exhausted looking man of about sixty. We
shake hands and I tell him, "I'm very sorry for your loss."
It turns out it isn't the funeral, it is just visitation, because
after that Jeff is ready to go, instead of us all going to sit down for a
service. So he leads me out again and it is really cold. I feel my ears
turning pink from the cold before we scrunch through the snow to the bottom
of the parking lot and get into his truck.
It has fogged up white so no one can see through the windows and it
is tomb cold in there. Jeff starts the engine but we are not going anywhere
until the truck warms up. And he says to me, "What did you think?"
"I'm sorry." I say. "Was Kyle a particular friend of yours?"
"Not really," he says coolly. "I know Brennan better. Weren't you
scared to be in a crowd like that? Everyone was gay."
"Yes, I know," I said. "But everybody was there to pay their
respects, and not going to rape me."
Jeff looks at me, and I think most likely he is fed up with me and
wishing he hadn't brought me along. Then he sets down the rules.
"If you're going to be my bottom then you are going to have to meet
my friends."
"Okay," I say.
"And you're going to have to get used to me wearing leather, even
maybe wear some of it yourself to make me happy."
"Okay, but I'm going to look dumb."
"That's for me to decide," he says.
"Yes, Jeff," I agree. He can dress me however he wants to if he
wants to go on seeing me. I'm lonely enough that I don't care about
that. What does it matter if I look ridiculous? I don't mind looking
ridiculous if it turns him on.
Then he takes a little package out of his pocket and gives it to
me. It's the last thing I have to do so I can have sex with him again. It's
a little flat pink and white box with the word "Gravol" printed on it.
I take a little pink pill out of the blister and swallow it. I take
another. When I am swallowing number four Jeff stops me and holds his hand
out. "No more or you'll get a buzz on."
I hand him back the packet. We both sit and watch liquid crescents
of melted frost begin at the bottom of the windshield as the blower thaws
out his windows.
"How is Jinks?"
"He's fine. He's learning to get on better. He can climb up things
now, even steps. He's always climbing up steps by himself," I say.
Then Jeff drives me to his place. We go up inside. I feel out of
place in my suit. I look at the familiar picture of Tom, the familiar
narrow galley kitchen, the flat expanse of the bed where I hope I will be
getting my ass fucked again. Jeff hangs his jacket up and looks at me.
"May I get out of my clothes?"
He gives a nod. Standing there just in his front hall I take off the
new suit jacket and then the trousers and then the rest of my clothes. I
get naked and I go down on my knees for Jeff. He gets a faint twist of a
smile on like he's going to laugh at me.
"I'm really sorry, you know," I say. "If I could do this easily for
you, I would."
"You can do it," he says "You're just being a wimp."
He doesn't just cram his cock into my mouth and work on cumming
himself. The first thing he makes me do is lie down, face down on his
hassock and he rubs me on the ass to give me a real big hard on. Then he
gets me to worship his cock a bit, rubbing it and sniffing it. It almost
feels good to be doing that again, but the back of my throat is
closed. Jeff wants me to tell him what I think of it.
"It feels okay," I say obediently. "I can do this. I want to suck
your cock, Jeff. You can make me suck your cock."
"Are you scared, Gilles?"
"No, Jeff. I'm not scared of you."
I say I can do it, but what I am thinking is that he should have a
basin ready and some paper towel. I'm thinking maybe it will work, that it
should work. But I'm also thinking no way in heaven is it going to work
because my throat is tight. And my hard-on flags a bit on me too, so Jeff
goes back to turning me on.
He makes me lie down on his bed face down for awhile and he humps my
butt. "Were you scared the first time I fucked your ass, Gilles?"
"Yes, I was scared."
"But you like it now, don't you? You'd like me to fuck your ass,
wouldn't you?"
"Yes, Jeff."
"Say it."
"I'd like you to fuck my ass," I say. "Please."
Finally when he figures I am ready he gets me to open my
mouth. First he gets me to kiss his cock and then he gets me to open my
mouth. I take his cock inside on my lips and the tip of my tongue. The
front of his glans is resting in my mouth. He doesn't push it roughly all
the way back. He just lets me take the glans into my lips.
"What does it taste like, Gilles?"
I look at him sideways over the mouthful of cock and I say, "It
tastes okay, Jeff." Only I don't take it out of my mouth to say it, so
what I say is "Ih ay-oh-ay, ehh." He can tell what I am trying to say and
he laughs.
He puts his two hands on the back of my head holding me so that his
prick stays in my mouth. "Run your tongue around on me, Gilles."
I do that. I taste more salt. He hasn't showered in at least a
couple of hours and there is some crotch taste once I start licking it.
"I'm going to move it, Gilles," he tells me. "Keep your head steady
while I move it."
He gives a stroke and his cock slides across my tongue.
So we go on like this, with him telling me instructions and me doing
what he tells me to. His cock is going slowly in and out and I am using my
lips and my tongue and sucking. He tells me to swallow when he thrusts in
towards the back of my mouth and I do that. I get used to swallowing every
time he does a deeper stroke. He is doing it really slow and patiently with
me. I am kind of tense, in fact I am real tense, although he is going
slowly like that. It is really the hands clamping down on the back of my
head not the cock probing into the back of my gullet. I haven't gagged
yet. I have my eyes steady on his bush because I can't see his face.
Oh, Good, I think. I'm not going to puke. It's just like he said and
it must be the Gravol helping.
So then when he sees that I can take it slow he starts to speed up
his stroke a bit. I suck and I swirl my tongue around on him and I wrap my
lips tight so that I can feel his tight skin moving on his cock. He goes
faster and faster and deeper and deeper.
He's not going to cum in my mouth, I think. He'll take it out before
he cums. But I am starting to get alarmed wondering if really he is going
to squirt it in my throat. And I am getting tenser the faster he goes.
