Chapter28: Meeting the Man
We lay together for half an hour after his explanation and talked while the storm raged outside. He intermittently stroked me, squeezed or tugged me, moderately cuffed my balls a few more times. The strong winds whistled through the spruce, providing an eerie aural backdrop to our interaction. He took off his shorts revealing his dick, the first time I had ever seen it hard, and lay back down next to me grinding it satisfyingly into my thigh.
I relaxed. Relaxed into the conversation, relaxed into his touch, relaxed into his care. Once or twice I reached to caress him, prompting him to gather my wrists over my head and pin them there as if I were a criminal crucified. Still, I liked that he held me immobile and in that position; my sides and armpits were exposed to his exploration. We discovered I was mildly ticklish - unusual, as I was not normally so. We discovered that rather than deflating my erection, the periodic mild pummeling of my balls kept me steely hard and dripping. We discovered I didn't need to cum to consider the sexual interchange a success.
Neither of us came that night. Instead, Dan conducted the sexual tension like a symphony. Theme and variation intermingled with counterpoint, interlude and recapitulation. Cumming didn't seem to be the point. When I asked him when I could cum again, he asked me why I thought the prohibition existed in the first place. I told him I understood perfectly why: my job was to give up control to him - including control of my own pleasure. He smiled and stroked my cheek. "When you have the right answer to that question," he said, "you can cum."
When Adam walked in soaked from the deluge, we were lying together, me nude, Dan's legs intertwined with mine, his dick embossing in my thigh, talking about our families. Adam paid no more attention to our various states of undress than he did the mess on the floor.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," Dan replied nonchalantly, as unaffected by Adam's presence as Adam was by ours. I, it seemed, was the only one bothered. I made a move to get up if at least to cover myself, but Dan pulled me back.
"Ummm..." I said, "I'm naked, here. Got an erection, you know?"
Adam turned from picking up a dry set of clothes to look at me. "Have you ever not had an erection?"
Dan laughed, and I, QueerPowerMan himself, blushed a Diana Vreeland red.
"It seems our friend is a little pain pig," Dan said lightly.
"There's a surprise," Adam replied unimpressed, stripping off his shirt.
"I am not," I protested. "You didn't go that hard."
"In fact, I did."
"You did?"
"Yeah, Mark. That was pretty hard."
"It couldn't have been."
Adam put on a ratty hooded sweatshirt he had found amidst the dust bunnies under the bed. It made him look irresistibly roguish. "Trust the man," he said. "He's done this before."
Cognitive dissonance. It hadn't hurt that much, or if it had, it was a pain that I could very much appreciate. In fact, I had kind of hoped Dan would keep going. How could it have been that hard? If it were that hard, I would have surely lost my erection. I had been hit in the balls with a softball once a few years back. I was running around the track at school while a pickup game formed inside the oval. A warm-up throw had gotten away from one of the fielders and flown at me while I rounded the turn. It had caused me to throw up. That was hard. But Adam was right. Dan had done this before, and I had not. And Dan was not the type to exaggerate. My advisor liked to say that faced with dissonant evidence, people will trust their outdated self-image more than their senses. Was it time for me to update mine? Researcher, activist, intellect, wit...pain pig? It didn't sound right.
Adam shucked his shorts and underwear, dropping them where he stood and began rooting around for a clean pair.
"Please let me clean up this place," I begged.
"Fuck, yeah," Adam said. "I can't find shit anymore." The view was breathtaking. He had bent over to search for underwear, the muscles in his ass dimpling and spreading his cheeks to reveal the dark hairs that lightly dusted his pucker. The boys rarely bent their knees when they picked things up off the ground, I realized. Where I would crouch, they piked.
"Maybe later," Dan allowed, drawing my attention back to him as I realized that he had just done the unspeakable. He had trumped Adam. Adam had said yes, Dan had said no, and no it would therefore be. But if the boys had recognized this exchange as unusual, they did not indicate it to me. Adam merely shrugged and continued his search for a pair of boxers he could wear.
The sound of the rain on the roof increased to a furious white noise.
Monday came and went, still hot but now overcast and drizzly. The weather remained miserable but no longer violently severe. Aside from a call to Shmu to set phase B of the plan in motion, I spent the hours being obsessively aware of my genitals. From Brad's golden smoothness to Doug's clumsy but irresistible goofiness, I leaked throughout the day. To make matters worse, Adam began treating me with an easy familiarity, at one point going so far as to begin tweaking my nipple through my T-shirt as his arm rested casually over my shoulders.
It is exhausting constantly having an erection. I don't mean the hyperactive rise and fall that punctuates a horny teenager's afternoon. I mean an endless, indefatigable, bone-crushing erection that holds blood from the brain and other less demanding organs in cathexis. Every move, every rustle of clothing, every sight, sound and smell draws your attention back to it and its relentlessness. It begins to rule you from moment to moment, a true dictator.
