Only Keep You

by JD Chambers

  Thank fuck.

  I pinch it between my fingers as if it’s the winning Powerball ticket and head back through the bank’s heavy double doors, only to realize I no longer have the bags with me. All that cash, and I’m the idiot that just left it lying there on the counter.

  My teller, scratch that – the teller, is helping another customer, so I wait in line. Can’t really fault myself for wishing he was mine, though. His broad shoulders and handsome face, complete with strong brow and square jaw, make it hard for me to look away. But even more than that, it’s his confidence that holds my attention. The way his tone of voice made me feel like everything was going to be okay earlier, even when my brain was telling me that I screwed up big-time.

  “Sir, I can help you over here.” Another teller down the lane waves to me, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth as she tries to get my attention.

  “No, thank you. He has what I need.” I nod politely in the direction of the bow-tie-wearing behemoth, who continues to count out cash for his customer without the slightest indication that he heard me.

  Seriously, how could I just leave all that money lying there on the counter? At least it’s a bank. Not like the guy could run off with it, right?

  When my turn finally arrives, my teller’s whole demeanor shifts from professional to … something else.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. I definitely have what you need,” he says, cocking his head, and I can’t help but imagine his hip dipped to the side. I haven’t even reached the counter, and already I feel more at ease. His voice is still low and confident, but it has taken on a new edge. One that hits me directly below the belt, and I shift from one leg to the other to try to ease the tension that is suddenly growing. “Oh, and I have this for you too.”

  I release a sigh of relief as he pulls out the bank bags from underneath the counter. Not that I thought anything had happened to them, but my hands itched without them in my possession. I really am terrible with responsibility.

  I hand the deposit slip to the teller, Arthur – now that I’m close enough and focused enough to read his name plate. When our fingers graze, the electricity short-circuits my brain. I wonder if he feels it too, but he continues on with his job as if the touch doesn’t faze him.

  “Game Over!” Arthur exclaims with delight after entering the account number into his computer. “I wasn’t sure if you were a fan or an employee,” he says with a nod to my t-shirt. “That Ted sure knows how to pick ’em, doesn’t he?” He adds a wink at the end and my brain fizzles once again. It’s like the wires are exposed and my intelligence keeps crackling off and on.

  “Sorry?”

  This feels distinctly like flirting. That can’t be right.

  “All you Game Over boys are so deliciously handsome, I want to gobble you right up.” He pauses, and then adds, “Like Pac-Man. Get it?”

  “Oh, um …”

  I absentmindedly scratch behind my ear. Arthur thinks I’m handsome? He wants to eat me? Wait, that’s a good thing, right? Or maybe he’s just teasing me?

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, I do,” Arthur says and slides a receipt and a note on top of the empty bags back across the counter. When did he count out all that money? My brain flits back over the past few minutes, but I keep getting stuck at delicious. “And here’s my number, if you ever need anything. A friend. A good time. A firm, guiding hand. I’ll be happy to help you out, sweet boy.”

  A strange warmth spreads across my insides from the praise. I feel exposed and protected all at the same time. It’s disconcerting, so I swipe the bags from the counter and flee to the safety of my car.

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. The words won’t stop rotating through my mind like a merry-go-round. I just got hit on. I never get hit on. Even after wearing the tight t-shirt that Craig insisted would get me numbers, no girls gave me a second look during the tournament. No guys either, for that matter.

  But I just got hit on.

  And by a big hunky hunk of a man reminiscent of the Hulk. If the Hulk wore a bow tie.

  I never ping anyone’s gaydar, or bi-dar, if that’s a thing. It could be the pleated-front khakis that I prefer because they give me plenty of comfy hanging room, or the baseball cap that I wear in the proper direction because my hair has a little too much floof and I have no idea what to do about it. I don’t care that much about fashion, only comfort. And video games. And being a friendly guy because the world can be a shitty place and I’m at least not going to add to it.

