Golden Boy Two-Volume Set

by Claire Thompson

  Ann interjected, “No, no! Dad didn’t do this. Not on purpose. I bumped the open kitchen cabinet is what happened. He didn’t mean to do it. Please calm down, Johnny. You’re upsetting me.”

  “What do you mean he didn’t mean to?” Johnny’s fists were clenched at his sides. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he uncurled his fingers and waited for her excuse, recalling suddenly a hundred others like them over the years he’d always taken at face value.

  “He didn’t raise his hand to me. He just, well, he shoved me in the heat of an argument. He was terribly sorry afterward. He wouldn’t dare hit me, son. Not since I told him—” Ann broke off, turning to Eric. “I’m sorry. This is a horrible way to come into your home. And it’s a lovely place. Reminds me of your office, only more, well…” she cast about for a word, “homey.”

  “Let me get you a drink, Ann. Johnny, come help me for a second.” Johnny followed Eric into the little kitchen. As Eric poured Ann a Cuba Libre he said, “Ease up on her right now, okay? Let’s give her a chance to relax, have some food, get comfortable with the idea of us as a couple in our own home. We can deal with the Frank issue later, if she wants to. If she doesn’t, it’s really none of your business.”

  Johnny nodded. “I know. I just can’t stand the thought of him bullying her. And because of me. He probably had a fit when she said where she was going.”

  “I doubt she said where she was going. Probably said it was bridge night at Betty’s.”

  Johnny laughed. “You’re probably right. Easier to lie than confront him, I guess. Always has been for all of us.”

  Eric stroked Johnny’s cheek. “Listen, chico, forget about him. Don’t let him affect our evening. We have a guest to entertain! Here, you take out the aranitas and see if she doesn’t like them as much as you do.” Eric took a steaming platter of the banana pancakes from the oven and placed them on a brightly painted lacquer tray. He added a shallow bowl of dipping sauce and handed the tray to Johnny.

  Ann was standing at one of the bookshelves when they returned. “You are some kind of reader, aren’t you, Eric?”

  “I guess you could say that. I read almost as much as Johnny. He’s always got two or three books checked out of the library at a time.”

  Ann turned her surprised glance toward Johnny. All those hours he used to spend at the public library had been kept secret from his family since “real men” didn’t waste time reading books. Ann accepted the rum drink from Eric and sat down on the couch, patting the space next to her, indicating Johnny should join her.

  He did, showing her how to eat the little pancakes, rolling them and dipping them in the sauce. ”They are delicious!” Ann exclaimed. “I’ve never had anything like this. It’s like bananas, but it’s salty and crispy. And this sauce is wonderful! Where did you learn to cook so well, Eric?”

  “From my grandmother and my aunts. And my mom too, when she wasn’t working. You’ll have to come to our house one Christmas. There’s always enough food for seven armies by the time each of them gets done producing her specialty.”

  “My mom should make the turkey,” Johnny said. “She makes the best Christmas turkey you’ve ever tasted—the meat melts in your mouth and her cornbread stuffing is fantastic.” Ann smiled appreciatively at Johnny, patting his thigh. How strange it was to have her sitting here, talking about food with Eric, his dominant male lover!

  “Well, from the delicious smells coming from the kitchen, I better save some room for the main course,” Ann said.

  “I’ll just put on the fish,” Eric said, rising. Just then the buzzer sounded. Eric wrinkled his brow. “That’s strange. I’m not expecting anyone. Are you, Johnny?” As Johnny shook his head the buzzer sounded again, several short jabs of sound. Eric walked over to the intercom and pressed the button. “Hello?”

  “My wife is up there. Send her down.”

  “Excuse me? Who is this?” Eric asked, though of course they all knew.

  “You heard me. Ann Wilson is up there in your den of filth, with some fool notion of making nice with the faggots. You just send her down now and there’ll be no trouble.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Ann said softly, her eyes wide. “He must have followed me. Don’t let him in, Eric. Don’t let him in! He’ll go away after a while.”

