Service Out of the Ordinary

Service Out of the Ordinary 10

Notice: The following account depicts homosexual acts between consenting persons and is intended for mature readers only. Exercise your own judgment‚ in consultation with the appropriate laws and moral standards of your community‚ in deciding whether or not to read this work. While this story depicts significant events in the lives of certain individuals‚ readers are cautioned not to assume that their experiences are in any way representative of those of most homosexuals. Any connection between persons named herein and real persons‚ living or dead‚ is vigorously denied. Comments may be sent to paulsgoodboy@hotmail.com. This story may not be copied or distributed without the express written consent of the author. Copyright 2001 All Rights Reserved.

Chapter Ten. Loose Ends

The ties that bind.

It would be several months before I felt properly angry—enraged—over what had happened to me. And it would be a couple of years before I understood‚ fully‚ why that rage was so appropriate. I had become that which so many young gay men of my generation refuse to accept: a passive‚ compliant‚ isolated‚ and—most disliked—victimized homosexual. Plus‚ I had supported the very structures guiding me into that mold. Even when the most tolerant person around‚ Mr. Clements‚ all but asked me to remain in the closet‚ I agreed! Everything you can think of that signifies gay power‚ things like community‚ pride‚ activism‚ persistence‚ insistence‚ courage—I was the opposite. Indeed‚ the very term “gay power‚” had I known of it‚ would have been an oxymoron to me. Instead‚ I had learned gay weakness. But who were my role models? Why Matt‚ of course‚ and everything he represented. I wish there was someone who could have given me a positive image to cling to. I wish there was someone who could have told me of the likes of Henry Gerber‚ Bayard Rustin‚ or Barbara Gittings—people who have done important things for the cause of freedom. I wish there had been some other picture in my mind of what it means to be gay in America than that of the bloody face of the boy I saw beat up in the hallway at school.

Not that that would have changed the outcome‚ necessarily‚ because events did seem to make for an intricate web of intention and coincidence. One thing that still bothered me at the time‚ for example‚ was the question of how Matt was able to convince Mark to stay quiet. I mean‚ sure Matt went to Mark in order to protect Paul‚ but why did Mark comply? Certainly it wasn’t out of fear of retribution. Was it merely out of friendship with Matt‚ such as it was? And would that really continue after all that happened? It seemed unlikely‚ especially since Mr. Clements became privy to all this information. But I just know Matt wanted to be sure the deal he struck would stick. Paul and I holding up our end would not be a problem. But what did Matt have to do to compel Mark’s compliance? I resigned myself to not knowing the full answer and recalled only that Matt had a pretty good ability to control Mark‚ as he’d demonstrated from time to time. Some things just turn out a certain way and you never know why‚ I thought. Maybe you’re not meant to.

While I was recuperating at home‚ my mom had to work‚ of course‚ and she wasn’t able to stay with me during the day‚ even though I couldn’t do things for myself and really needed someone there to help me. Paul‚ however‚ volunteered to be my daytime nurse‚ and happily his father eventually agreed. It’s the least he could do‚ Paul told his dad‚ to make up in some small way for his role in bringing about my misery. Explaining the situation to my mom was a little more difficult‚ but not impossible. She expected that Matt would want to see me‚ and was puzzled that he hadn’t. I had to explain to her that we’d had an argument because Paul and I had become good friends and Matt was jealous about it and he just needed some alone time to come back around. It wasn’t the truth‚ but it wasn’t a full lie‚ and she was happy not to be leaving me by myself during the day.

A sense of duty was only part of the reason that Paul wanted to be with me. The other was that he wanted to spend as much time with me as possible in the remaining days I would be in town. During the week‚ he came over about ten in the morning‚ usually‚ and left around three or four to go to baseball practice‚ or a little later on nights his team had a game. On the weekends‚ of which there were only two or three‚ I didn’t see him much at all. We spent a lot of our time talking‚ hanging out‚ watching TV—anything that was easygoing and didn’t require me to use my arms and hands. Paul also did everything my mom had to do for me when she was home‚ like fix meals and help me eat‚ help me bathe and get dressed‚ and help me go to the bathroom. Probably the best thing he was able to do for me was give me a much-needed shave. His doing all this was awkward at first‚ but necessity outweighed embarrassment and brought out the best side of Paul. Needless to say‚ we got to know each other better then than in all the time we’d been together during the previous year. In a strange way‚ it was like we were living together‚ content in the midst of this big dog world. Or at least I could pretend so. And the thought of that made me very‚ very happy.