He can feel me getting tense, but he doesn't let up. He keeps his
hands firmly clamped holding my head steady and thrusts his dick faster and
faster. "Keep swallowing, Gilles, he says, and he is a little bit out of
breath. "Swallow it, swallow it..."
And then he says, "Take it, boy," which is when I panic. I don't
just panic. I try to get it out of my throat. But his hands are clamping
the back of his head so it is just a few split seconds before he can
release me and in that time I scream and I gag hard and I bite.
I feel the sensation of my teeth clamping down hard on his stiff
prick; feel my front teeth setting in deep into the solid flesh. He lets
his hands go, I pull my head back and Jeff gets his cock out of my
mouth. For a wonder I don't spew but I do yowl like dog that's been kicked
and go scuttling backwards on all fours across the floor.
"Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck away from me!" I strangle
hard, gagging so hard I can't breathe. There is bright red blood on Jeff's
cock and he is giving grunt, an exhalation like he's taken a body blow.
He leaves me coughing and snarling on the floor while he goes into
the next room, and I hear him making a sound of pain. I stop snarling and
cough some more and then I say, real softly, "Jeff? Jeff?"
Jeff has gone into the bathroom. I realize he has his dick in the
sink and is washing it. He seems to be washing it vigorously not carefully
and not gently the way you would wash your dick, especially if it was
injured.
I go and get my clothes and climb into them. I am listening hard to
the rushing water in the sink and hoping that something can undo what I
just did but all Jeff is doing is ignoring me and doing first aid. All I
have is the brand new suit to climb into, so I climb into it and then I go
to the bathroom doorway.
"I'm really sorry," I say to Jeff. There is no blood in the sink at
least, only soapsuds.
I go home, walking without noticing the cold.
The next day I think about if I should go into work or not. If I go
to work I have to see Jeff, and seeing Jeff is not what I want to do right
then. So I fail to show up in the morning, and instead I make up some
resumes and take them around to a couple of different construction
companies. But while I am doing this I realize I really do want to see Jeff
again. I might just as well see him even if we are not friends anymore
after what I did. Clearly I can never suck his cock and clearly he is not
going to be very happy with me after I bit him. But it still doesn't mean I
can't go on working at the same place and anyway, I need to say I am sorry
to him some more.
So I go to work in the afternoon and for a wonder Jeff is there. He
has not taken the day off sick, which I would have had to do if someone had
nearly bitten my cock off. Instead he is standing there with his hips held
kind of still and stiff and holding a clipboard, walking around slowly but
showing nothing if you don't know what to look at. When he sees me he
gives me a nod. He doesn't ask me where I've been. He asks me to get to
work on sealing the vents around the heating ducts as quick as I can
because the job site is cold and we all want the heat on.
It's evening before the work is done, five o'clock and dark because
it is the winter and Jeff comes around and beckons to me. I follow him out
the door.
"You want to come around tonight?"
I look at him stupefied.
"I don't mean for a fuck," he says coolly. "I shan't be fucking
anything for a day or two. But it's customary to hold a post mortem when a
scene goes wrong."
"I'm really sorry I did that, Jeff," I say humbly. Apparently he is
still willing to hang out with the loser with the gimp dog.
"That's alright, I'm sorry too," he says. "Come around six thirty
and we'll watch a movie and I'll have some Mexican take out."
I'm there at the right time, thinking what can I do to make it up to
Jeff. I'm thinking perhaps he might want to whip me as a punishment, which
would be fair, so maybe I could offer that and if he whips me I am damn
sure I would lie there and take it and still tell him how sorry I am at the
end of it. It's not just that I bit him, but rather that I woosed out and
panicked completely like a weenie. I have no excuse for panicking.
But Jeff takes it rather differently. When I start by apologizing we
get into our post mortem conversation right away instead of waiting until
after the movie. He tells me that it is his fault.
"Your fault?" I echo in disbelief.
"My fault," he repeats. "I was trying to expand your limits. You
told me you were not ready for sucking cock and I put pressure on you to be
ready before you really were ready. You were only saying you would do it
because I told you, you had to say it. I was pushing you too hard."
"I'm really sorry I did that."
"Did you think you were strangling? I was being careful you could
breathe through your nose."
"No, I..." I stammer. "I thought you were going to hurt me, Jeff."
"But you trust me," he says. "In fact you trust me too much. You
went with my judgment when your own told you, you couldn't handle it. What
is it about cock-sucking that scares you so bad?"
"I guess we can't ever do that again," I say.
"No." He surprises me. "As soon as we both feel up to getting it
hard together we are going to try it again, but much more slowly. I thought
it was just your gag reflex. I didn't realize you were also afraid."
I think it is a completely bad idea, but I can't say no to him
either, so instead we watch the movie. It is a French movie, and with
subtitles, a little bit above my level, but I think Jeff enjoys it. And
while we watch it he gets me to lean back against his chest and links his
arm around me. "Next time you come bring Jinks so he can watch the movie
with us."
Life is back to being wonderfully good again. I take Jinks with me
to visit Jeff. I take Jinks to an indoor dog walking ring at the mall. I go
to work every day and work on carpentry and pipe fitting. And a couple of
times a week Jeff lets me masturbate on my knees after he has finished
fucking my butt.
Of course he hasn't given up on his project of cock training me. But
now he doesn't clamp my head to hold it steady and he just gives me short
commands. "Kiss it again, Gilles," or "Lick me and get it wet so I can fuck
you." Sometimes he tells me to take his prick in my mouth and sometimes he
tells me to lick it. There is a black scar, the imprint of my four teeth on
the top of his cock just at the base. I can see it when he has a hard
on. There is also another scar on the bottom of his cock but I only see
that if he lies on his back and lets me play with his prick that way.
