Date: Thu, 18 Feb 2010 19:26:39 +0100
From: berlindad@live.com
Subject: Jason 1

Jason

By berlindad

1

To be honest, he could not make head or tail of the art in front of him. He
had dutifully started by studying each piece diligently, a glass of cheap
white wine in his hand. But he could not find a way in to this world of
abstraction, of blobs and swirls. There seemed to be no technique, no
controlling hand, just a series of arbitrary daubs and random slashes of
colour. And soon boredom had set in and within twenty minutes his eyes were
glazing over... and still Dan had not appeared.

This was the idea - to meet Dan at the exhibition, to get tanked up on free
wine, and then to go for dinner, as cheaply as possible. And then...
Jason's mouth turned dry at the thought of what he hoped might happen.
Because he had a crush on Dan, he fancied his best friend and when he felt
good about it, he felt that maybe, just maybe, Dan felt the same way about
him. When he did not feel so optimistic it was due to the 'fact' that Dan
went on and on about some girl he fancied, or would elbow Jason and make a
remark about some girl's knockers.

And yet... there were times when they had both been drinking and Dan would
throw an arm around Jason's shoulders and look him in the eye and tell him
that no man ever, EVER, had a better friend... then Jason felt that this
was more than friendship and that maybe all the things he dreamed of doing
with Dan, could just conceivably come true. And though Dan was handsome and
was the object of many girls' lusts, he had not ever had a girlfriend in
the eight months or so that Jason had known him.

Jason often looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if Dan could
possibly be attracted to him. Yet Jason was undeniably good looking, his
face having a strong bone structure, with deep brown eyes set, and thick
brown hair, kept short and controlled; but sometimes he thought that maybe,
just maybe, he should style it somehow differently - he did not know how -
just... less conventionally.  It was like a yearning for an alternative
being - to be transformed, to be someone different. His soul seemed full of
vague, ill-defined yearnings, desires that were not, had not been
fulfilled; all this adding up to a diffidence which was quite at odds with
the powers of his physical attractiveness. It was a strong, even face on
top of a good athletic body... he certainly had nothing to be ashamed of in
his appearance. Yet he felt as if he did not measure up to Dan's standards,
somehow. Dan was dark with unruly black hair, coal-black eyes so that Jason
felt almost blond beside him, an angel to Dan's Satan, an innocent desiring
corruption. It was this Prince of darkness look about Dan that most excited
him, though he would not admit to himself the reasons why he was attracted
to this sense of casual cruelty that Dan evinced.

He looked around the room, no longer interested in making an effort to
understand the art. No one else seemed to be having trouble with it.
Everyone seemed to be coupled or in a group of friends, all energetically
debating the work, pointing out details that eluded him. Only he was alone
in this gathering. Where the fuck was Dan? His eyes swept the room. Wait a
minute; he was not the only person on his own. A middle-aged man was
perched against the side of the drinks table. He was dressed in a very well
cut suit, immaculately turned out; a crisp white shirt, cufflinks, an
obviously expensive silk tie. And he was striking in a way, even
good-looking - not so very tall but somehow with a commanding presence.
What was it that made him stand out? The carefully though casually groomed
white hair above a face that was somehow too young for it?  The cut of the
suit, obviously expensive? The highly polished black leather shoes?
Certainly the way he was dressed made Jason seem scruffy even though he had
made an effort to blend in with a sophisticated set of people. But they
were not sophisticated at all and most - even those men who were wearing
suits - looked uncomfortable in them. But this solitary man looked like he
was at ease in the suit, that preparing for this event had been no effort
for him, was something that came naturally to him.

But no, it was not just his evident ease with what he wore, or the society
he found himself in, it was more than that. The thing that made him stand
out from all the others was something eccentric and to Jason's eyes,
something so outrageously different that his heart jumped when he saw
it. The man was wearing tight black leather gloves. Indoors. On a mild
spring evening.  Tight black leather gloves, with a suit. Who dressed like
that? A chauffeur, perhaps. But this was not a man in service - this was a
man in command, of himself and of anyone with whom he came into contact. It
was no more than a detail but Jason felt instantly that this was a man who
did as he pleased and not as the world expected of him.