I sensed a new openness between us‚ even on the very first day we were alone together. One day shortly after he started coming over‚ Paul and I were in the kitchen getting ready for lunch. Basically‚ he was fixing it‚ and I was just waiting to eat it. We were having grilled cheese and tomato soup‚ the kind of thing that is simple yet tastes good and that all teenage guys know how to make. We were quiet as Paul fried the sandwiches‚ and I sat at the table and watched him while he worked. He had on a tee shirt and running shorts and nothing else‚ and I was blown away for the ump-hundredth time by how beautiful he is. I couldn’t take my eyes off his bare legs and feet. Nothing turns me on more than athletic thighs and well-defined calves‚ and Paul certainly had them‚ solid and proportioned. Immediately my mind pictured how he’d use them to push himself into me‚ his muscles taut and straining‚ his weight heavy on top of me‚ his arms holding me in place as he guided his raging cock into my...

“There you go again‚” Paul said‚ looking straight at me.

“Wha... What?” I stammered‚ jilted out of my reverie by the sound of his voice.

“You’re undressing me with your eyes.”

Paul was only playing with me‚ but I was embarrassed at being so obvious and getting caught. I tried to feign innocence‚ but my face was turning red. “Who me? I’m a good boy‚ and good boys like me do no such thing!”

Paul brought over the soup and sandwiches and put them on the table. “Uh huh‚” he said. “Good boys like you just sit there thinking nothing‚ but gee‚ what’s this? Looks like somebody’s being bad and might need to be spanked.” Paul reached over and tweaked the hard-on poking up into the front of my shorts. He winked. “Don’t think I don’t know what comes to your head.”

“Ohhh‚” I moaned. It had been so long for me that the touch of Paul’s warm hand was almost enough to get me off. A shudder of aching pleasure went down my whole body‚ from head to foot‚ which Paul noticed.

“Geez‚ I guess it’s been a long time for you‚ hasn’t it?” he asked.

I held up my casts. “What do you think?”

Paul smiled. “Well‚ seeing as how it’s my job to take care of you‚ we’ll just have to find a way to soothe all your aches and pains.” I groaned again as Paul gave me firm squeeze. “But first‚ we’re going to eat.”

“Awww‚” I whined.

With my encouragement‚ Paul stuck a long spoon into the end of my right cast‚ and in this way‚ I was able to eat my soup. It worked so well that he stuck a fork in there when I was done with the soup‚ and I used it to spear the pieces of sandwich piled on my plate. Paul sat across the table from me‚ and as we ate‚ he stuck out a leg and rubbed up and down against my bare calves. I stayed hard through the whole meal‚ and it was driving me crazy.

“You know‚ you look a lot better from when I saw you in the hospital. Is there still a lot of pain?”

“A little‚” I said. “But I’ve got pills left. Mostly stiffness‚ though. I’m just glad I can see out of both eyes now.”

“How long do you think they’ll be black?”

“Maybe a month or so‚ I think. I don’t really know. It’ll take awhile for the bruises to completely go away.”

“What about the casts?”

“Well‚ the left one should come off soon‚ maybe within five weeks‚ I think. The right will stay on a little longer.”

“You’ll be gone by then.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you going to drive?”

“My mom might be taking me. We haven’t really discussed it.”

“Oh‚” he said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah‚ sure. What?”

“What do you think is going to happen... you know... to us?”

“I don’t know. I wish things would stay like this forever.”

“What‚ with me always taking care of you?” he quipped.

“Well‚ you do a pretty good job‚” I teased. “But what I mean is‚ I like being together like this. I enjoy spending time with you. I just wish we could spend more.”

Paul stopped rubbing with his leg. “I wish you weren’t leaving in a few weeks. I understand that you have to‚ that even if you weren’t going to college‚ it’s not safe for you to stay here‚ but...” Paul had gotten very serious‚ and I knew something was bothering him.

“But what‚ Paul?”

He looked down at his plate and half-heartedly played with a piece of sandwich. Very quietly‚ he said‚ “I guess I wish I was going with you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

There was so much going through my mind‚ not least of which was how much better I’d feel and how much more clearly I could think if I could only get rid of the excruciating erection in my shorts. I mean‚ it’s almost impossible to carry on a conversation with someone when all you want to do is spray your sperm all over everything. Yet that too was something I needed to think about. I mean‚ this was the first time I’d been with Paul that I was more concerned with getting myself off than with getting him off. It seemed to signal a change in my thinking about our relationship‚ a change‚ perhaps‚ in the whole way he and I would relate to each other from now on. What had happened between us that I didn’t automatically feel under his control? Why wasn’t he exerting the kind of authority over me I had so wanted and grown accustomed to? Why didn’t I feel like I really belonged to him anymore? Was it something in me or something in him that had changed?