I'm always able to woos out when we do this, he lets me time it and
force myself to do it, not forcing me himself. And it isn't too hard to
force myself to lick his cock a little bit. For one thing I feel so guilty
about biting him, I hope that I am making good feelings for him to feel
better about it.
He also makes me go out with him. First he gets me to dress casual
and takes me out to meet a couple of friends of his. We go to their house
for coffee. Daniel and Corey are both gay, although they don't have the
picture of Tom or anything else in their apartment to show it. Mostly
Daniel talks to Jeff and they talk about pick-up trucks and when we are
leaving Daniel thumps Jeff on the shoulder so that I can see he likes Jeff
and admires him very much.
"What did you think?" asks Jeff.
"Yes, they were gay and it didn't scare me too much," I say.
I get to meet more of his friends and Daniel and Corey again after a
fortnight until one slushy spring day he sends me to go to the hardware
with Corey to show him what to buy to fix a leaky sink tap. I end up going
back to their apartment and walking Corey through the whole procedure so
that he fixes it himself, replacing the tap unit. I feel the short hairs
prickle on me creepily when I am alone in their apartment without Jeff, but
of course they don't rape me or force me to suck their cocks. Corey
accidentally gives himself a milk moustache when he is starting his lunch
just when I am leaving. There couldn't be anything more innocuous than
that.
"What do you think of Daniel and Corey?"
"They seem like okay guys."
"What would you think about a foursome?"
I give Jeff such a look of horror that he gives a shout of
laughter. "It's alright, Gilles. I was trying one on."
Finally we go to a gay dance one night at the University Student
Union. It is a fund raiser with a twenty dollar cover charge. Jeff comes
over to my house and puts me into a pair of rather tight jeans and a rather
tight t-shirt which hasn't fitted me so well since I gained an inch and a
quarter on my biceps. He picks what I have to wear. He is wearing his own
leather clothes which I've seen before, only this time there are leather
pants instead of black jeans.
It is already midnight and Jinks bites off a big yawn before
settling down on his mat by the door. You can tell that he is surprised
that we are going out so late, and it is so late he is sleepy and doesn't
mind not getting to go with me.
The dance is very loud. They have orange spotlights going up the
back walls and Jeff is one of only a few wearing leather. Once again I stay
lock step close to Jeff. "I should have put you in a collar," he shouts at
me over the din. "Then nobody would hit on you because they'd know you're
my property." I think he is probably joking again.
But we have a beer each and then we want to dance. Jeff tells me
so. I get up on the dance floor all awkward. I just stand there and kind of
stamp one foot and then the other, jigging and trying to stay on the
beat. Jeff thinks this is funny, or else he finds the music exhilarating
because he grins at me. He also keeps yelling greetings at other people who
yell greetings back. We dance. I like dancing. I feel like a fool but I am
not the worst dancer there. There are some people drunk and they are
dancing really badly. Besides, nobody is looking at me. They look at each
other, or at Jeff who dances calmly and confidently, almost automatically
moving to the music as if he doesn't notice that his body has started
going.
By and by I see that some of the dancers have started freaking, and
then Jeff does that to me too. He comes up behind me and gets in position
like he is going to fuck my butt standing and he humps me hard. I can feel
the lump he has there so I am lifting my ass, tilting it back a bit while I
move in time to the music. He brings his hands around in front and pinches
my nipples through my t-shirt so they stand up. And all the time the music
is pounding really loud with sometimes spot lights moving through the
crowd. I hear some guys whistling hard when the spotlight passes over the
two of us.
Then we go and sit down again and get another beer. Jeff throws his
arm casually over my shoulder and a man comes along, with his sweating
shiny chest visible through his leather vest. This guy has probably been
dancing since he is panting, but he says to Jeff, "This your new boy you're
training?"
I think Jeff must have given a nod behind me. Anyway, I think I
blush although it might be the flush from the alcohol, since as I mentioned
I really don't do any drinking to speak of.
"He's a cute little fireplug," says the guy, "Build short and
solid. Are you working him out?"
"He works out himself," says Jeff. "I don't supervise too much."
The guy is gone a couple of minutes later, but it is clear he knows
home much of a bottom I am to Jeff. I turn around sharply. "I'm your boy?"
I say.
But Jeff just nods. "That's what he calls it. You and I don't use
that word."
I am too fussy, I think. I must make Jeff frustrated, all the time
topping from the bottom. I am a rotten bottom. Whatever we do I keep having
my own agenda and imposing it on him. I should be more grateful because of
all the time he spends on me.
But Jeff gives my shoulder a rub and then we hang out and listen to
the music for awhile before we leave, a round about two a.m. We go to
Jeff's place and he strips my clothing off, peeling them off me himself. I
mouth on his prick and lap at it without taking it more than two or three
inches into my mouth and then he fucks me up the butt, face down on his
bed. After it is nearly three in the morning and I fall asleep before I can
get up and find my clothes.
I wake up to find myself lying in Jeff's arms, with his me nestled
up against him, back to him. Just like I was his boyfriend, I think. I look
up at the window, it's about six a.m. and getting light out and Jeff is
sound asleep hugging me. I have to get home to give Jinks his walk.
Just like a boyfriend, the thought goes through me. I'm almost his
boyfriend. I'm such a bad bottom I'm more like we're a couple than that
he's like my top. And does Jeff mind that? I mean, would he be almost as
happy with a boyfriend as with a bottom?
It doesn't matter. I am being the best bottom that I can be. I
wriggle out of his arms and leave him sleeping and go home to Jinks.
"Are you a top?" I say to Jeff. I say it at work when we are out of
earshot of the other guys.
He just grins. "Yeah, I'm a top."
"I mean, are you like, really into the dominance and submission
thing? Do you have any other bottoms than me?"
