Brimstone

by Peter van der Walt

  Would this one stay?

  At several impromptu little stops along the way while they hiked on his land, they stopped and kissed.

  He kissed like he spoke. Passionately, energetically.

  He pressed himself forward, into Paul, moving his body right up against him. Skin against skin. And then he used his hands. He held Paul’s face, tilting it slightly higher because he was taller than him. Not by much, but a little.

  His breath was fresh, and when he kissed Paul like that, Paul would feel immersed in his smell.

  Brad would move his hands from Paul’s face to his back, letting his hands dance down.

  Paul could feel his biceps around him. Close enough to be felt, to be there. To feel secure in them. But not close enough to feel constrained.

  Falling for the guy.

  Like Paul would – right now – turn his back on all of it. Reuben’s money. The land. The Cro’s Post. Loveday and Fairbridge and Appalachia. Go with this man wherever he said they should. Belong to him, so completely and utterly and defenselessly that Paul knew if he had any sense he’d be terrified by it, not excited.

  They made their way back to Paul’s little cabin, and Paul gave him the tour of both the office and living cabins.

  Paul quickly tried to put away a thick rope that lay on his kitchen table – he was using it on the new obstacle course. But Brad grabbed it, winked at Paul and they both laughed.

  And he liked the place and was as comfortable in the cabin as he was in the woods, or on campus, or at Tina’s the other night, or at the funfair.

  It must have been awesome – being so comfortable in yourself.

  Paul was about to say something bland and innocuous when Brad pressed him down in the wingback he always sat in when he watched TV.

  He hovered over Paul, looking into his eyes, but looking past them and deeper, as if he could look directly into Paul.

  It was as if he was searching for something.

  Paul held the stare, but just for a bit.

  He couldn’t sustain it, because he wanted Brad so much that he felt ashamed. And he averted his eyes.

  Brad placed a strong fist on his chin, and then gently lifted Paul’s eyes back up.

  “I see a guy who needs some action…”

  Brad knelt in front of the wingback, trapping Paul between himself and the chair.

  His smile changed. It went from playful to gentle. As if he felt the full lifetime of Paul’s fears and doubts and losses.

  “You’re crying, Paul.”

  “I’m not,” Paul said, surprised to find that he was.

  He dried his tears, then pushed back against Brad. Part of him still wanted to be in charge, composed, suave.

  Brad resisted.

  “You’re a tough guy, huh?” Paul asked Brad, making sure there was just a bit of a hard edge to his voice.

  He wanted Brad to know that he wasn’t some little damsel in distress. He needed to assert what it was to be a man. To stand his ground.

  But Brad now seemed sad.

  It seemed Paul’s tears elicited some feelings of his own.

  “I see a guy that goes some pretty deep dark places in himself.”

  How did Brad do that – speak as if he was speaking from inside his head? Was it the deep voice, the way his eyes caught and then kept attention? The strength lurking just beneath all that gentleness?

  “I think you think too much. I think you need to let your feelings guide you. Just a bit, with me now, here. Be in this moment Paul.”

  The kiss that came next made Paul feel as if he was floating.

  He felt free in this man’s arms.

  As if being with Brad made all his baggage vanish.

  Light, but connected, for real and for once, in a world plagued by fake, missed, interrupted or finally ended connections.

  The way he led made Paul feel the simplicity of it all.

  Forget all that is in your head. It’s all bullshit anyway.

  Paul suddenly knew how all those people from the city felt when he first took them out into the woods to show them the breathtaking beauty of a natural environment they’d grown used to ignoring.

  Paul was trying to figure out how the world of dating and having a love life worked, yet here was someone who had him all figured. He responded to the most minute details of sensory input. He could read Paul like a book, and play him like a fiddle.

  The thing with Brad was that he didn’t just touch your body. He could fuck with your mind.

  He led again, taking his time but moving Paul backwards, closer to the wall.

  He could feel his inhibitions leave him as he went with it, and he gave himself to Brad. Completely.

  Sometimes, Brad would look into Paul’s eyes and smile. That smile said: It’s okay Paul, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.

  Then Brad would lose himself in the act or the moment, taking Paul and doing to Paul what he wanted.

  He loved how Brad lost himself. As if he didn’t care about anyone or anything, only indulging himself.

  Almost selfish.

  Maybe that was what got Paul. That here was someone who actually wanted him. Not to please him, or serve him, or fulfill contractual obligations to him, or anything more complicated than simply wanting him: body, mind, heart and soul.

  He enjoyed taking Paul and having his way.

  And perhaps that was what Paul yearned for more than anything else. To be desired by Brad as much as he desired Brad.

  At the edge of the room, Brad pressed Paul into the wall.

  That limited Paul’s movement, and his sensations. All that existed was in front of him, and Brad moved toward him and away from him. Kissing not only his lips and his face, but his neck and his shoulders.

  Paul was sweating and out of breath – and yet it did not seem that Brad’s intensity would ever fade.