There were other examples of eccentric dress around him - a Goth couple, so
self-consciously turned out, a few tuxedos among the men. No one paid a
blind bit of attention to this man - except Jason. He was staring across
the room at him, transfixed, his mouth hanging open when he became aware
that the man was looking at him with a cool, ironic gaze. And Jason saw the
other thing that made this man stand out - his eyes. Deep set, blue eyes
that challenged and mocked and hypnotised all at the same time.

Embarrassed, Jason looked away - as if the man had seen inside him and seen
the stirrings of lust, which Jason was so keen to repress. He turned back
to a picture and examined it. But he felt as if the eyes were boring into
his back - and, daring himself, to turn around, he saw that indeed he was
still being watched, quizzically, and with a certain amusement.

Jason's heart was thumping. Where was Dan? He was now thirty-five minutes
late. Again his eyes swept the room, willing Dan to be there so that he
could just go, get out of here, away from that gaze which pierced him.
Still no sign of him. But Jason could wait no longer, he had to get away.
His pulse was racing, the wine had gone to his head and he felt himself
flushing red. He turned and moved to a table, setting down the half empty
wine glass. Turning again, he stumbled, bumping into a woman. He spun round
and dropped the catalogue he had been carrying. He stopped to pick it up
and bumped into an elderly man who glared at him. Spinning round to
apologise he found himself directly in front of the gloved man who caught
hold of him and just said, 'Steady on!'

The hands that held him were strong in their grip. He felt as if he were
being arrested. Those eyes were fixed on him, holding him, imprisoning
him. They were friendly - but Jason sensed that they could also be cold if
this man wanted them to be so. He was caught like a rabbit in a headlight's
glare.

'Let me get you another drink, ' said the man and released his hold on
him. Jason's first thought was to make a bolt for the door but... he could
not. It was if he had been mesmerised by this man. Instead he found himself
accepting the wine and glugging it quickly to wet his mouth for he felt
that he was incapable of speaking.

He searched desperately for something commonplace to say, something banal
but intelligent about the exhibition but nothing would come. So he drank
again, shifting from foot to foot with embarrassment. Then the man took the
glass out of his hand, set it down on the table, grabbed Jason by the elbow
and almost marched him to the door.

Jason wanted to resist, wanted to push the man away but instead he found
himself being frogmarched to the door and out into the street. People
stared but parted to let them through. Jason felt that it must look as if
he was a criminal, caught fingering the family jewels. Outside, there was a
very expensive looking cabriolet parked at the kerb. The man opened the
passenger seat in the front and said, 'Get in.'

It was not brusque - but it sounded like an order for all that.

And Jason found himself obeying. Obeying even though a rational part of his
brain was telling him to stop, to run away, to get out of such a dangerous
and mad situation.

But he could not. He felt that he was in this man's power. He fastened his
seat belt as the man went round to the driver's seat and got in. And then,
just after he had started the engine, he reached to release the handbrake -
and his gloved hand lightly brushed the inside of Jason's thigh.

There was no mistaking this for a casual or accidental touch - it was
meant, it was erotic, it suggested sex and the fulfilment of desire. And
Jason, for all that his heart was in his mouth and for all that he felt
terrified, responded instinctively. His cock hardened. The man saw it,
rested a gloved hand on it that made it harden more, looked at Jason and
said, 'I think we shall get on very well' - and the car shot off.



2

'I am being kidnapped,' thought Jason.

He should have felt panic but he did not. He felt strangely calm, as if
there was an inevitability and rightness about what was happening to him.

'I have no idea where I am going, I have no idea who this man is, I should
be terrified.'

And in a way he was terrified - but excitement and sheer lust was taking
him over, blotting out all rational thinking. He was discovering himself.
He was running on adrenaline. And he was totally turned on. So many ideas
and notions and fantasies he had repressed for so many years were now
taking place. They were actually happening.