He looks at me more thoughtful now. "Not at the moment, I don't. I
have had before."
"What happened to your other bottoms?"
"Well, one of them moved to Boston so he could take a post graduate
course," he pauses. "And there was another one of them got a bit too bitchy
for me so I send him packing. He was kind of a mistake."
"Do you do the topping thing seriously?" I say. "I mean, do you have
a lot of leather friends and guys know that you top, other tops know you're
a master the same like they are?"
"I suppose so," he says.
"Who else do you know that's a top?"
"Fuck, dozens of guys top, more or less seriously," he says.
"Who do you know that's serious?" I press.
"I dunno," he says. He doesn't know what I am driving at so he looks
at me a bit uncertainly. Hell, I don't know what I am driving at or what I
am asking.
"There's Eddie Morales, and Richard Robinson, and Wolf the Tracker,
and... Peter Albright..." he gives a shrug.
"You know a guy named Chet?" I demand.
"Chet?" he says. "Charles Saul?" Someone starts up hammering then so
I can hardly hear the name.
"A big bald guy," I continue. "Has a couple of other leather jacket
guys that call him Daddy and Sir?"
"Yeah, that would be him, I guess," says Jeff.
"Fuck," I say and turn away.
Jeff and I are out walking Jinks in the park, down by Reunion Lake
when he asks me, "So how do you know Chet Saul?"
"He's the only other guy I had experience with," I say.
"And it wasn't good, huh?" Jeff raises an eyebrow. "He went a bit
farther on you than you were ready to take?"
I nod.
"Chet's not my idea of safe sex," says Jeff. "Maybe he wasn't a good
guy to start out with."
I nod again. "You're telling me."
He looks at me speculatively, but he doesn't say anymore.
We take Jinks back to Jeff's place and instead of ordering in, he
fries sausages at a high heat with lots of smoking in the pan. I sit on the
bar stool in his kitchen and tear up lettuce. Jeff wants to eat
nutritiously so we are having a side salad. He stands and stirs the
sausages with a spatula so they won't burn.
"Tonight I want you to try sucking my cock again," Jeff says. "What
do you think about that?"
"We can try," I say.
"I'm going to pull out if I start to cum," he says. "I'll cum in my
handkerchief."
"I don't mind if you cum on my face," I say.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," I say.
So we try it. We get pretty nearly through it this time. We are
getting really close. This time he is rocking back and forth and I am
controlling the stroke and there had only been a couple of gulps out of me,
and I know he is almost there. But then I get scared he will grab my head
again, so I slow down the stroke and ease back. Jeff takes over right away
whipping on his dick, stroking it hard, while I stay with my mouth near the
little lips of his red and swollen cock. I stick my tongue out and lick
him. He shoots on me, on my cheek because he turns his cock to one
side. The white goop dribbles down my cheek and I touch it with my
fingers. I take it onto my two fingers and touch that to my lips,
swallowing and get it down. It isn't bad really, just kind of salty, the
same kind of flavor as my own.
One time Jeff and I sit on his couch, he's sitting behind me and I'm
sitting in front of him. And he hooks his arms around my chest under my
arms and back up behind my neck. He holds me like this so we are pressed
together and he rocks a bit side to side making me rock a bit with him. He
is not butt fucking me or pretending to butt fuck me, in fact I don't think
he has a hard on even. But we are pressed very tight and he is holding me
very tight making me move when he moves. Don't ever let go I think. It
feels really good. Don't ever let go, don't ever let go.
But he does let me go, he changes his grip on me and rolls me over
so I am lying on my back over his leg and he bends down and kisses me. Now
I am not a one for kissing, but that one spontaneous kiss, that doesn't
mean anything, that kiss is important to me.
One night Jeff and I go out. We don't go anywhere special, just to
the Student Union building at the university where they held the
dance. They are not holding a dance there tonight. It is an envelope
stuffing session, because they are mailing out thousands of flyers for the
gay positive candidate, the one who is backing the same sex marriage bill.
Frankly the way people get divorced all the time nowadays, I don't see the
point of getting married, gay or straight. But this is another thing that
Jeff supports. He is very political and has been telling me that I will
have to march in the gay pride parade with him. So supporting the gay
positive candidate is no big deal. If Jeff says stuff envelopes I am going
to stuff envelopes.
It is a busy evening and a busy place with lots of people going back
and forth and all these bony women in crew cuts ripping open boxes of
fliers and handing out fliers and envelopes. It is faster if one person
folds fliers and one person stuffs envelopes and one person seals envelopes
so we do it that way. I fold flyers. We sit on folding metal chairs at
folding tables while throngs of people edge behind us with the boxes of
stuffed envelopes and there is free coffee.
After a couple of hours Jeff says he is ready to call it a night,
although it is early and I am happy with that because it means we are going
back to collect Jinks and give him his walk and then we are going over to
Jeff's place where I will get to have my ass fucked. We don't make a big
deal about leaving. We go down onto the sidewalk.
By now it is dark and the streetlights are making everything quite
bright but with that bluish light they have. And we walk along until I
notice there are four guys in leather jackets coming along the street
toward us. I don't say nothing. Jeff notices my steps slow right down.
He looks back at me encouragingly and then he looks forward and sees
who it is, so he says, "Hi, Chet."
Big Bald Chet looks at him -he's taller than Jeff although Jeff is
not short. But he kind of looks down at him, and he says, "That your boy
you asked me about, Jeff?" He shakes his head. "I don't remember him at
all."
Big Bald may not recognize me at all, but of course I do remember
him. First I feel kind of woozy, light-headed. That's just for an instant
when I think I'm about to buckle at the knees or bawl or something like
that. But the other thing I feel is rage and that kind of feels like I've
been dumped into a hot shower. There is this wave of heat comes into my
head. No, I'm not light headed at all. I've brought my hands up and they're
clenched. My head is red hot and pumping with blood.
