“The owner of the ranch introduced me to her, telling her I was new and would she take me under her wing till I learned the ropes. When she looked up at me, I thought my heart had just stopped. Those eyes, so blue, blue like cornflowers, a perfect, pure blue. Her cheeks all rosy from the sun, her lips so red. I know this sounds like bad poetry, but she absolutely took my heart. It was like someone had reached in and just plucked it out. I knew right then this was no schoolgirl crush. I was in love. I mean gut-wrenching, heart-aching, pussy-firing love.”
Amanda sighed again and stared off into the distance, her face a study of bittersweet memory. Johnny forgot his own torment for a moment as he asked, “And was it returned? This love at first sight?”
Amanda looked back at Johnny, her face screwed up into a scowl. “No way. This girl, my darling Anne, she was pining for Henry Carson, one of the wranglers who had no time for us mere girls. He was after the owner’s wife, Betty Ann. Betty Ann’s husband thought I was a notch he’d like to add to his belt. It was a comedic tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.”
She shook her head ruefully. “No, the closest I got to even touching the beautiful, statuesque, unattainable, blond Miss Childs was when she’d let me braid her hair as we sat by the campfire. She’d talk about ‘dreamy’ Henry Carson and I’d swallow tears of unrequited passion as I smoothed her perfect honey hair in my hands.”
Amanda sighed loudly but then brightened. “That was ages ago, anyway. I hardly ever even think of her now, though at the time I used to wonder how I’d ever go on with my life when that summer ended. I didn’t think I’d ever get over her. But I did. I guess the moral is, if you’re going to fall for someone, make sure they’re of the same sexual persuasion so at least you have a fighting chance.”
Johnny held his glass in both hands, leaning forward, the yearning he felt like a live thing inside him. “Amanda, I feel so confused. I’ve never said this out loud before, but I’ve always thought there was something wrong with me. I’ve never been able to connect with anyone. I’ve never had a really good male friend, always holding myself back for some reason. And I’ve never been in love or even close to it. I’ve never felt truly comfortable with a woman. I mean, except you, and that doesn’t count.”
“Well, thank you very much.” Amanda lifted her chin, feigning anger, though she couldn’t keep the grin off her face for long.
“No, you know what I mean,” Johnny protested. “You were—safe—I guess is the word. You weren’t going to come on to me, or expect me to come on to you. It’s like my whole life’s been a dance around the truth. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I’m so confused.” He put his head in his hands again. His eyes felt hot and swollen, and the bourbon was making him sleepy and a little sick.
Amanda stood and moved toward him. Gently she took the empty bourbon glass from his hand and pressed his shoulder, silently encouraging him to lie down. “You know what, sweetie? You don’t have to resolve all this right this second. Even if you hadn’t just polished off eight ounces of bourbon, the emotional shock of what you’re going through is enough to wipe anybody out. Why don’t you just take a rest right there on my nice, comfy couch? Marlon’s not due home for another four hours. She wouldn’t mind anyway if you were still here when she got back. She likes you. It’s cool.”
Johnny closed his eyes and drifted away.
~*~
The two women were murmuring softly together, their heads almost touching over the small kitchen table. Amanda, who had gone to sleep for a while, had awakened at the return of her lover, who had just finished the meal Amanda had prepared for her earlier.
“What a scene,” Marlon said, after Amanda described the events of the evening. “It always amazes me how people can be in such denial. Shit, if I’d known Johnny thought of himself as straight, I never would have let him hang around with my girl.”
Amanda laughed and ducked her head. “Oh shut up, Marlon. Just because you think I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread, doesn’t mean anyone else does.”
Marlon tousled Amanda’s spiky hair, which this week was more purple than pink. “You’re better than sliced bread, Mandy. You are like the finest, fresh-baked loaf of sweet honey bread. You make my mouth water just looking at you.” Amanda smiled, hoping her adoration showed in her eyes as they both lifted their faces for a kiss.
“So what are you going to do about Mr. Wilson over there?” They both looked toward Johnny, still asleep on the couch. His arm was thrown loosely over his face, one knee bent up, his boots still on.