  Johnny sat rigid on the couch, his mind churning. His gut reaction, his learned reaction over years of dealing with his father was duck and cover. Avoidance was the safest way to deal with Frank’s periodic rage. When avoidance was impossible, pretending to agree and acquiesce was the path of least resistance, always subtly encouraged by his mother, Johnny now realized.

  Frank’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Ann! I’ve been waiting down here fifteen minutes! Get your ass down here, pronto!”

  “Let him in,” Johnny said, his voice low with suppressed rage.

  “No, Johnny! He’ll just make trouble. You can’t reason with him. He’ll get tired and go home.” Ann’s voice was pleading as she grabbed Johnny’s arm. Gently Johnny disengaged from his mother’s grasp and stood up.

  “I’ve hidden from Dad pretty much all my life, Mom. I’m done with that now. This is my home. If he wants to come up, we’ll let him. If he behaves in a way that is offensive, we’ll ask him to leave. Simple as that.”

  “He’s been drinking, Johnny. I can tell from his voice. You’re just asking for trouble.”

  “Let him in,” Johnny said again, turning to Eric.

  Eric nodded, pressing the intercom button. “We’re on the third floor. Come on up.” He pressed the button to release the lock downstairs and they waited, Ann with her hands clasped at her chest, Johnny with his hands clenched into fists at his sides, Eric near the door, his stance relaxed but ready.

  They heard Frank thumping noisily up the stairs. Eric had opened the door and now the stocky dark-haired man came bursting through as if he’d expected to have to break it down. He pulled himself up short and stood breathing hard, his face red, his eyes dark.

  “Ann! Come on. Get your purse. You’re not staying another second in this…this…” Frank looked around the finely furnished room, “perverted den of filth!”

  Ann darted a nervous glance at Johnny and then Eric. Eric nodded very slightly toward her as if to say, It’s your decision. Taking a deep breath, Ann said, “Did you follow me, Frank?”

  “Obviously. And it’s a good thing I did! It’s bad enough you’ve been going to that goddamned lady shrink behind my back! That’s right, I know all about it. I knew you were going somewhere pretty regular and Hank had the bright idea of checking your cell phone log! Hers was the only number I didn’t recognize. I called it and get this therapist’s office asking if I’d like an appointment!”

  As Ann started to speak, Frank cut her off. “Save it. We aren’t here to air our personal laundry! Tonight when you said you were going to the Neighborhood Watch meeting, well, I thought I’d just make sure. You know I don’t like you walking out alone at night. But instead of going to the meeting, you went to the subway station! Jesus, Ann. What else have you been lying to me about?”

  “Perhaps she needs to lie because you can’t handle the truth,” Eric said softly.

  Frank swung toward him, his face wrinkling in disgust. “You’re the one,” he said, his voice venomous with hate. “You’re the one who turned my boy queer. It’s people like you ruining this country! Faggots with your perverted habits, fucking each other in the ass!” His voice rose with incredulity. “You ruined my son! You destroyed my family! I should cut your filthy dick off! Slice off your pansy balls and make you eat them for breakfast!”

  Ann stood aghast while Johnny started to protest, to deny, to defend. Frank now focused on Johnny, his voice rising, his face red, spittle flying from his lips. “Don’t you dare talk to me, boy. You’ve been a disappointment all your life. You never could make it as a real man. Now you’re nothing but a homo freak, a waste of a human life!”

  Johnny was breathing hard, his eyes bright with anger.
He started to move toward his father, his body rigid. Eric said softly, “Johnny, don’t. He’s drunk. Think of your mother. Be bigger than he is. Be the man I know you are.”

  Johnny took a deep breath, tearing his eyes from his father to look at his lover. Slowly he nodded and stepped back, the adrenaline still spurting through his gut overridden by Eric’s calm words. Eric turned to Frank. “Mr. Wilson, hatred and prejudice have cost you the love of your son and if you’re not careful, the love of your wife. I’m not going to try to change you, only you can do that. I am going to ask you to leave. You’re not welcome in our home. We will see Ann safely home when she’s ready to go.”

  Frank stood by the wall near the front door, a vein at his temple throbbing, his fists clenched. He started to speak but instead snapped his jaw shut. Turning to Ann, he said gruffly, “You’re leaving. Now.”