"Easy, Gilles," says Jeff.
Maybe it is true that Big Bald doesn't recognize me. He stands there
with a smirk on his mouth and his boys stand there with him looking like
they think I'm a big joke. Every one of them has at least part of a smile
on.
My rage is burning. "They raped me!" I say, hot with frustrated
fury. Not so frustrated. I don't care that it's their four against our
two. I think I am about to try to kill Big Bald maybe.
"Raped you, Gilles?" says Jeff.
"He fucking took my cherry. They robbed my wallet and whipped me and
raped me."
"You did it to him without his consent?" says Jeff.
"He don't need to give consent," says Chet. "He's a sub and he's
asking for it. Get back in the gutter, little boy. You need to learn a
lesson. Don't you know how to keep your subs in line, Jeff?"
Which is when Jeff strides three steps forward and plants his fist
in Chet's face. Chet falls over backwards. There is only the one
punch. Chet makes a whimpering kind of noise; same like Jinks makes when he
gets hurt, like he made the first few times when he forgot his back leg was
broken and tried to put weight on it to run.
The three boys just stand there. They don't even bring their fists
up. They are all startled I suppose. Mostly they look at Big Bald and they
looked shocked.
"Come with me, Gilles." Jeff has his teeth clenched. He takes me by
the sleeve and I follow him. We go back down the sidewalk again, back the
way we came. I am breathing like I just had a big fight. I look back behind
me. I am almost bewildered. All I can see is Big Bald Chet sitting on the
sidewalk holding his face.
Jeff is in a rage. By and by I look at him and his teeth are
clenched and he is glaring. "Tell me exactly what happened, Gilles. Did he
really rape you? How did you get into a scene with him?"
"My friend Henry Scott lured me into a bar," I say. "Lured me to
come in for some money he owed me. But then he met Big Bald and Big Bald
gave him five hundred dollars so he could take my cherry. At first I
thought Henry and I were both being raped. But Henry..." I start to
breathe in deep gasps. "Henry knew Big Bald. He laughed. They got drunk
together and I got..." My fists are clenching and unclenching in time to my
breathing. "I got fucked."
"Jesus, Gilles! Why didn't you tell me?" Jeff snaps. He is striding
fast.
"Why did you want me to?" I say.
"You should have told me. I would have known why you..." Jeff breaks
off short. "No," he is calmer. "I should have figured it out. You were
homophobic enough. What a way to lose your cherry..."
"I'm alright, Jeff," I say. He gives me a nod and then we just walk
along the sidewalk together.
We walk about six blocks. It is a very quiet residential
neighborhood, with the houses right up against the street, and each one
having about six steps up from the sidewalk to the brick faced front
door. There are little saplings planted in metal grilles in the
sidewalk. There is nobody on the sidewalk except us and it isn't pitch
black or anything. There are street lights every few yards.
I am saying, "I'm sorry, Jeff," and he is saying, "I should have
figured it out. It's alright, Gilles," when this dark passenger van, shiny
black comes up the street very fast and stops just opposite us. The side
door slams open and someone in a leather jacket points a shotgun at Jeff
and me.
It is Big Bald and his three leather jackets again. Jeff steps one
step over so that he is between me and the gun.
Big Bald is in the driver's seat. He is holding a bandana to his
face and glaring at us through the window. "You fucking slug!" he
says. "You'll pay for that, Jeff. You don't hit me in front of my subs."
Curiously I don't feel very much of anything at the
moment. Everything goes slow motion for me. I wait for the trigger to be
pulled, calculating that I can't run in either direction. Either way I
would still get shot.
This is between Jeff and Big Bald. It is Jeff that Big Bald is angry
at. They tell us to come on and climb into the van.
"I'll gut shoot your fucking sub, Jeff," Big Bald threatens. His
leather jacket boy is holding the shot gun so he means he's going to make
the sub do it to me, but either way, we can't do very much.
"You're making a mistake, Chet," says Jeff. "Keep the guns out of
it. Someone might get killed and it might not be us."
"Get in the van, you fuckers, or die!"
So we get in the van. There are all three leather jacket boys in the
back. When I climb in one of them takes me by the jacket and he shoves me
into the back corner of the van. The gun is pointing at Jeff which means I
still can't do anything. I might be able to wrestle with Leather Jacket,
but I might make them pull the trigger and then Jeff would get a bullet in
the chest. So I don't do anything. The van doors are slammed. Jeff keeps
his hands up at shoulder level. Chet drives and he curses us.
"Don't you think you can fucking take me down in front of my
subs. You'll pay. Asshole!"
I look at Jeff for instructions what to do but he is just holding
his hands up high and listening to Chet.
"Fucking slug!" said Chet.
They take us to a house in a not so good neighborhood. There are
pizzerias on the street corners, and pawnshops. The house is a big one,
painted a light color so it looks ghostly in the dark when they get us to
climb out of the van with our hands raised and take us into a door in the
back. There are steps and there is a cellar. In the cellar there is a
vaulting horse with most of the stuffing coming out of it and a sofa and a
weight bench. It's not a finished basement. The walls are
cinderblock. Chet gestures so Leather Jacket puts the gun up under his
chin. It makes Jeff tilt his head back. Chet puts his face in close.
"You fucking think you can show me up..."
Jeff says nothing. He knows we are in bad trouble, I think. I look
about the cellar carefully. I am wondering if they will kill us, but to be
honest I don't think so. I know what kind of violence Chet likes.
Chet comes up to me, takes me by the front of the shirt and
pulls. "Your hero's not going to help you now," he says. "Get your clothes
off, you worm."
Wordless I tug all my clothes off. I pile them so I am standing on
them naked. I keep my eyes on the Leather Jacket who is holding the gun on
Jeff.