But the thing that also struck me was Paul’s desire to leave‚ to get away. Somehow I felt he wasn’t ready for that. Except for what bound me to Paul and my mom‚ I was ready to sever all ties to this town. I felt I was in a position to strike out into the unknown because there was nothing left for me here. I could go and not look back and not feel any remorse about it. But Paul‚ he had so much here that was still calling him. His parents‚ for example. Especially his dad. And his friends. His baseball team. His schoolwork. His girlfriend. Every selfish impulse in me wanted to take him with me‚ wanted to ignore the impossible and say‚ “Yes‚ Paul‚ I want you to go with me‚ too‚” but deep down I felt like there was more for him to do here. I was the one that was supposed to go‚ because I was ready. He was the one who was supposed to stay. He was the one who belonged here‚ at least for the time being. He was the one with too many loose ends.

“I’m going to miss you‚” he continued.

“I’ll miss you‚ too.”

“Because of what’s happened‚ this isn’t the carefree‚ happy place that it used to be to me. Without you‚ I don’t know what it’s going to be like.”

“Give it time‚ Paul.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that once the school year starts and Kelly is back from summer vacation‚ you’ll forget all about what happened this summer and stop feeling guilty about it. It’s no use for you to wish you could go away with me‚ because running away isn’t going to change how you feel about what happened. Luckily you and Matt have managed to fix things so that nobody is going to know the truth‚ but that doesn’t mean you can just leave it all behind. You have to stay here and face the consequences. You’ve got to stay here and face the life you were meant to lead.”

“What the fuck are you talking about‚ Elliot?” Paul said‚ suddenly irritated. “You’re saying two different things‚ like I should forget everything and not forget anything. Well‚ I have been facing the consequences! You don’t know what it’s like for me at home now! You don’t have to live with Matt and see his face every morning knowing what he did! You don’t have to live with my parents and see their faces knowing what I did! And‚ yeah‚ I took the offer to fix things so that nobody would know the truth. But I did that for you as much as I did it for me‚ you ungrateful prick. It’s not that I feel guilty because I caused what happened to you. I feel guilty because I did things before that that hurt you in other ways and because I wasn’t able to do anything to stop what happened. But at least I did something to keep it from happening again and keep all the prejudiced assholes in this town from ruining your sorry ass reputation!”

I didn’t know how to respond‚ but I didn’t get the chance. Paul stood up and kept yelling at me. “At least you won’t have to worry about that when you leave! You’re going to a place where nobody is going to know anything about you. You’re not going to have to go back to school wondering if Mark kept up his end of the deal. You’re not always thinking about what the guys on the team would do to you if they got wind of it. And you’re not going to have to lie to your girlfriend when you break up with her—like I have every time so far—by telling her things aren’t working out because of a difference in personality! ‘I’m sorry‚ Kelly‚ but I can’t go out with you anymore because I’d rather be having sex with Elliot.’ How the fuck do you think that would go over?”

If anything good happened‚ it was that my need for an orgasm was gone. Paul tore into me like he never had before‚ and I realized how much I deserved it. I was acting like a self-righteous prick‚ and Paul let me know it. When he was finished‚ he didn’t give me the chance to respond‚ but stomped off into the family room. After a few minutes‚ I followed and sat on the couch beside him.

“I’m sorry‚ Paul. I was only thinking of myself. I should have been more aware of your feelings.”

Paul was slumped over‚ staring at his feet. Exhaling‚ he wiped his face with his hands. “It’s okay. Neither one of us is perfect. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Yeah.”

We held each other for a couple of minutes‚ awkwardly because my casts wouldn’t exactly go around Paul‚ but silently so each of us could be alone with our thoughts. Then Paul spoke: “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah‚ sure.”

“When you got mad at me at the prom‚ you said it’s not what I did but what I wouldn’t do that made you angry. What did you mean?” Paul looked me straight in the eyes. I knew he knew what I had meant‚ but he wanted to hear me say it‚ just to be sure. This was it‚ the crux of everything between us.

“I wanted to be your boyfriend‚ Paul. Not just a ‘special’ friend‚ not just a partner. I’d thought all along that whatever girl you were with‚ you and she were‚ you know‚ serious. I wanted us to be that way. I wanted us—”

“You wanted us to have sex. Not what we’ve been doing‚ but the real kind.”