  I look down at myself as if somehow, my clothes hold the answer. I’m just in jeans and the Game Over spring break tournament t-shirt, even if it is a little tight. Nothing special. Nothing that screams for attention. So, maybe it isn’t me. Maybe Arthur just flirts with everyone. But he gave me his number. Maybe he does that with everyone too? I wish I could pinpoint what, if anything, I did differently today to garner Arthur’s notice.

  Because damn, I’d do it again and again. And switch personal banks.

  Being on the receiving end of someone’s attention instead of being the one to instigate something? So awesome. Like, spine-tingling, sparks-flying, never-before-felt-sense-of-rightness, awesome.

  Huh. Sparks.

  Even though I’ve always known I found both men and women attractive, my experiences have been limited to a single sex, and those experiences have been rather lacking. Not because the women weren’t beautiful and I didn’t want them, but because they just lay there and I wasn’t sure what they wanted or what I was supposed to do other than the obvious. Take Lydia. After our one time together, I think she moaned louder at the dinner afterwards than she did during our entire few minutes in the bedroom.

  During the drive back to the store, I play the second conversation over and over in my head, until remembering there had also been a first conversation. A brief, fleeting one while I panicked over the deposit slip. One where Arthur called me “puppy” with that deep, firm voice.

  A car horn jolts me from my daze, and I realize the light turned green who knows how long ago.

  Puppy.

  Fuck.

  I suddenly wish for the rest of the day off, but with the tournament going on, the store has been slammed. I only hope that my boner will hurry up and get the memo. My brain is a ping-pong game, unable to focus with so much stimulation from a single, short errand. When I finally return to Game Over, I’m a frazzled, flustered, but at least flaccid, mess.

  Ted’s face creases with worry the second he spots me. “Are you okay?” he asks and rushes around the counter to clasp my shoulder for support. The strength from that motion alone almost has me falling to my knees, I’m still so jittery.

  Get it together, I repeat to myself before answering. “What? Oh, yeah. Fine. All good.”

  In my head, I hear Arthur’s soothing voice. Deep breath. Deep breath. I shake my head to clear it. No. No Arthur voice right now. No getting aroused at work, dammit. If there were universal work rules, that should be number one. Unless you’re, like, a porn star, or a rent boy or something. They probably need to get aroused.

  Dammit, focus.

  “Empty bags. Right. Here are the empty bags.”

  Ted looks skeptical but thank god he doesn’t push.

  “Why don’t you go back into the game room and help out there? I heard a big cheer a few minutes ago. No idea what happened, but it sounded exciting.”

  I’ll take any excuse to make an escape from Ted’s concerned gaze.

  But now I have to decide what to do with that phone number. And all those words playing pinball in my brain and creating a spark wonderland across my body.

  Sweet boy.

  Deliciously handsome.

  Firm hand.

  Puppy.

  I had no fucking clue. Seriously. I had Friday off, and spent the day blowing my own mind.

  I knew puppy play was a thing. I’d seen pictures of them with leather daddies at Pride Parades and such. But I had no idea it was so prevalent. I
went to blogs, Tumblrs, YouTube channels, online retailers, not to mention the fucking porn.

  I’ve looked at kinky stuff online before, and gotten off to it, but not like this. I never before wanted to trade places with those people. I never looked at what they were wearing or what they were doing and wished for that to be me instead. But watching those men romp around without a care in the world, having no sense of responsibility except to do what they are told and then be praised and rewarded for it, fills me with such a deep sense of longing that I almost ache with it.

  Now it’s Saturday and I’m at work, wearing my baggiest pants and my softest cotton boxer briefs, because I swear I spanked the monkey so many times it’s sore. I went to bed with ice on my crotch last night and woke up with soggy wood.

  Elijah, one of the part-time employees at Game Over, asked me if I wanted to hang out with him and some friends at the bar in Old Town last night, but I was too exhausted, mentally and physically. I need to find someone I can talk to about this stuff, and as much as I like Elijah, he’s not the first, or even the fiftieth, guy that comes to mind when trying to figure out gay kink.