Chet gives commands. The two other Leather Jackets take me by the
wrists and lead me over to the weight bench. They get me to go belly over
it. I make no sound when the belts come off.
"How do you like this, Maggot!" Chet yells at Jeff.
"You can do anything you want to, to him while you've got the gun on
us," Jeff says, "But you're making a mistake."
"You made the mistake, Worm!" Chet whirls around mad. "Beat him,
Boy. Beat him until he's scarlet!"
They beat me. They lay the leather down over and over and over. Each
time the leather flogs me incandescent heat flares on my butt and my back
and leaves a fiery glow of pain. I keep my head down and hunched. I think I
squirm a bit, but I keep my head down and my eyes on the gun.
Jeff, get us out of this, I think.
By and by when they have me blazing with pain, Chet comes along and
gives me a kick up the backside. That hits me more in the back of the legs
than in the balls but it makes me grunt and curl up tight around the weight
bench anyway.
Jeff is saying nothing. When I look at the gun I am looking at
him. He is staring at what they do to me with hard and terrible eyes. I see
he is just as angry as Chet but he is not showing it by screaming and
cursing. Pretty soon, Chet pulls the fly of the second leather jacket boy's
trousers open and cranks at his prick.
"Get that miserable dick of yours ready, Boy!" Chet says. "Get it
up!"
"Yessir," breathes Leather Jacket Two. "Yessir, I'm gonna, I've got
it. I'm gonna." Apparently he's not allowed to touch his own dick, but
pretty soon he has a red hard on sticking out and pretty soon Chet is
rolling a rubber down the length of it.
Not my mouth, I think. And then I don't care if it's going to go in
my mouth or not. I'm going to try to bite it off. I turn my head sideways
looking. Chet points at my butt so Leather Jacket Two goes there. In
another moment I'm getting fucked. The swollen welted skin on my butt is
feeling the man's groping hands and flanks as he gets his cock lined up
with my seam. My butt hole feels the fat rubbery mushroom head put weight
on it.
But I have been fucked a lot before. I am not the least bit cherry
anymore. For a moment I contemplate tilting and making it hard for
him. Only I think he will probably stab something into my butt if I do
that, something other than a prick with latex on it, like maybe the barrel
of the shotgun or something that will be hard enough to rip my tissue
inside and not just at the ring. So I relax my butt muscles and open my ass
up. His head pops through the ring and presses in hard and dry. It hurts
quite a lot. He saws. I brace and take it. It hurts nowhere near like it
did when they took my cherry. I know exactly how to ease it up and while I
am so frightened that there are damp patches in my armpits and my chest and
my palms, I am not so frightened I can't do it. Mostly I am waiting for
Jeff to rescue us because he has to. He just has to do it soon.
"Your fucking sub is just a hole to us," Chet snarls. "You can't
protect him can you, Jeff? You can't stop us doing anything we want to, can
you?"
Jeff meets my eyes while I get raped. His are vacant, softened for a
moment, pained as he looks at me. Then he looks at Chet and his eyes blaze
with patient brilliance again. The shot gun is pointed at his head.
Leather Jacket Two is sawing away when Chet orders him to cum, so he
does that, speeding up his stroke. In a couple of minutes he quivers and
he's done. They take the condom off his prick and put it against my lips.
"Suck or your top gets wasted, Boy,"
So I suck it out of the condom which stinks of shit. And it tastes
grossly strong salt and I dribble it out of my mouth. A great gag works up
but I don't think he sees it. He slaps me in the face hard, and then again,
and by and by my lips are smashed and bleeding and my nose is blazing pain
too. He takes me by the hair and tries to pull it out and succeeds. He gets
a palm full of the light brown strands. Jeff is quivering a little bit
through this.
"You can't protect him, can you? You're helpless, you slug. I'll
show you!" says Chet.
And then he gets Leather Jacket Three to come around to my mouth and
he has a hard on too. But he sees what's on my mind from the clench in my
bloody teeth and the eager rage on my face so he leans in close and
whispers. "Bite my boy and your top gets one of the shells in his kneecap,
Bitch."
I don't bite. The wide rubbery thing goes into my lips and onto my
tongue. He doesn't care at all for my breathing. He puts it down my throat
and everything seals up, almost slamming shut. I can't breathe. I have a
face full of black leather trouser fly and a mouth and throat full of
prick. He rams it back and forth hard and I start to pass out. First the
oxygen hisses in my head and then I go dazed and it all swims out of
focus. And then I do start to pass out, but I also puke. Somewhere far away
Jeff says, "You're choking him to death, Chet."
When I swim back into focus there is puke coming out of my nose,
mixed with blood from my mouth like the worst runny nose you ever had. And
all of my dinner has come up, quite a lot of it and flooded down over my
lower teeth. It keeps coming and I keep coughing. All I can do is cough. I
have puked on the prick too.
"I think I do remember him," says Chet, with the first loosening up
of the rage that was in his voice. Now he sounds disgusted and amused
too. "It's the boy with the overactive gag reflex."
It takes awhile before I can stop gagging and coughing. The Leather
Jacket with the prick in my face is not looking too happy and in fact he
has wilted. "That's gross, Daddy," he whispers. "Daddy, do I have to?"
In answer Chet slugs him but not so hard. Even I can tell he's
pulled the punch. He sends him around to my asshole. Now I'm shuddering
quite a bit so they lean on me, one on my shoulders and one on my butt and
I get raped again. The coughing reflex doesn't go away. I am still more
than a little bit strangled.
"How do you like that, Worm?" says Chet to Jeff. "Thought you'd show
my subs you could best me, didn't you? How do you like seeing what I can do
to you now?"