  After a pause Ann answered quietly, “No, Frank. I’ll leave when I’m ready.”

  Johnny looked at his mother, his heart breaking to see the tears bright in her eyes, the shame and anger stark in her face. Suddenly Frank moved toward Eric with his arm cocked, throwing an overhand right toward Eric’s jaw. Almost instantaneously Eric’s left hand came up, easily deflecting the blow. With his right hand, Eric grabbed the older man by the throat, slamming him against the wall.

  Johnny and Ann watched in stunned silence as Frank struggled in Eric’s grip. His eyes were bulging, a strangled cough issuing from his throat. “Now listen carefully. I’m going to let you go and you’re going to leave. Your wife will leave when she’s good and ready. If you don’t walk out that door the second I let you go, we’ll call the police and have you arrested.” Slowly he eased his grip as Frank gasped for air, scrabbling ineffectually at Eric’s strong fingers. “Understood?”

  Frank nodded at last and Eric let him go, stepping back. Frank, his hands at his throat, glared at each of them in turn. They all glared back. Finally, with a last frightened glance at Eric, he staggered out of the apartment, thundering down the stairs.

  Ann collapsed on the couch, her face hidden in her hands as Johnny moved to comfort her. Eric sat across from them, his expression sad. Johnny looked over at him, awe in his voice. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “You learn to fight when you’re short and Puerto Rican in the projects. Though in truth, mostly I learned to run away.” He laughed a little and turned to Ann. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Ann. I should have listened to you in the first place and not let him in.”

  “No,” Ann said, her voice surprisingly strong. “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Frank Wilson like that. Not ever. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Johnny grinned, having been thinking the same thing himself.

  “Eric’s made an incredible meal, if you’ve still got the appetite for it.”

  “I know I should be in a corner crying my eyes out, like I usually am after one of his fits, but believe it or not, I’m starving! Let’s eat. And then you can take me to Billy and Sandy’s place. They’ve been telling me for months I have a room there. I think I’m going to take them up on the offer.”

  ~*~

  “I know what will distract you,” Eric said. Johnny was sitting on the edge of the bed hunched over, staring distractedly out the bedroom window. They had shared the meal with Ann, who, despite Johnny’s trepidation, had tried and liked everything, asking Eric to write out the recipes for her when he got the chance.

  Though they hadn’t mentioned Frank again, his presence hung over them like a damp, cloying fog, sapping the warmth from the evening. Soon after the sherbet, Eric and Johnny put Ann into a cab that would take her all the way to Billy’s place in Brooklyn. Eric handed the driver the fare while Johnny kissed his mother good night.

  “What?” Johnny said, looking up at the sound of Eric’s voice.

  “I said I know what will distract you from worrying about your mom.”

  “It’s not her I’m worried about so much. Billy’ll look out for her. It’s you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You don’t know Frank Wilson. You did something worse than hurt him—you humiliated him. He’s not going to forgive and forget. He’s gonna find a way to get even with you. I just know it.”

  Eric sat down next to Johnny. “Johnny, please don’t worry about that. Not for a second. Your dad is just a guy. I know he’s been a real source of fear in your life and I think maybe you and your whole family have assigned him so much power you don’t see him as he really is. You see a big, mean bully who scares everyone into doing his bidding. You know who I see?”

  Johnny turned toward Eric. “Who?”

  “I see a sixty-something guy who drinks too much and who doesn’t take care of himself. I see a bully who backs down as soon as someone confronts him. I don’t see a murderer. I see a man who’s scared of losing what he has. He’s terrified of change and he’s already lost you—he saw to that. Now he might be losing his wife and he doesn’t know how to behave so he operates with the only tools he knows, the ones that used to work but aren’t working so well anymore. Your mom is really responding to therapy and she’s learning she doesn’t have to live under his thumb or by his rules. She is her own woman.

  “He lashed out at me tonight because he didn’t dare lash out at her. Now, not to brag, but look at me.” Eric, who was shirtless though still in his trousers, struck a bodybuilder pose, bringing his hands together at his waist to show his arm and shoulder muscles to advantage. “I might not be as strong as you, but I’m damn near close and I know how to fight. Unless he gets a gun, and I really don’t see him doing something that stupid, I’m just not afraid of the guy. He’s a punk. You saw how he ran out tonight.”