Amanda pursed her lips and shrugged. “I don’t really know. It’s hard to imagine someone getting this far in their life without ever having connected with their own sexuality. Imagine how lonely it’s been for him. How scary—to feel you’re broken somehow. Not connected to humanity. You know, he doesn’t talk about his family much, but from what I gather, it’s a pretty conservative, narrow-minded crew where the men are expected to be tough guys. They don’t cry, they don’t feel, they suck it up and get on with it. He’s got this domineering father and two older brothers. I bet Johnny learned early on he better not show any feelings, any sissy feelings, or he’d get the crap beaten out of him.”
“And now he’s come face to face with his reality. The man is gay.” Marlon laughed, but her tone was kind. “Well, there are worse things to be, right? I guess the best thing you can do is just be his friend. Hang in there with him. Maybe take him to Moe’s and introduce him to a few of our less flamboyant brethren. What do you think?”
Moe’s was the club where Marlon tended bar. It was a quiet place where friends met for a drink and a game of darts. The clientele was primarily gay, but it wasn’t a pick-up joint like DeSoto’s. There was a regular crowd and they didn’t mind straight folks hanging there as well, as long as they behaved themselves.
“That’s a good idea. Maybe Friday night Johnny and I will pay you a visit, if I can convince him, that is. You know.” She turned toward Marlon. “He’s got a crush.”
“Oh really? He just figured out he’s gay a few hours ago and he’s already in love?”
“No, not in love. But you remember at DeSoto’s? Eric Méndez was there.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, Johnny got an eyeful, and apparently Eric did too, because they exchanged a look that would have melted candle wax. That’s what spooked him. He went home and had a hot dream about the guy. He didn’t give me details, but it was enough to freak him out. It’s what started this whole thing, what finally forced him to examine his feelings, at least a little. He’s obsessed with Eric Méndez.”
Marlon smiled slowly and shook her head. “Well, he needs to get in line, right?”
“I guess,” Amanda smiled. “Guess who I’m obsessed with?”
“Who?” Marlon smiled back. Together they left the table, slipping away to their bedroom, leaving the golden-haired man dreaming on their couch.
~*~
Johnny eyed himself critically in the mirror. Amanda hovered just behind him. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. With your golden hair, those green-gold eyes, the masculine stubble on your square, firm jaw—why even Eric Méndez would line up for a chance with Johnny Wilson.”
Johnny whirled back toward his friend. “Hey! Why’d you bring him up? Is he going to be there? I told you I’m not ready to see him—”
“Relax, J. I don’t have personal control over Eric Méndez. I’ve never even met the guy. How the hell do I know where he plans to be tonight? Though if I had to guess, he’s probably at the latest, hottest BDSM play club—it’s Saturday night, after all. He has slaves to torture.”
Johnny thought about this. He didn’t admit it to Amanda, but since his “coming out” with her, and more importantly with himself the other night, he’d thought about little but his sexual orientation and what it meant for him going forward.
His first impulse was to deny it—to stuff it, to forget it, to
go on with his life. His humdrum, dreary, lonely life. He spent the next day at his father’s garage, hung over, his mind groggy but abuzz. He kept going endlessly over his conversation with Amanda, admitting at last to a truth that had always lurked just out of his reach.
By evening he couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment. He logged onto his computer, surfing the Internet for articles about homosexuality. He read for a while, testimonials from other men just coming to grips with their sexual orientation. Being a young, hot-blooded male, he soon moved from articles and words to pictures. Pictures he’d looked at before, but never with a conscious sexual desire. Was he even bi at all? Or had that just been Amanda’s way of letting him down easy? Not quite ready to pursue this line of thinking, Johnny kept looking at the pictures.
Naked men locked in strong-muscled embraces, penises erect with desire as they kissed. Johnny found himself breathing hard, fear battling with desire in his loins. As he scrolled through images at several gay porn sites, his mind kept drifting back to Eric. Eric Méndez.
On an impulse Johnny typed the word “BDSM” into the search engine. 46,200,000 results! Jesus, this must be a big thing. He felt his balls tighten as he selected the site called “BDSM Slave Boys—Extreme BDSM”. The pictures there at once shocked and electrified him. What a sheltered existence he’d led.