“Yes. I wanted you to fuck me‚ Paul.” Finally‚ I said what I’d wanted to say for so many months‚ feeling no reason not to say it as bluntly as possible. Ever since I’d penetrated Paul with my fingers‚ this wish was what lived at the center of my longing and desire‚ what I fantasized about when my lust turned toward him. That he should subdue me‚ force me down and take me‚ that he should mount me like a dog‚ that I should spread myself open for him as he plunged into me‚ my hips rocking to match his‚ grinding and awash in a penetrating pain as pleasurable as it was agonizing—were only a prelude to my yearning need to feel him plant his seed deep within me‚ to feel him pump his cum into my guts‚ to feel him achieve his release through my greatest service to him. It was with my whole body‚ and not just my mouth‚ that I now longed to worship him. And it was in the ultimate sense that I hoped he’d want to possess me.

“You still want to be my boyfriend?” he asked.

“Yes. I do.”

“You still want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. More than anything.”

The moment made it seem so tantalizingly close‚ and as I looked into Paul’s eyes‚ I thought it might be. But something there held back‚ seemed unable to respond to what I’d asked for. In fact‚ a tear started to form in his left eye.

“It’s okay‚ Paul. Whatever you’re feeling right now‚ I just want you to tell me.” It wasn’t okay‚ but I still wanted to hear whatever Paul was thinking. This was the moment I’d been waiting for and worrying about for weeks. He was silent for a little while‚ then looked away from me and down into his lap.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry‚ Elliot. I just can’t do it.”

His confession stung‚ but it didn’t surprise me. Why should I have expected anything different? Fucking me—really fucking me—would be the same as admitting being gay‚ something Paul had so far refused to do. Sure‚ he enjoyed the sex‚ such as it was. But never had it developed to become a source of self-identification for him the way it had for me. Always the response was something like‚ “I don’t know. I like the fact that you blow me‚ and I like the fondling and kissing we do‚ I even like jacking you off from time to time‚ but I also like...” The girlfriend. The public image saver. The psychological comfort zone. It occurred to me that Paul would never fuck me before he had the opportunity to have sex with Kelly‚ or whatever girl was ready and willing. As long as the chance that heterosexual sex might turn out to be fulfilling‚ Paul would never take the chance that gay sex—real gay sex—might actually be more so. It was too psychologically risky. The door to the gay life was wide open‚ and Paul could see what was on the other side‚ but he didn’t want to take that dangerous step through it. The door to the straight life was still only cracked open‚ and Paul wanted to have a better look around.

More important‚ though‚ was that Paul seemed to have lost interest in dominating me. I couldn’t be his boyfriend‚ but branded by his love‚ I was still his willing servant‚ still his dog if he wanted it. But he seemed unable to play master to my desires. He was treating me almost like an equal. With deference. With a regard for my feelings. With the expectation that I tend as well to his. Again‚ the questions played through my mind. What had changed? Was it simply a tenderness at seeing me in my battered and bruised state that made him step so delicately? Was it his feelings of guilt? Or had the looming prospect of a long distance between us already brought it on?

“I didn’t expect you to say ‘yes‚’ Paul‚ and I certainly don’t expect you to do it now. I just wanted to know what you think about it.”

“I’m just not ready‚” he said‚ wiping away the tear in his eye. “I don’t know if I ever will be‚ but at least I know I’m not right now.”

“Do you remember what you said to me the last time we were together? You know‚ when Matt discovered us?”

“Yes. Of course. I told you I loved you.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still love me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“But you’re not ready to be gay.” I let the statement hang in the air‚ and I purposely avoided using the word he disliked so much. Paul didn’t say anything‚ but his silence signaled his consent. And there was really nothing more to say‚ so we just held each other until it was time for Paul to leave.

Being in love and being gay. At once the thesis and antithesis of our existence‚ for which we had found no synthesis. I wanted to say‚ “I understand. I wasn’t really ready for it all‚ either.” I wanted to tell him I knew exactly the kind of anguish he was going through. Despite being in love‚ to admit you are gay—a fag‚ I would have said—was‚ in light of the cultural background we grew up in‚ to embrace your own inner shame and self-hatred. God knows I had done so. Just imagine how hard that would be for someone like Paul‚ who had so much going for him and had been told all his life‚ directly and indirectly‚ that he was a model boy‚ a successful product of the community that created him. And there was nobody there to help Paul break through such social oppression. Certainly not me‚ as I was leaving soon and hadn’t finished breaking through it myself. Certainly not his family‚ none of whom could even begin to empathize with the kind of torture it would entail. Even his father‚ so remarkably tolerant and about the only person around who might even begin to appreciate the depth of the problem‚ had told me he preferred that his gay son weren’t. My heart ached for Paul. Aligned against him seemed a power beyond control.