  Brad pushed Paul through the living room to the bedroom, where they fell on the bed. Brad was alternating between removing his own clothes and Paul’s.

  And then, suddenly, Brad stopped.

  He was leaning over Paul, pinning him to the bed, his hands pressing Paul’s wrists down into the mattress.

  Paul knew how to get out of a hold like that… and the impulse was there. Years of training –drilling the motions into himself so they became second nature. But now he resisted all of that, because he wanted to be held down by Brad.

  Brad was watching him intently, his expression impossible to read.

  There was something cold about the expression, despite how much body heat both of them were generating.

  It was as if Brad was assessing him.

  “What?” Paul asked.

  Brad shook his head.

  “You always this intense?”

  Brad pressed an index finger over Paul’s lips.

  “You talk too much. You think too much. What will it take for you to let go?”

  “Hell, I’ve let go. Don’t know how much more I can let go,” and he chuckled.

  Brad’s free hand closed around Paul’s throat, and the index finger pressed into his lips with more force.

  “See, there it is. You think you’ve let go? By what, letting me kiss you as much as I wanted?”

  Paul said nothing. The hand on his throat held tightly, but he could still breathe freely.

  Truth is, he was turned on by the idea of it.

  A lot.

  “It’s always been vanilla with you, hasn’t it? You’ve never really allowed yourself just to go with it. You’ve never really totally and completely surrendered to your body. To your wants and your needs.”

  “Not sure what you mean…”

  “Bullshit you don’t.”

  Brad brought both hands to Paul’s throat now, and he slowly squeezed and released, cutting off the air intermittentl
y.

  “You like this, don’t you?”

  Paul closed his eyes, but nodded.

  “You are an honorable man. You want a good, beautiful, stable relationship. You want to be treated with respect and to treat your long-term partner with respect. You want the safe, upstanding, righteous life. It’s because you are a moral person. An ideological romantic. And I love that about you. But what you really want is to be taken, and used. To be fucked mercilessly.”

  Brad leaned down, and the kisses he landed on Paul’s cheeks and lips made Paul’s head swim.

  Then Paul felt a sudden jolt of pain as Brad unexpectedly bit his lip.

  He wanted to struggle, a jolt of adrenalin and his training moving his body against his will – but Brad kept his weight distributed so that Paul had to work really hard to get free.

  And the truth was he didn’t want to break out of the hold.

  Brad straightened up again. He used his belt to tie Paul’s left arm to the bedpost.

  “I see a guy that’s ashamed of what he wants.”

  He used Paul’s belt to tie his right arm to the bedpost as well.

  Paul wasn’t sure what lay ahead. He knew that with both his arms tied, his options were limited, and narrowing. But he wanted to go wherever Brad was taking him.

  He needed to go there.

  Brad left the room, bringing the thick rope that Paul left on the kitchen counter to take to the new obstacle course.

  He created a makeshift noose and put this around Paul’s neck.

  “Why are you ashamed of what you want?”

  Paul kept his eyes shut as the rope tightened around his neck.

  “I… I don’t understand it…”

  “What, the need to be dominated? To be mistreated? To be abused?”

  Paul lay motionless and kept his eyes firmly shut.

  He felt the rope tighten around his neck.

  He felt a tightening sensation on his face and his neck – as if the rope was keeping all sensation above his shoulders.

  “I get why you need it,” Brad whispered into his ear, before painfully biting his earlobe.

  “And I want you to go there with me.”

  He loosened the knot slightly.

  “Paul. Go there with me. Will you?”

  “Yes.”

  Brad tightened the rope.

  Paul gasped. As he did, Brad suddenly slapped his face with a great deal of force. A backhand.

  Paul could taste blood on his lips.

  He was shocked, but he still found himself wanting Brad.

  Brad let go of the rope, letting Paul catch his breath.

  “I see a guy that is ready to go somewhere new,” and for just a second, it was as if he’d gone gentle again.

  Then Brad tightened the rope and said: “That’s it. That’s it. You like that, don’t you, you filthy fucking bitch?”

  Chapter 18

  The Long Hike

  Just like a chick, this one. Give him what he wants, thought Brad, then be resented for it.

  Not immediately after. He got up from the actual big fucking event all smiles. Not beaming, but withdrawn. A little forced, a little too polite.

  Brad looked up at him and took his hand. He gave it a soft squeeze, something gentle and playful. He made sure his body posed just the right sentiment for him. Then Draker went to the bathroom before he had to say anything.

  When Draker was gone, Brad sat up and slowly stretched his muscles.

  He reached out and touched the rope tenderly for a second, before putting it away underneath his jacket, which he placed just underneath the bed. No sense letting it be there when he got back.

  His side of the bed. He liked the sound of that. Pity that he couldn’t cruise here too long. It might have been interesting to see where it led. The guy was loaded. Had some really nice cabins. Not bad company. Guy like that, if you got him hooked – he could provide some very nice perks for a while.

