Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender

by Opal Carew

  Shit. I’m at the dorms.

  The last thing I remembered…I was carried out of the club over Diego’s shoulder. I tried to retrace my steps...

  We’d all met up at Glamorama, had a few cocktails, and then danced.

  Ahhh…our white wine spritzers.

  What was in that stuff? And where were my friends? Was Taddy okay? What about Vive and Lex?

  “I’ll get his shoes,” muttered one of them as the other started to tug on my pants.

  No!!! My breath caught in my lungs. This can’t be happening. Wave after wave of shock slapped me. They’re going to rape me.

  Face up, they turned my body over. My limp arms splayed out to my sides. I couldn’t even wiggle my fingers.

  One of them tugged at my wrist, removing the Baume & Mercier watch my father had given me for my eighteenth birthday. Then my socks. In hopes that I wouldn’t get blisters from dancing, I’d worn the thick fuzzy ones.

  If I get out of this alive, my mom is going to kick my ass all the way back to Fairfield.

  She’s always saying stuff like, ‘if you play with trouble you’ll become trouble,’ ‘birds of a feather flock together,’ and ‘don’t light a match unless you want a fire.’ That kind of ‘I told you so’ crapola.

  Once I got to Columbia University, I’d promised Mom I wouldn’t get in trouble. I couldn’t. I’d won the Rise & Shine Learning Disability Scholarship. Yes, apparently Mom had found some free money for students who had dyslexia.

  Can you believe her? Leave it to a teacher like my mom to find such resources. It paid for half of my tuition. My parents still had to fork over the difference.

  Never mind the fact that my dad will be the one who kills me. The strong, silent type like him are always the ones who go postal. Right?

  “You going to take his underwear off?”

  Errr. Dear. Lord. I hope I put on clean underwear. I tried to think if they were a fresh pair or ones from the day before that I’d turned inside out. Hey, it’s Saturday. Usually by the end of the week I’m running low on clean clothes.

  “Sí, I want to. But no, I won’t,” replied Diego. At least it sounded like Diego. His accent wasn’t as thick as Miguel’s.

  “What do you think happened to his face?” Miguel asked. I detected a sense of censure in his tone. Then suddenly his fingers traced over my scar as he sat next to me. I couldn’t really feel him touching me, but the pressure from his fingers was on my skin. Breathing heavily. He was nervous. So was I.

  “Blake’s roommate Thor Edwards is in my Calculus class—”

  “The femmy one,” uttered Miguel.

  “Dude, I hate it when you talk like that,” Diego raised his voice in annoyance.

  “What? There’s gay and then there’s gaaay. And that Thor guy is a flamer.”

  “Mierda. Just because you’re not out to your padre doesn’t mean everyone else has to live in shame,” Diego snapped.

  Ah-huh. I knew it. Miguel Santana is a closet case.

  “Sorry, man,” Miguel muttered in a tender apologetic tone. “You know I want to tell my familia that I’m gay but I can’t. They’ll disown me.”

  “Whatever. Anyways…Thor said that Blake and his friends were in some kind of plane crash right before school started.”

  “Whoa,” Miguel exclaimed. “That whole clique of Manhattanites is nothing but malas noticias.”

  Bad news? See…that’s what people always think of us. It’s heartbreaking.

  “Have you ever Googled them?”

  “Who?”

  “Vive, Taddy or Lex?” asked Diego.

  “No. I’m not that interested.”

  “Well…I have,” he replied firmly.

  “What did you find out about them?” Miguel lowered his voice.

  They shifted their weight on the bed. My tall, soon-to-be-dead body sorta just laid there between them, sinking further into the mattress as if I were the Titanic going down in the North Atlantic Ocean.

  “They all ended up in boarding school by accident. Lex’s parents were on some music tour and couldn’t take care of her. Taddy’s family gave her away. Vive’s family couldn’t discipline her anymore. The press hunted them down as animals when they were kids.”

  “What about Blake?” asked Miguel.

  “He went to Avon Porter because the boys at his other school tormented him.”

  “I heard they are spoiled rich kids who did time in juvie,” Miguel stated flatly.

  “Give ‘em a break. They’ve come to the city for a fresh start. And I intend to make sure they get one.”