  Which is why, when Craig sits down next to me behind the register and asks whether or not I got any numbers last week in my tight shirt, I decide that it’s finally time to open up to him. At least a little.

  “How did you know that you were into piercings before you got them?”

  Craig wrinkles his forehead at me like I’m totally crazy, which maybe at this point I am.

  “Umm, I guess because I saw them on other people and liked them? I heard that they felt good and figured anything that increased pleasure couldn’t be a bad thing. Why do you ask? Are you thinking about getting a piercing?”

  I fidget with the stacks of returns that need to be reshelved as we talk.

  “No. Someone was talking to me about kinks the other day and it got me thinking.”

  Craig puts a hand on top of mine, stilling my incessant drumming of video game cases.

  “Hmm, and what kink was she talking about that got you so … interested?”

  I try to move my fingers again, but they’re still trapped underneath Craig’s hand. Deep breath. “He.”

  My gaze flickers to Craig, but his face stays neutral.

  “He called me a puppy.”

  Craig slowly nods, as if one quick move and I’m going to scamper away like a skittish dog.

  “And you liked it.”

  I nod, swallowing with difficulty. I thought talking about things was supposed to make them easier. I still feel just as wrecked over the idea as I did before.

  “Was it,” Craig hesitates before saying, “sexual?”

  “No. I was at the bank.”

  And I’ve lost him. Craig inhales and chokes on his own spit and it takes a few minutes for him to calm back down. Meanwhile, I’m humiliated and I don’t think I can ever work with Craig ever again. What the fuck was I thinking?

  “Sorry,” he says, taking a sip of water that I run grab for him from the break room fridge. “I wasn’t expecting that answer.”

  “It’s fine.” I grab the stack of games and start out from behind the counter.

  “Wait, Dave.” Craig holds out a pleading hand. “I’m sorry. Truly. I want to help. Please.”

  I sigh and sit back down.

  “You know Arthur at the bank?” Craig goes on bank runs all the time, so I’m not surprised when he nods. “I was freaking out the other day, and he called me a puppy and made me calm down. It wasn’t sexual, except, then I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And my brain keeps twisting it up, reimagining it, and making it sexual.”

  Craig takes another sip of water and carefully swallows. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I can totally see it.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah. You are a little–”

  “High-strung?”

  “Thank you. And having a big, hot guy commanding you to do something? Something that made you feel better? Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with that making you hot.”

  I think over his reasoning and his words. No, there’s definitely nothing wrong with it.

  “But how do I know it’s my thing, the way piercing is for you?”

  A teenager approaches the counter and I give her my full attention, answering her questions and explaining our return policy in enough detail to ease her concerns over her gift for her boyfriend. They’ve only been dating two weeks, so I try to impress the importance of keeping the receipt into her mind. Two weeks is like two lifetimes in teenager time, which means this couple is either long term or hours away from splitsville. Gift receipts are a must.

  When all customers are finally out of earshot, Craig continues, a thoughtful look on his face the entire time.

  “It’s probably nothing you haven’t already thought of yourself, but explore puppy play on the internet. Chat up kink groups and ask them questions. See if there are any groups around us with members who would be willing to talk with you about it. It’s not like a piercing – it isn’t permanent. You can try it out and quit if you don’t like it. Or maybe find a really great outlet for yourself if it turns out that you do.”

  “I have looked around. It’s intriguing.”

  Craig laughs and immediately looks chastened. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. Just the way you phrased it.”

  “No, I got you. But what if I think I might want to explore it with Arthur?”

  Craig tries, I can tell he does, but he can’t keep the shock out of his eyes. That’s actually okay with me because it means that he’s too surprised to notice my shaking hands. I can’t believe I admitted that out loud. And to another person, not just myself. Holy shit, I think I’m going to vibrate through the floor.