  Johnny nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. He’s always been so much bigger than life to me. It’s kind of sad to realize he’s just some bitter old guy, unwilling to accept the world on any terms but his own.”

  “Yeah. It’s tough when your own dad lets you down so bad.” Eric kissed Johnny’s cheek and ruffled his hair. Smiling he said, “I think he’s used up just about enough of our precious time together, don’t you? Let’s not waste another second on him. Like I said before, I know what will distract you.”

  “You do, huh,” Johnny grinned, playfully punching at Eric’s chest. “Might this involve your cock?”

  “It might, but not at the moment. Not unless you earn it, boy.” Eric stood up and added, “Follow me to the playroom and I’ll do better than tell you, I’ll show you.” Johnny grinned and followed his lover out of the bedroom and down the hall into their favorite room. “Take down those plants and put the chains back,” Eric said as he unlocked the sideboard, removing the sturdy silver chains with Johnny’s leather cuffs still dangling from them.

  As Johnny obeyed, Eric took out several items, laying them neatly on top of the sideboard. “Strip and put this on,” he said, tossing a silver aluminum cock ring toward Johnny. Johnny took off his pants and pulled off his shirt, tossing them aside. Sliding his underwear down his thighs and calves, he kicked it aside. Eric stood watching him, a small smile curving one side of his mouth, his dark eyes glittering with lust.

  Johnny had never even heard of a cock ring back in his innocent “straight” days and he’d been more than a little worried about using it the first time Eric had suggested it. Eric had measured Johnny’s penis circumference when erect, making sure he gave Johnny a ring large enough to lock his cock in an intimate grip without causing pain or damage.

  As Eric had explained to his sub boy, cock rings trap the blood flow, forcing the shaft to stay erect. He had promised Johnny his orgasm, once Eric finally permitted him to come, would be more intense with a cock ring and Johnny had had to admit it was true. But that wasn’t why Eric had him use it. He liked the way it looked—Johnny’s cock thrust out from his body, hard as steel, the veins bulging sexily along the shaft, the ring glinting silver at the base of his shaven balls.

  He watched as Johnny popped his balls
through the ring and bent his penis down to pull it through. The submissive act had already begun the work of putting Johnny in the proper state of mind for an extended torture session. Eric, his nerves still imprinted with the memory of his brief tussle with Frank Wilson, was ready to expend some serious energy on Johnny’s body.

  He had been working hard with Johnny over the past few weeks, aware Johnny was eager to return to The Cavern to “vindicate” himself after the debacle the one and only time they’d visited. Johnny wanted to “be put through his paces”, he had said a number of times, “with all those Doms and subs as witnesses”. Eric knew Johnny could take a rough whipping—indeed Johnny loved to be used harshly, never more in his element than when Eric was lashing his ass and back with the whip, sweat matting his chest hair and trickling down his sides as he swayed in his restraints. Johnny was what Eric called a true masochist—he derived enormous sexual pleasure from erotic pain. Happily, Eric derived equally as intense pleasure from delivering it.

  Lately Johnny had begun to transcend mere masochistic pleasure almost at will. He could now move past the erotic pain into that sublime space where only a lucky few got to dwell—not in a matter of hours but mere minutes, if the experience was intense enough. Eric could actually see it happening, feel Johnny’s muscles ease, see his mouth go slack, his eyes flutter shut, his fingers unclench as he completely surrendered himself to the sensations delivered by his master’s whip, cane or hand.

  When this happened, Eric felt as if he were guiding a beautifully built craft sailing along unfurling waves, turning and lifting it at will with a flick of his wrist, a touch of his fingers. Though he himself had never experienced the trance-like state he’d seen induced in Johnny and many other subs, he could feel its power, knowing he had created the experience for his lover, knowing they had created it together.

  Johnny stood passively as Eric locked his wrists into their cuffs, pulling the chains taut. With a flick of his toe he lightly kicked Johnny’s ankle and Johnny responded, spreading his legs, the action of which resulted in more tension on his wrists.