Men were bound in rope and chain, their faces contorted in what could have been agony or ecstasy. He clicked on a picture and a video loaded, giving him an eight second view of a naked man, bound with rope, a ball gag in his mouth. Another man dressed in black, his face obscured, held a long, dangerous-looking bullwhip. He raised it menacingly and the screen faded. Johnny’s heart pounded as he clicked the picture again. This time a popup ad advised him that for only $29.95 he could become a member of BDSM Slave Boys, and watch unlimited hot XXX videos to his heart’s content.
Johnny turned away from the screen, his fingers shaking. His own secret fantasy, the one he’d barely acknowledged during orgasm, was right there on the screen.
Johnny leaned back in the chair, his pants already open, his cock now held loosely in his hand. Letting his head fall back he moaned slightly as Eric slid into his brain, his dark eyes penetrating Johnny’s as his lips parted. Johnny didn’t try to fight the image, instead allowing Eric to move toward him. They were both naked, Eric’s dark olive-toned skin contrasting to Johnny’s golden tan as they locked in an embrace.
Johnny’s hand pumped his shaft as he felt Eric’s velvet lips slip over his cock. He moaned as Eric, kneeling in front of him, took him deep into his throat. He cried out with pleasure as he shot his seed into Eric’s eager mouth. His heart was pounding and it took Johnny a moment to recover.
As he came to himself, Johnny was actually surprised for a split second to realize Eric was nowhere in sight. He was alone in his efficiency apartment, his jeans stained with come that had leaked from his cupped hand. He stood, pulling his underwear and jeans up with one hand as he moved toward his bathroom to wash off the lonely reminder that not only was Eric not there with him—Eric didn’t even know he was alive.
Chapter 4
Eric looked around the place. The Cavern was a converted brownstone located in Northern New Jersey about twenty minutes outside of New York City. It wasn’t a dive like many of the BDSM clubs in the city—most barely more than converted basements in old buildings. On the contrary, the Cavern was quite lavish. The owners, Mark and Jason, lived on the third floor. They took great pride in their club, striving for an elegant yet homey atmosphere, if such a thing were possible when the primary activity in the place was sexually torturing naked men.
Unlike other gay BDSM clubs Eric had been to, this one was all class. No wankers in corners jerking themselves off to woefully bad gay porn videos. No lonely wannabes cruising the edges of the room, begging to be included, desperate for any favor, even the privilege of licking someone’s boot.
The Cavern was by invitation only, and only open on Friday and Saturday nights. Mark and Jason moved in high circles, both being independently wealthy from savvy investments in technology early on in the game. They’d lovingly designed the play spaces in this private club, sparing no detail or expense as they equipped the dungeons with the latest in whips, restraining devices and toys.
You had to apply for admission, much like a royal court in days gone by, when the nobility would petition for a chance to gain access to the king. Mark and Jason had fun drawing up their invitations for each weekend from the long waiting list of potential guests they’d amassed in their years in the scene. The receipt of an invitation for a particular weekend was a cause for celebration, and for envy on the part of those not selected.
A small circle of the gay BDSM elite had open passes to the club. Eric Méndez was one of these, having been friends with Mark since they’d met in high school fifteen years before, as well as a very high-profile and respected Dom in the scene. He spent several nights a month at the Cavern, occasionally only hanging out in one of the barrooms, but usually taking his latest boy toy into one of the three well-equipped dungeons for some serious S&M play.
The club was spaced out over two floors. There were two different bars, one with beer and wine, the other with juice and soda. No play was permitted in either location—they were strictly mingling areas for people to visit and get comfortable with one another.
The dungeons, or playrooms, as Mark and Jason preferred to call them, shared none of the restrictions public clubs in the city were forced to adhere to. The limits of “no exchange of bodily fluids” and “no total nudity” were not in force here. Indeed, the only rules were the bywords of the BDSM community—“safe, sane and consensual”. Thus condoms were used and no one was there against their will. Other than that, pretty much anything went.