  Crap. This wasn’t how I expected my fantasy with these two Latin men to go down. Not at all. For starters, I wasn’t supposed to be wasted. And they wouldn’t be sitting there gossiping about all the horrific drama that’d gone on in my pathetic life.

  “Great, man, so now we have one of them staying with us,” Miguel’s tone hardened.

  “Shut up. What else were we supposed to do?” asked Diego with exasperation. “They’ve had a bad past. That’s why I grabbed him when the cops came. I didn’t want him to get into more trouble.”

  “You should’ve let Blake go in the ambulance with his friends. They could’ve fixed him up at the hospital.”

  Is that where everyone went?

  Diego’s hand pushed the hair out of my face. He reached down, and in a deep voice whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, guapo. I’m going to take care of you.”

  The fearing ache in my heart started to melt away. Diego was a good guy.

  “You like him, don’t you?” Miguel asked tersely.

  “Sí, you don’t think he’s cute?” There was a tremor of affection in his tone.

  “Blake is nice to look at, sure. He reminds me of a Ken doll. But he’s a bit too stuck-up for my taste.” Miguel’s voice grated harshly against my sensitive state of being.

  Maybe it was s a good thing that I couldn’t move my arms. Otherwise, I’d punch the crap out of Miguel. I’d heard enough.

  “Get the lights,” instructed Diego. His arms came wide before he tucked my body into his. I could feel the weight of his muscular Stone Cold Steve Austin-like body move over me.

  Then a kiss. First on my cheek. Followed by a few sweet words in Spanish. Then on my forehead. He repeated, “I’m going to take care of you.”

  A few minutes later, they were both asleep. How could I tell? Well…Miguel snored and Diego breathed down my neck, more or less. This was a first for me. I’d never gone to bed with another man before. And surely not like this. Hello!

  Naturally, I was wide awake. Well, not exactly. My eyes wouldn’t open and I still couldn’t move my body. But my mind was spinning at a thousand volts a second, that was for sure. Tonight will certainly fuck up my dyslexia. Soon I’ll be writing and talking backwards again.

  Oh, God. The little exercises the teachers had given me in school had helped, sure. But when I was stressed out like right then, watch out, people. I was not going to make much sense the following day or the one after.

  I thought about what they’d said. How Thor, my gay bestie, was indeed femmy, but so was I. Were they turned off by our expressive ways? Would I ever find a man to love me for me? For the last few years, I’d believed that once I got to college, met other gay guys my own age, love would come easy. But so far it hadn’t. If anything, the gays are meaner than the girls at Avon Porter. Their actions hurt more, too.

  I wondered if the scar on my face would ever go away. A few weeks before the skin was bright red. By that night, it was light pink. Maybe it would fade to white. Would I lose all the pigment?

  Mostly I thought about Taddy, Vive, and Lex. Were they doing okay at the hospital? If I was all right, then they had to be, too, right? But I wasn’t really okay. Shit. I’m paralyzed.

  The only one who probably was doing okay was Lex. She hadn’t drank a drop.

  What exactly was in that cheap Long Island stuff?

  I must’ve dozed off because the next thing I knew, I was dreami
ng that I’d kissed Miguel and Diego, both of them, and we were back at my place…

  “You have a nice cock,” I muttered, glancing up at Miguel in a flirty way as if I’d done this a million times before. I hadn’t.

  “Suck on it.” Diego instructed. “I want to see if you can take his entire dick in your mouth.”

  I licked my lips, opened my mouth, and closed my eyes.

  Mmm. Allowing Miguel’s dick to penetrate between my two lips, the sweet taste of him on my tongue.

  “That’s it. Take my dick, boy,” Miguel cried out, holding the back of my head, thrusting himself in further.

  Diego knelt down beside me and massaged his nuts, while his dick—oh, that fucking hot, thick, veiny dick—jetted further down my throat.

  I pulled back. I couldn’t take anymore.

  “Don’t stop.” Diego leaned in and kissed me. “I want to see you swallow him. Take that load.”

  Dirty. Hot. Fuck.