When the guy cums they bring the condom around to my mouth
again. But by then I am such a mess with snot, bile, blood and puke
liberally dribbling off my cheeks, so the guy with the condom holds his
hands back, like ugh, he can't bring himself to bring the condom near to
me. Instead of squishing the spunk into my lips, since Chet snarls at him,
he just stuffs the whole condom between my teeth and of course I let it
drop out. I think they are going to belt me some more but apart from a
punch or two to the ribs they let me lie there, and anyway Chet is more
intent on trying to get a reaction from Jeff.
"Fucking maggot!" Chet is working himself back into a
rage. "Alright! You fucking maggot! You're fucking next, Jeff."
Then he glares at the Leather Jacket boys almost wildly. "Get that
asshole's pants off. My prick is going up his ass!"
This is not exactly easy. Jeff is not like me. He doesn't drop his
pants on their say so. He stands hostile and resistant. So Leather Jacket
One backs up a bit with the gun so he can't grab it, and the two remaining
Leather Jackets leap on him. They begin to wrestle together and it is a
serious wrestle since Jeff is now fighting them struggling and throwing
punches. He is good at throwing punches. He keeps one of them busy and the
other one punches him. He staggers side to side. Soon I see bright scarlet
blood on Jeff's face, but I also see red bruises forming on the cheek of
Leather Jacket Three.
They struggle ferociously. While they struggle, Chet urges them on,
"Break him!" he says. But Chet stays out of it, and Leather Jacket One
stays out of it. He just tries to keep the shotgun pointed at Jeff. And I
stay out of it, staying where I am on my belly, coughing for air, watching
that shot gun.
They get Jeff's pants down but his shorts are stuck at the bottom of
his butt and they throw him face towards the vaulting horse. He bucks. One
of them grabs his head, the other one skins his pants down so they are down
at his knees too, and now his pale brown butt is visible for all of us to
see. But then Jeff gives a violent heave. He uses the horse for leverage
and lurches off it. The horse scrapes over the floor with the force of the
heave that he gives and Jeff throws himself back. He gets the guy with the
shot gun by the waist.
Leather Jacket One falls down sitting with a shout of anger, but he
doesn't lose the shotgun. I'm pretty sure one of the other guys manages to
bunt Jeff in the balls because they drag him back. But now the shot gun
isn't pointing at Jeff. It isn't pointing anywhere. It's pointing at the
ceiling, so I throw myself on Leather Jacket One.
He is trying to get up when I hit him. I move fast, but that one
spring has told me something. I am not in great shape. In fact the leap
forward makes me hypoxic and I strangle for air. I have not got control of
my coughing yet, and my ass is wrecked and not able to use my muscles. Add
to that that the guy I am leaping on is four or five inches taller than I
am and maybe an inch or two broader and what I did was stupid indeed. But
he is not stronger than I am, and I am fighting for Jeff and for my own
life, so I use all the leverage I have and all the force I have.
For a moment we grapple. The shot gun is down between us and we are
fighting for it. I manage to get my grip wrapped around the trigger, over
his hand. He tries to get the weapon pointed at me, but instead it is
sandwiched between our chests. And then I get it tilted towards him, so I
squeeze hard. I pull the trigger by crushing his fingers. I am trying to
point it at his head.
But he jerks just before it goes off and I miss. The shotgun shell
goes through his face. For a moment I see red chewed up mess and then he
falls back limp. I fall with him because I can't let go of the gun. I land
on his belly, rip the gun out of his slack grasp and whirl around. I think
I am about to get a man land on my back, pinning me down but nobody hits
me.
The two Leather Jackets are standing on either side of the vaulting
horse with their arms spread like they don't know which way I am coming
from. Jeff is staggering back up to his feet facing me and I see his dark
prick dangling under his black bush and his shirt tail. Big Chet has his
face screwed up in a scream, but making no sound. It's a silent howl of
anger. I fumble with the shot gun, getting my fingers on the grip and the
trigger and I turn to Big Chet.
One down, and the odds are more even and one more shell left and Big
Chet is the one giving orders... I pant. I have the idea that if I shoot
Big Chet it may be that Leather Jacket Two and Three are not going to be
very effectual without him but I can't waste the shell by missing. So I
move on Big Chet. I have almost all of a room between him and me, so I move
in close, shotgun level. I'm going to kill him. He starts to back around
the room.
"Jeff! Call your boy off! Jeff!" Big Chet's eyes are wide and white.
"Don't do it, Gilles. Wait!"
I stop following Chet when Jeff calls.
Jeff staggers sideways until he is beside me. He looks down at the
guy I shot. He is panting too. We are all breathing like there is not
enough air in this grimy concrete lined cellar. I keep my eyes and the gun
muzzle on Big Chet. I am not experienced with guns so I am holding it rock
steady, ready.
"Don't let your boy pull the trigger, Jeff." With an effort Chet is
keeping his voice normal but his chest is expanding big, in and out. I have
the gun trained on his chest, on the middle of his body.
Jeff takes a few deep breaths before he does anything. Then he hauls
his pants up and then he says, "You got a cell phone, Chet?"
"Give him your cell phone, Chris," says Big Chet quickly.
One of the leather jackets has a cell phone hooked on his belt and
he takes it off and tosses it to Jeff. Jeff starts to punch numbers. He
punches in a very short number.
"Don't call the cops!" the man cries.
"He needs an ambulance if he's not going to die," says Jeff.
At that I look around at the man I shot. He is missing his chin and
his nose is sideways and there is something floppy where his eye is
supposed to be, maybe a flap of skin laid open on the cheeks. The blood is
forming a wide red shiny pool. But Jeff is right, the guy is not dead. He
is shuddering and his fingers appear to be scrabbling against the concrete
floor. I look quickly back at Chet.