From time to time, he looked almost wildly around him, as if looking for
escape - but then the gloved hand would rest on his leg, firmly pressing
him. He felt as if he were being pressed into place, pressed into
acceptance.  He felt wholly powerless to resist. And with that thought a
new sense of peace came over him. He could not resist, but he did not need
to resist. Decisions were being made for him, he no longer had control; all
he had to do was go along with what this man wanted. He had to obey.
Somehow, obscurely, he felt that if he just went along with everything, if
he just did exactly what this man wanted, then he would be safe.

The journey became a dream. He could not have said how long it took. Had
the car stopped and he had been thrown out, he could not have said in what
direction he had come, what areas of the city they had passed through. None
of this reality was real to him. And now the car was pulling up outside a
large, tall terraced house, and he was getting out and following the man up
the steps to a Georgian front door, being ushered inside, into a long dark
hall; he heard the door close behind him, heard a bolt being shot home, as
he stood there uncertainly, trying to adjust to the darkness. And he sensed
the man coming up behind and felt his nearness and then a gloved hand was
over his mouth as he felt his head being pulled back onto the man's
shoulder.

And he did not panic. Or fight. Or try to pull free. His head came back in
a slow, steady, relaxed way as if what was happening to him was the most
natural thing in the world. The gloved hand covered his mouth; it was held
firmly; there was no way he could break free from the strength of this
hold; but he did not want to. The soft but tough touch of the leather, the
potent smell of the leather acted on him. Tentatively he forced his tongue
through his slightly parted lips. He wanted to taste the leather in
addition to feeling it and smelling it. And this made him completely hard,
his cock bulging against his suit trousers, tenting them as the man's other
hand slipped round to feel it and grasp it and hold him there with as much
casual power as the hand over his mouth.

His body folded into this position of helplessness and powerlessness. He
felt the man's cock pressed against his buttocks and his hands moved to
caress the suited body that held him. But as he did so, as if any gesture
from him was a sign of independent thinking, the man broke the static
nature of the scene by turning him around to face him. A gloved hand
grasped him by the chin and held him in his gaze. Jason was forced to look
at him - but in this darkness he could not see the expression on the man's
face. Was there cruelty there? Or lust? Or, even possibly, love?

Jason knew instinctively what he must do, what he had to do to please this
man; and at this moment he wanted so much, more than anything in the world,
to please the man. And so his face moved towards this stranger, his tongue
tentatively parted his lips and moved slowly towards the man's face.
Delicately, he tongued the lips of the man, savouring their shape, their
feel, their taste. There was no response - except, did the man's lips part
just a little? Jason's tongue dived for that tiny space, that opening and
the lips parted to let him in. A kiss, a passionate kiss, such as Jason had
longed to experience with Dan.

The man relaxed his hold on him and drew himself up. There was a strange
stillness, as if each was watching the other. In a sudden movement of total
surrender Jason kissed him again but with more fervour and a fierce
concentration, his whole being focussed on this act of devotion and
emotional engagement. The response from the stranger was equally strong.
Again, time stood still, even disappeared in the intensity of this moment.

An arm went round his shoulders, the other arm crossing his waist as he was
gently led upstairs. In a dream-like state he mounted the stairs, still not
seeing the face but knowing that the eyes were fixed on him, on his
slightest response.

To a bedroom. An undressing, both of them, sliding between cool sheets, all
happening so slowly, so intensely, so beautifully as if choreographed; the
bodies coming together, hands exploring, touching, caressing; tongues
moving and sliding and kissing and coinciding.

Jason felt the man lubing his ass and pushing one finger, two, three up his
ass but so gently as he expanded it He was fully relaxed and was not now
going to fall at the final hurdle but rise to meet it and soar over it,
with joy and ecstasy which is all he felt - the physical feelings now
metamorphosed into a spiritual feeling of being taken, of giving himself,
of surrendering totally as this man entered him and fucked him, slowly,
gently, forcefully, wildly, to the point where he could no longer
distinguish between feelings and emotions other than the knowledge that the
stranger was making them one, him and the man, until he did not know who
was the man and who was Jason.