  I got back on Miguel’s dick. Thick. Hard. Swelling in my mouth. I loved it. This was only the third dick I’d had. Thor and I had messed around once at Avon Porter. It was horrible. Then later with Vive’s boyfriend. They were on a break. Don’t ever tell her that. No one knows. That’s a big secret.

  Holy Banana! Miguel was by far bigger than theirs.

  I could taste the salty pre-cum coming off him as he kept pumping and thrusting his body into my face.

  “Get rough with him.” Diego got behind me and held my head. “That’s it. Fuck his pretty face.”

  Oh. God. This is hot. So hot.

  “I’m going to come,” Miguel cried out and pulled himself from my hot mouth. “Open wide.”

  I dropped my jaw and stuck my tongue out like a chick in a porn flick.

  “That’s it, Blake.” And just like that he shot white, warm cream all over my face. On the last squirt, he jetted it all over my tongue. Lowering his lips to mine he kissed me. Just as I went to kiss him back, he shoved himself in my mouth and muttered, “Clean me. Nice and good. Lick it.”

  And so I did. I licked. I sucked. I drained him till my belly felt…full.

  I woke up from my dream. That was really hot.

  Ughhh, my tummy was doing somersaults. I waved my hand over my mouth, crying for help, realizing I could move.

  Thank God!

  On that revelation, I pulled myself to the edge of the bed as Diego lay sound-asleep. I fell onto the floor. My muscles screamed from the strain but I didn’t mutter a sound. Last thing I needed was for the guys to see me at my worst of the worst, upchucking my brains out.

  The bathroom! I had to get to the toilet. I was going to barf. Putting one knee before the other, I started to crawl, making my way to their private bathroom. I hugged the cold bowl, my chin resting on the seat as I hurled.

  Damn. If you ever saw The Exorcist, that was me. Sick as the devil. Lucifer was inside me. Like fire, through my nose, it came out from the back of my throat. The only place it wasn’t coming was out my ears. Backsplash misted my face.

  Jesus. This is nasty.

  Two vomit episodes later, it was over. I didn’t have anything left in me to throw up. My body rested on the floor and I began to cry.

  Somewhere, somehow between my cries, Diego—appearing tough and sinewy—came into the bathroom and scooped me into his muscular arms. I became acutely aware of his athletic physique.

  His hands felt rough and gave me a sense of protection. He removed my underwear, put me in the white porcelain tub, then filled it with warm water and a musky-scented bath gel.

  The white bubbles gave some privacy between my naked body and his ogling eyes.

  “You know where you are?” he asked, leaning his body against the tub. Even in the middle of the night, he appeared devilishly handsome.

  I nodded and took hold of a nearby washcloth.

  “You know my name?” he asked as he handed me the soap.

  “Diego Oalo. You’re in my English class. I’ve had a crush on you and Miguel since the first day of school,” I said freely as if I were still drunk or high or both. I didn’t care. After how the night had gone so far, nothing could get much worse. Could it? Fuck it!

  “Bueno,” he said, chuckling. There was an inherent strength in his face. “You gonna tell me what you and the girls took tonight?”

  Gritting my teeth, I gave no reply.

  “LSD? Acid?” he asked, his lips puckered with annoyance. With another washcloth, he washed my back. The scratchy, wet fabric eased my body’s tension.

  I covered my face, and replied through my soapy fingers, “No.”

  The feeling of being judged was almost as bad as the time we’d all stood trial. I hated this. I knew in my heart of hearts that I did nothing wrong. Yet all the outstanding evidence stated otherwise.

  “Ecstasy?” He ran his hands over my chest and smiled at me. There was something alpha about Diego. Something that I’d never experienced with another gay guy before. Maybe it was the Latin thing, I wasn’t sure, but this dude was different.

  Staring blankly, I shook my head.

  “Cocaine? Guapo?” His eyes, black and beautiful, narrowed. “Tell me what you took.”

  “Just wine...”

  He dipped his chin at me as if I were lying.

  “Are my friends okay?” I started to cry.

  “They should be. They were taken to Manhattan General. We can go see them tomorrow. Don’t get upset, por favor.”

  Inhaling deeply as if I was taking in all the oxygen in the room, I felt another wave of nausea come over me. He told me to breathe. For a few minutes, I just sat there in the water and focused on not throwing up.