Dan. Dan and his sculpted, powerful torso. Dan and his long, flattened, sandpapery fingers. Dan and his pale skin, dark lashes, blue eyes, red lips. Dan and the fur on his shins as it scratched me while our legs intertwined. Dan and the masculine angles of his long neck. Dan and his forceful confidence. Dan as he swam me around the lake, gliding so smoothly through the water with my life in his hands. Dan the fisherman. Dan the hook on which I was impaled.
In his room that night he took me by the wrist as I entered and twisted it painfully into an arm lock behind my back. Suddenly facing away from him and not quite knowing what was happening, before even the pain from my elbow was able to register, I was pulled backward into him while his free arm wrapped around my throat. His bicep began to cut off air as he tightened it over my windpipe.
"I could kill you now, if I wanted," he whispered into my ear.
"Dan, you're scaring me."
"Do you want me to stop?"
I felt my pulse quicken in my jugular as it beat against the crook of his elbow. His forearm bent my head up and back at an uncomfortable angle, which did little to distract me from the growing pain in the arm twisted and held at an impossible pitch behind my back.
Did I want him to stop? His breath was hot on my ear, his groin hot on my ass. The very power of his bicep was aphrodesic as it pressed against my larynx. Did I want him to stop? I did not enjoy the pain. Not this pain. And he was seeming psychotic to me. I had no death wish. Submissive, perhaps, but not self-annihilating. Did I want him to stop? I did. But not forever and he was eminently clear on the drive back from the mall that my first refusal would be my last.
"Well?" he spat, menacingly into my ear.
In response, I consciously and deliberately relaxed my body. I did not move, per se, merely leaned back more onto him - into him. I was on the trampoline, and he was pushing me, holding me, protecting me all at the same time. My body language sent a clear message: snap my neck, it said without words. It's yours to break. He chuckled and licked my ear wetly, loosening his grip on my arm, but not on my neck.
"I know why you won't let me cum," I said.
"Why's that?"
"Keeps me focused. I've been totally ruled by my dick all day. Every time I move I'm aware of it. Not letting me cum keeps me a primarily sexual being."
"Interesting answer," he said, finally releasing me. "Keep playing."
"That wasn't it?"
"Nope. But you've earned the right to progress on to the lightning round."
When Tuesday dawned, I was exhausted. Unable to fall asleep the night before without the ability to relax myself by jacking off, I spent the humid hours in bed like a chicken on a rotisserie unsuccessfully looking for a position that did not remind me of my erection.
Adam found me leaning against a locker mid-morning almost asleep.
"You okay?"
"Just exhausted," I said, yawning. "I'll pull out of it."
"Cool," he replied and went digging for the new set of grips he had come searching for.
"Adam, can I ask you something?"
"Shoot," he said, straddling the bench and beginning to unwind the tape that bound his wrists.
"Dan scared me last night."
When he realized that was all I had to say, he looked up from the white adhesive ball he was forming. "That's not a question, champ."
I shrugged, unsure as how to continue. "Should I be? Scared, I mean?"
Adam stopped what he was doing and looked within my eyes. He was reading something. How could he do that? How could he just look and know? His jaw flexed, and he drew his lips in a millimeter.
"What did he do?" he asked.
I told him about our interchange, his arm at my throat, the menace in his voice, my response.
"I'll talk to him about it," he said and returned to removing the torn leather grip from his left hand.
"No," I said. "No. You don't have to come to the rescue." He stopped again and looked up, clearly surprised. "This is between me and him," I went on. "It doesn't seem right if you...It wouldn't be appropriate...I mean, I really appreciate it, but...I don't know..." The fog and coherence, mortal enemies from the moment I had first seen Adam, battled anew for supremacy. "I just think this is something he and I have to work out together. It's not for you to direct. It's Dan's show."
Adam stood and sauntered over to where I sat leaning against the lockers. So close that my nostrils burned with the exquisite reek of him, he brought the fore and index fingers of his right hand to my lips and gently pushed them into my mouth. I sucked them in, savoring the bitterness of the rosin, the saltiness of his sweat, the electric tingle of his magic. He ran them over my tongue, gently allowing me succor and sustenance.
"You've come such a long way," he said softly. "I'm proud of you, Mark." His face was inches from mine. His breath was sweet. Were his fingers not in my mouth, I would have tried to drink it. "He won't go too far. I know him." He looked into my eyes again and read the question on my mind. "I don't know if it'll be too far for you, but it won't be too far. You understand?" I nodded.
He removed his fingers from my mouth and smiled at me. It was a moment of such sublime tenderness until he wiped his fingers on my shirt and pinched my right nipple painfully hard.
"No cumming, now," he said in mock seriousness. "Wouldn't want to get you in trouble with The Man."