  “You’d want to? With Arthur? Bank teller, bow-tie Arthur? I mean, I know he called you puppy, but did he mean it like that?”

  “Maybe?” My voice totally doesn’t crack. I separate the videos into two stacks and hand one to Craig. “We need to get back to work.”

  “This isn’t over, Taylor,” Craig says to my back.

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  4

  Arthur

  “What’s up with you?” Rohit asks as we do medicine ball sit-ups together, tossing the weighted ball back and forth. The one catching has to do a sit-up each time.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  I usually work out alone, but sometimes when Rohit has a client cancel or has a free moment, he’ll help me out. If it weren’t for Rohit’s expert advice, I’d still be as lanky as that entering freshman who fretted over his buff roommate. As soon as I realized he wasn’t going to kick my ass, I begged him for help. These days, he’d charge me out the wazoo for that same help, so I’m glad I got it in early.

  “Because that guy in the lycra shorts over there has been doing dead lifts with his ass directed at you for the past five minutes. I’m afraid if you don’t notice him soon he’s going to need a wheelchair out of here.”

  I risk a glance, and sure enough, a perky ass says hello, peeking out of shorts that ride his crack. When the man rises back up to face the full-wall mirror, his eyes meet mine in the reflection and he gives me a wink.

  “He’s cute, if that’s your thing,” Rohit says. I refrain from pointing out Terry’s cuteness or asking how that ass could not be anyone’s thing. “But I’m telling you, you should come out with us tonight instead.”

  Tonight is the kink group dinner, and I’ve been debating whether or not to go. On the one hand, calling a stranger puppy and loving his reactions to it sparked something in me. It feeds the flames of a deep desire to have someone’s obedience, but in a way that fits with my personality. On the other hand, do I really want to go and talk to others about puppy play when I don’t even have a puppy?

  Given the panicked look on his face just from my flirting, I’m not surprised that a week later Puppy, as I’ve started to call him in my head, still hasn’t called. Of course, I forgot to get the man�
�s name. Doesn’t mean I can’t pursue him. After all, I do know where the man works, but I also don’t want to scare him.

  Rohit jumps to his feet and offers me a hand up. I take a little longer peeling myself off the floor. I blame it on my length, not Rohit’s superior flexibility. “I know at this point, you probably don’t want to go just to avoid Terry butting in.”

  True.

  “But be real. He’s going to butt in anyway. And I know you well enough to know it’s something you’re going to be into. Plus, it’s just a dinner. No pressure. No one’s going to be pulling out a whip or tying anyone up over jalapeño poppers and nachos. It’s not all Fifty Shades of Grey or Folsom, you know. I think you might be surprised.”

  “I don’t want to wear leather. It gives me a very unattractive rash.”

  Rohit laughs. “Dude, I did not need that mental image.”

  I wag my eyebrows at him and do my own dead lift aimed his direction, looking back over my shoulder and cracking up over his horrified expression.

  “Go let the poor boy down, ’cause you know he’s waiting for you in the locker room, and let’s go to dinner. You can even ride with me and call me Sir if it gets your ass there.”

  “Don’t talk about my ass if you’re going to look at it like that. Only people who appreciate this work of art get to discuss it so casually. And it will be one cold day in Hades before I call you Sir.”

  In the end, Rohit convinces me. After a quick shower, and getting dead-lift guy’s phone number since I already have post-workout plans that unfortunately don’t involve his perfectly sculpted ass, we drive together to McGillicutty’s Pub, the site of the monthly group dinner. I’d still prefer Puppy, but I’m not going celibate while I wait for something that might not even happen.

  We arrive and Terry flags us down. “Sit here, Arty,” he says, patting the saved seat to his left, which means Rohit must have already warned him that I was coming. Rohit sits in the saved seat to his right. It puts me at the corner of the long table, and there’s a handsome older man with a salt-and-pepper beard, wearing a suit that has me both drooling and envious, sitting at the head of the table.