  He washed my face and admitted, “When Miguel and I dragged you out of the club, the police had shown up. They arrested a bunch of people. More than just your friends were passing out.”

  I tried to remember. There were a ton of us on the dance floor. Falling like dominos, we’d piled on top of each other.

  “Do you believe me?” I asked as sheer nervous energy swept through my body. I don’t know why I cared what he or Miguel thought. Maybe I’d wanted their approval all along. Regardless, if these two strangers didn’t believe me, how on Earth would my family feel if they heard what had happened? Probably the same.

  “I’m not calling you a liar. But something you took—maybe by accident—made you sick.”

  “Agreed.” I pulled my legs up into my chest.

  He reached under the sink, took out a new toothbrush, unwrapped it, and handed it to me. I brushed my teeth as he washed my legs.

  A few minutes later he pulled me out of the tub, dried me off, dressed me in a gray sweat suit, and then put me back into bed with him.

  Naked. Warm. Oddly aroused. I wasn’t afraid of Diego. Something horrible had brought us together and I only wanted good things to come from it.

  Before falling asleep, he pulled my body into his. Leaning in my ear, he spoke from behind me. “Blake. Tell me whatever you like. I won’t judge you. Sí, I’ve had a crush on you since the first day of class, too. Just trust me, okay?”

  Nodding, I didn’t turn around to face him. I couldn’t. Miguel, who lay shirtless in the bed across the room from us, was glaring at me.

  Awake, he didn’t appear too friendly. In fact, he seemed rather…angry. His mouth, perfectly sexy with full lips, opened as he muttered in my direction, “You. Are. Trouble.”

  A chill surged through me.

  Chapter Three

  Charlie Brown’s Mother

  “Whah Whah Whah.” Diego and Miguel sounded like Charlie Brown’s mother. It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying. My head felt heavy as if someone had taken a baseball bat and whacked me with it. Eyes dry, the skin on my arms seemed sensitive and itchy, too.

  I must’ve slept for what felt to be eternity. During that time, I had many dreams. One was about pink ballerinas dancing with Lhaso Apsos. I overheard Diego and Miguel talk more about me. Miguel on the offense, Diego on the defense. They also disc
ussed the classes they were taking that semester and had made a few comments about my besties.

  Empty. Drained. Utterly exhausted.

  Rolling over, shivered with fatigue, I stared up at the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. In running pants and a jersey hoodie, Diego appeared to have just come back from the gym. His muscles seemed extra pumped as the veins on his forearms popped, and the cheeks on his handsome face flushed with adrenaline.

  “Buena noches,” he said, flashing his pearly whites.

  “What time is it?” I asked, feeling as hollow as my voice sounded. I sat up, wanting to put all the pieces together. My head spun. Not as spin-like as before, but still rather dizzy.

  “Around eight o’clock” he replied and crawled next to me in bed. His long, sturdy legs brushed against mine. That very touch made every fiber of my body come alive.

  “You let me sleep all day?” My back ached between the shoulder blades.

  “Sí, you needed your rest, guapo,” he said huskily.

  His accent turned me one. And that nickname he kept calling me made my insides ache with needs I didn’t even know existed. Just the mere sound of his voice caused my g-spot—the swath of skin between my testicles and anus—to become acutely hungry for his touch.

  I felt my face color fiercely. Glancing around the room, I searched for his roommate and asked, “Where’s Miguel?”

  “He took the train to see his folks in D.C. He’ll back in a few days.”

  “I see…” Unable to figure out for the life of me why I liked that man, I tried to hide my disappointment. Clearly, Miguel despised me.

  “Everyone always likes Mig. He’s mysterious,” Diego spoke as if he’d read my mind.

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. I think he’s actually kind of a dick,” I totally bluffed. I guess my face was pretty transparent.

  He threw back his head and let out a deep laugh as if sincerely amused. It was marvelous and catching. “That’s funny, guapo. He said the same thing about you.”

  I rolled my eyes as my empty tummy rumbled. Starving, I asked, “Are you hungry?”

  “No. Do you want me to order you something? I can get us a pizza.”