The rest of Tuesday devolved into Dan Day. Dan on the vault as he threw himself full throttle at the hard leather horse. Dan eating lunch. Dan pulling at the front of his uni to give his chest more room to expand. Dan showering. Dan where I looked. Dan when I blinked. Dan on my mind. Dan in my soul.
"I know why you won't let me cum," I said to him on the way back to the dorm after dinner as the continuing drizzle turned back to a moderate rain.
"Ya do, huh?"
"You're all I can think about today. Everywhere I go, everything I do. It all comes back to you in my mind. The more celibate I am, the more you own my thoughts. It's a strange feeling, not to be in control of my own ability to concentrate."
"Well, that's pretty cool."
He led me into his room. "Strip now," he said.
"Oh, goodie!" I exclaimed giddily, dropping my shorts. "Score one for Mark!"
"No, actually, score's still zero," he said, lifting my shirt off me and pulling me against him. He held my ass in his hands and ground me into him.
I looked up into his eyes. He was in a good mood.
"That wasn't right?"
"Nope," he said, kissing me deeply, insistently, but tenderly. His tongue was soft yet commanding. I happily let it explore my mouth. He broke off the kiss. "But you're still in the game. Now take down my shorts."
Dan's dick was fully engorged. Somewhat shorter than Adam's, it was wider and thicker, both at its base where his coal-colored pubes extended an inch out onto the shaft and at its head, sheathed as it was in its turtleneck of skin. Straight, cream-colored except for its crown which shone pinkish and damp, a blue vein running half the length of its underside to where it forked in two then, shortly thereafter, disappeared. His pendulous balls hung low and large in their loose sack.
"That might well be the most beautiful dick I have ever seen in my life," I said, mouth dry, palms itching.
"Shaddup," he said and smiled. I smiled back, liking very much the Dan of the evening. Had Adam talked to him despite my entreaty not to? He was a different Dan than the one of the night before.
"Down on the bed," he said, swatting my butt playfully. I took a flying leap, swan diving onto the bed and flipped myself over on the first bounce. He swaggered over, his dick pointing to his chin, hardly bouncing with his stride and stepped up onto the bed. Standing over me, he placed one foot on either side of my hips and faced me.
He towered over me, Herculean, imperious, enormous. From below, the thickness of his shoulders was pronounced. Above the fearsome ridges of his long stomach, his musculature spread out significantly dorsally as well as laterally. I held onto his ankles and grinned.
"Ya like this, do ya?"
I nodded like a little boy. "Yes, sir," I said happily. "More, please."
"I'll give ya more, little man,"
He began to jack himself, pulling his generous foreskin first down toward his groin then completely over his cockhead. Without thinking, I ran my hands up his shins, enjoying the abrasion of the fur that covered them, past where his thighs flared out like blocks, up to his balls.
He frowned stepped over me and off the bed. Walking to his bureau, he opened one of the drawers and retrieved a length of rope.
"We just don't listen, do we, now?" He said, condescendingly.
"Why can't I use my hands?" I asked. "I just wanted to make you feel good."
"Well, to begin with," he said, looping the rope around one of my wrists, "because I said so." A few half-hitches later, he attached my second hand to the first. "And to end with," he added, "because I said so." My wrists trussed, he looped the rope around the iron rail of the headboard of his bed and pulled. My arms were drawn over my head. He tied the rope off. I tested it. I wasn't moving until he wanted me to.
"Am I gonna have to do the legs?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I'll be good."
He climbed back up on the bed. Working one foot between my knees, he kicked them apart and stepped between them. Taking his dick in his hand again and beginning to stroke it, he surveyed his conquest. Naked and stretched below him, I was immobilized both physically and emotionally. Dan had me pinned as completely as a child would a jarred butterfly. I wondered again at how I had come to this point - how surprising it had been and how surprisingly easy. My advisor frequently likened the therapeutic process to childbirth. There was slow, hidden development for months and months. Then, all at once, a new person emerged in a sudden, cataclysmic event. Was this what was happening to me? Was I being reborn?
Dan was erotic in every way I could imagine and myriad ways I couldn't. Commanding, confident, demanding, he surprised me with every exchange and threw me constantly off guard. Were he not a gymnast, he would be an excellent wrestler. He lifted one foot and brought its ball down on my scrotum, gently running my testicles back and forth under the calluses. Moderate, steady pressure. I moaned in delight, spreading my knees wider for him.
"My little pain piggy," he said with genuine fondness, stroking the length of his dick as he pressed. But his attention to my balls was short-lived. He brought his toes under them to my crack and insinuated himself into it. I dug my heels into the mattress, lifting myself slightly to give him full access. He stroked my perineum with his big toe, pressing the tender flesh, all the while working himself in slow, deliberate, long strokes.
"My little piggy want a toe fuck?"
"Whatever The Man wants is fine with the piggy," I replied, eyes rolled back and half-closed in ecstasy, despite my conscious desire to look at him.
Of all times for the door to open. Of all times for Adam to walk in. Worse, he had Doug in tow.