  But this part of the world? Not nearly good enough for Brad. He might get to California and pick a similar mark.

  Draker was taking his time in the bathroom. In his defense, Brad might have gone a little too far for a first date. Too quickly. You never knew where individual people’s limits were and sometimes you pushed just a bit too much. Still, you had to push it.

  The trick to going too far was to go overboard on the gentle and loving stuff right after. You heap them with some beams of warmth after you fuck them like that, and then they say to themselves: Nah, he’s just intense.

  And Draker might be hosting a game show called What-The-Hell-Just-Happened in his head right now in the bathroom. But Brad knew he’d be back here.

  It was a good ride, but at no point did Brad feel the switch. That switch usually hit as soon as they started fighting back – and Draker didn’t.

  He’d let Brad take him. But he had a way of smiling a little to himself, every time Brad expected him to freak out. At least a little.

  Partly, Brad went so far in the first place because Draker wouldn’t budge. Full of surprises, this Draker guy was. Brad thought he knew fags, but this one was different.

  Showtime! He heard the toilet flush and water sloshing into the basin.

  Now to hit him from the other angle. Then leave. Give him some time.

  Next time you see him, apologize. Then cry some tears and tell him your own deep story. After bonding like that, you assess where you are. Soon you could take anything you wanted to take from them. Their money. Their dignity. Their lives.

  Then another big fucking event. Only this time, Draker would have a whole lot of opioids in him and not just a pinch. And he would be tied up well. And Brad would take his time with this one.

  Draker was back. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Brad, a slightly quizzical look on his face.

  “Come here,” said Brad, smiling and tilting his head up.

  Draker did, kneeling on the bed, leaning in but pausing before their lips met.

  Brad’s hand gently brushed Draker’s hair, then touched the lobe of his ear and then whispered: “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good. You?”

  “You are so awesome. I know that was a little intense but… wow… you are awesome.”

  And then Brad kissed Draker. He kissed him as if he worshipped him.

  Draker hesitated a bit, but not for long. When he kissed back, it was different from before.

  Before, he would expose his neck. This time, he tried to lead.

  Brad broke that kiss and then opened his arms so Draker could recline, could rest his head on Brad’s chest, play with his hair. It worked too. He even got chatty.

  Chapter 19

  New Beginnings

  Paul was up and out early, walking with quite some speed, but not to outwalk demons. Or perhaps just to outwalk demons other than the kind that lived in mud pits.

  He found himself unable to decipher what exactly he was feeling. Or decide exactly what he was discovering about himself. It was a strange sensation to make new realizations about things that you considered settled. He knew who he was. Didn’t he? Surely he could be certain of that by now, after everything?

  As a horny, confused, lonely teenager, it was perhaps appropriate to push boundaries to discover who you really were. To stretch the rules and the margins and the definitions you had about who you were, intrinsically.

  But you don’t go through a decade-long military career without knowing exactly the kind of stuff you’re made of. You have to know. If you don’t, first contact with anything but the gentlest rookie training would get you killed, or removed as a potential candidate for a long-term future in any of the branches.

  He knew his mom died. He knew he was gay. He knew that Tina was as close as he had to family – his own, as opposed to Reuben’s.

  He knew he was
in charge too much. Knew he had a bit of a “jump in and save shit” approach whenever life got messy for the people he cared for, or even strangers that were around. He knew he had a lot of guilt – for keeping his mouth shut and going stealth when he lost his life partner so he could keep his job. For walking out of places many men in his unit, or in other units, did not. Even for what he did to James McKay.

  The guilt, the loneliness, the fear, the unhealthy coping mechanisms. The psychological games you played with yourself so you could keep coping and pretend everything was fine, and stay a productive member of society.

  All the hits you take on the chin – hits you had to be man enough to take.

  When you did all that, when you’ve survived all that, you’d know yourself – at the very least?

  No big insights when compared to other regular people. But no big surprises either.

  Paul walked in his own truth, accepted the bad with the good. And he had a firm grip on reality, and how life worked, and who the hell he was.

  And then, suddenly, a curveball throws it all – everything – into question.

  Just sex…

  Sure. But it was never “just sex|. It was sex alright. Some other kind of it. But something that could not be casually dismissed because it fucked with more than your assumptions and your senses. It fucked with your head.

  That little quickie could have you reframe every painful hour in your past. It could even change every hour that lay ahead – painful or otherwise.

  What the hell was that?

  Paul was sweating as he fought his way through difficult routes in the woods, but he almost didn’t notice the landscape. That freaked him out too, when he realized. Nature could pull him out of the darkest pits – and yet something about not knowing what the hell was going on inside himself made even the things he’d spent a career and a life noticing invisible.

  Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to psychoanalyze himself too much. Just because he thought, hard and well, about truths didn’t mean he’d end up with accurate answers.

  A lot about what happened when he was having sex with Brad was exciting, amazing, interesting, weird, good… but there was also, at the same time, something Paul could not understand.