We stand there like that and wait. Jeff sends Leather Jacket Two to
unlock the cellar door so the cops can come in. He tells him to leave it
open. I stand there holding the shotgun. "Don't put it down until I tell
you to," says, Jeff. He waits until the wailing sirens have stopped on the
street.
"Put it on the floor. Put it on the floor now!"
I am confused but I do just what Jeff says and then some cops burst
in with guns level and their chests wide and shiny for the blue bullet
proof vests they are wearing. In another moment there is a cop for each one
of us and they have us in a row standing by the wall.
"Get an ambulance, please hurry," says Jeff.
"There's one coming," says the cop.
I am stark naked of course, which nobody especially looks at. They
put everybody but me against the wall and pat them down. I am the only one
of us who doesn't get searched because of being bare naked. In fact in
another moment the cop near me hold up my jeans and says, "These yours?"
He passes them to me and I put them on. I give a sissyish yowl when
I feel them drag up the back of my legs. The cops are demanding questions
of all of us and of course the Leather Jacket boys tell them that I am the
one who pulled the trigger when the gun was pointing at Leather Jacket
One's face. So the cops put my clothes on and put me into a cop car and
take me away. I never have a chance to ask Jeff to make sure he gets
someone to look after Jinks.
They take me to the police station where they ask me some
questions. They let me stand up and put my back to the wall when they ask
me the questions. They even let me take a mass of paper towel and wash the
blood and puke off my chin. It's not much like a formal interrogation so I
don't think to refuse to answer questions or to ask for a lawyer. I tell
them that Chet got mad at Jeff and they pulled the shot gun on us and
forced us into the van and I tell them that I got ass raped and mouth
fucked. They don't seem too much interested in this, it's more like they
say, oh yeah? And they want me to tell them the names of Leather Jackets
One, Two and Three and I can't.
They ask me what happened before the gun went off and I explain
that they were about to rape Jeff and he knocked over the guy with the gun
in the struggle. He found the opening we needed. And I perfectly freely
admit that I struggled with Leather Jacket One, got the gun pointed at him
and deliberately pulled the trigger. You see I am not thinking at all about
what it looks like. I can tell the cops think the whole scene is disgusting
but it is not until after that, until after I had the whole story of the
fight come out of me before I think that these are cops and maybe I am
going to be charged with murder or attempted murder, supposing the guy I
shot lives.
After that I clam up. They ask me if I want to take a shower and
get cleaned up. >From that I know they are not going to take me to the
hospital and get evidence that I had my butt fucked. They just don't care
about that. They are going to go on with booking me, clean or dirty, so I
say yes, I want to take a shower. And one of the cops leads me downstairs
to their basement where there is a locker room and a tiled room for
showers.
He stands in the doorway nonchalant while I wash all the crumbs and
mess off me and hold myself stoical and not whimper at the pain of the
water running over my bloody welts. My hair is wet and plastered down to my
skull when I put my old dirty clothes on and they take me upstairs.
I should have shut my mouth, I think, when they take my finger
prints. And I should have made arrangements for someone to take care of
Jinks I think, Jeff, unless Jeff is going to be arrested too. But I seem to
be the only one of us six guys at the police station. I'm wrong about
that. They just don't let me see the other guys.
After they take my photograph they offer to let me sleep in a cell,
so I say yes, I do want to lie down. It is just like in the movies a small
cell with a plastic bunk like a shelf stuck to the wall and a toilet
underneath the sink. I have to lie on my face here when I lie down.
But it is not too much longer, between waking and aching and
sleeping before one of the cops comes down and brings me out to the offices
again. It is about seven in the morning. He gives me back the envelope of
personal effects that they seem to have taken away from me, and I say, "Do
I have to go to court?"
"Yeah," he says. "You'll have to go to court." But apparently they
are going to send me a subpoena or something. Apparently, maybe they have
to wait and see if the guy without a face is going to live or not. But they
let me go and without bail.
I find Jeff in my bed at home. First Jinks comes scuttling out to
meet me at the door and then Jeff stands up when I am in the bedroom
doorway. He looks haggard, like he was beaten up more than I remember. He
is barely awake, woken up by me coming in.
"Sorry," he says.
I let Jinks sniff my hands. "Is Jinks alright?"
"Yeah, He's fine. I took him out in the yard and I fed him."
"Poor old dog," I get down on my knees -oh, my knees are scabbed
raw, I discover -and I pet Jinks. Jeff gets down on the floor beside us.
"Gilles, I'm sorry," he says.
I look up at him. I don't know what he has to be sorry for.
"It's alright, Jeff." I say. "You found us an opening. You got the
guy with the gun knocked down. I think it might be alright now."
He puts his hand on my arm, very warm and just lets it rest there.
"My butt hurts like fuck," I say.
"Did the cops arrest you?"
"No, they let me go again," I explain. "They just wanted to make
sure I didn't have a criminal record for this kind of a thing, I
think. They made me stay at the station overnight while they made checks."
"I'm really sorry, Gilles," he says.
"You keep saying that," I say. "But you were the one got us out of
it. You knocked him down so I could get at his gun."
Then he wraps his arms all around me and I let him hold me. It feels
good to let him hold me, to be holding on to him, even though to tell the
truth I am so sore that being squeezed like that is no picnic.
By and by he looks up and starts to run his forefinger over my
face. He runs it under my eyes and then down around my chin. It feels good
so I close my eyes.
"Gilles," says Jeff softly. "Your face is all swollen."
"Is it?" I say. "It feels like it is, but I can't see."
He just holds me in his arms sitting on the hall floor like
that. Jinks has his head on my knee and Jeff is holding me up, so I just
let my eyes stay closed. He keeps holding me like that, and I keep letting
him hold me. I figure it's going to be alright. Why not? Neither of us has
been arrested so probably nothing more bad is going to happen. Anyway it
doesn't matter because I am safe home with Jinks and Jeff is nearby.