Tonight Eric was there with Ginger, though he had wanted to come alone. Ginger had shown up at his apartment in Manhattan just as Eric was leaving for the evening. Ginger was wearing his usual black leather outfit, this one a one-piece suit of the softest suede, a long zipper down the front and decorative zippers down each leg from thigh to ankle. The effect of a package waiting to be opened was achieved, though Eric found tonight he didn’t want to undo the ribbons.
“Darling! Did you forget to call your slave? I’ve been waiting all week to see you! Why haven’t you returned my calls?” Eric had sighed but allowed Ginger to embrace him, as they exchanged air kisses. The truth was, he was growing tired of Ginger. It had been fun for a while but now it was growing stale.
Ginger was a handsome man and very submissive, though rather flamboyant. He would let Eric do anything to him—nothing was too debasing or humiliating or dangerous for Ginger. In fact, in that regard he had been something of a challenge for Eric. Just how far would Ginger let him go?
Eric was a responsible Dom however, and recognized, even if Ginger appeared to have no limits, that for safety’s sake he would have to impose them on his sub. Thus, when he’d had Ginger strapped to a torture rack a few weeks back at the Cavern and others watching had urged him to whip Ginger until he bled, Eric had refused.
Ginger’s cock was sticking straight out from his pale, naked body. His arms and legs were bound with thick strips of shiny leather and his eyes were also covered, rendering him blind to what awaited him. His body was crisscrossed with red lines, raised welts wrought by Eric’s skilled hand using a single lash whip Ginger loved.
Ginger was a pain slut, getting his thrill primarily from being bound and beaten until almost senseless. While Eric derived a certain powerful pleasure from using a slave thus, it wasn’t the be-all, end-all for him. He liked to mix sex into the game, and if possible, passion. He liked to take his slave to the edge of desire and then drag him back time and again, mingling the pleasure and the pain until it became one sensation, until his lover was lost, awash in a sea of heightened desire that left the slave utterly spent once Eric finished with him.
He liked Ginger, and was amused by his overt behavior and his wick
ed sense of humor. He was challenged by Ginger’s ability to take whatever Eric meted out. But the game was growing old, and Eric’s mind and eye had begun to rove. Eric was not known for his longevity in relationships, and no doubt Ginger knew this.
As they drove silently across the George Washington Bridge, Eric’s mind was far from the redheaded man next to him. Though he hadn’t seen him before, and had only seen him that one night for a moment or two, Eric couldn’t get the image of the golden boy out of his head.
It had been last weekend at DeSoto’s. There was the usual throng of hangers-on around him as he tried to smoke a cigarette, something he rarely did but for some reason that night had wanted to. He liked the attention of all the boys for the most part, but sometimes it became tedious, especially if he wanted to scope someone out.
That night his eye had fallen on the man, probably five years or so younger than his own thirty. The man had looked back at him—Eric was certain he had seen him. Their glances had connected and Eric had felt something surge through him. Something that went beyond mere desire—as if he was seeing someone he’d always known for the first time. He sensed something from the stranger as well, though fear seemed mixed in with lust, confusing Eric.
When he’d looked to see him again, thinking he would approach him, the golden boy was gone, but his image had remained in Eric’s head. He hadn’t mentioned the near-encounter or his feelings regarding it to anyone, least of all Ginger. The last thing he needed was a jealous lover, and Ginger had already demonstrated his possessiveness on more than one occasion. Not that Eric felt bound by his sub’s affections—he’d never pretended the relationships were based on love. By the same token, Eric liked to be diplomatic and saw no reason to needlessly upset people.
He would discover who the handsome blond stranger was. He wasn’t in a hurry. First, he needed to let Ginger down gently. Unlike many of his friends and acquaintances, Eric didn’t favor having many sexual liaisons at a time. When he was younger, he’d been more cavalier in that regard, but as he aged, he found it left him feeling lonely in the end, and invariably led to hurt feelings and misunderstandings. Yet by the same token, he rarely stayed with one man more than a few months. Though he always felt bad when he sent them on their way, it was better than keeping them around and living a lie.
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