I had faced it‚ though not through any specific act of will. I had been overwhelmed‚ and in Paul I had found a temporary sanity‚ and a significant number of greater expectations. And in the end‚ I had faced a different kind of trial. So though I had just experienced the single worst year of my life‚ it was‚ because Paul was in it‚ also the best. Because of him‚ I now had the chance to come to terms with what I was feeling inside. Would I be able to do as much for Paul? With my going away‚ what comfort could Paul look forward to by taking the first steps alone? Certainly he wouldn’t want to take them by himself. And I didn’t expect him to. Nor did I want him to.

In short‚ I wanted to say‚ “I share your pain.” But we both knew all of this already‚ and it needed no words to be felt between us. The currents flowing through our embrace were enough. Together at last‚ we were more alone in the wide world than ever before.

Over the next three weeks or so‚ Paul and I continued to spend as much time together as possible‚ but much of my attention was turned toward getting ready to go to college. It was a long but cleansing process‚ as I knew that when I left it would be for good. Paul was a great help in this‚ helping me sort through my stuff‚ designating what was essential‚ what was still useful‚ and what could be discarded. In that entire period‚ there was no sex. Not even a hint of desire.

Between us‚ though‚ there was one more loose end to tie up before I left town. Paul had revealed the inner conflict he felt between his relationship with me and his relationship with Kelly. Not that I would have any say in how things would turn out between her and Paul when the Aaronson’s returned from overseas‚ but I did have a say in how Paul’s relationship with her would affect what happened between me and him. In a perfect world‚ I wanted to have Paul all to myself. Above all‚ though‚ I wanted him to be happy. And if she was to be the only good thing going in his life‚ I wanted him to have her. That’s what I wanted to believe‚ anyway.

As difficult as it was for me to say it‚ I tried to make Paul realize this a few days before I was due to leave. “What are you going to do about Kelly‚ Paul?” A big part of me couldn’t believe I was saying this to him.

“I don’t know‚” he said. “Like I said‚ I guess I’ll break up with her.”

“But you still have feelings for her‚ don’t you? That’s what you told your dad.”

“Yeah‚ I know.”

“Then why do you want to break up with her?”

“What do you mean? I thought you’d want me to break up with her.”

“I want you to do what you want to do‚ Paul.”

“Bullshit.”

“All right‚ fine. I want you to break up with her. I mean‚ I do want to be your boyfriend‚ Paul‚ but since I’m not going to be here‚ I can’t. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be happy‚ though.”

“And if my being happy means dating Kelly‚ you want me to do it?”

“Yes—and that’s not bullshit.” It was occurring to me as well that his continuing to date Kelly would provide him with a measure of protection should any hint of what Mark had heard and seen get out‚ and I wanted him to be safe as well as happy. Whatever feeling of jealousy I’d otherwise have felt about Paul and Kelly was overpowered by my fear of what might happen. And when you’ve been through what I’d been through‚ you’ll compromise almost anything to feel protection again. Whatever his feelings for her‚ having a girlfriend could prove useful.

“I think you’ve gone crazy.”

“Maybe so‚ but I mean what I say. Do what you have to do‚ but don’t feel like I’m holding you to some promise you never made.”

“Meaning if you were staying here‚ you would?”

“Meaning if I were staying here‚ yes‚ I’d feel differently about the matter. But there’s no point in thinking that way‚ because it’s not going to happen. The way I see it‚ life has to go on however it does‚ and I at least want us to reach a mutually agreeable position on the matter.”

“Okay...” Still‚ Paul did not understand.

“Meaning what I said. You never promised me anything‚ and I understand that.”

“Nor you me‚” he said. Now I was angry‚ and I cut him a hard scowl. “Okay‚ okay. Cheap shot. Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven‚” I said‚ a little reluctantly. Paul just shook his head.

“I’ll never understand why you’re so nice to me. After all that’s happened‚ after what I’ve done...”

“Stop it‚ Paul. You haven’t done anything to hurt me‚ and anything that happened between us was because of something we both wanted. You and me.”

He put his arm around me and with the opposite hand pulled my face up to meet his lips. The kiss was firm. Heartfelt. Bare and honest. “Thanks‚” he said. I could have died right there and been content.

“I love you‚ Paul.”

“I love you‚ too‚ Elliot. I always will. You’ve given me so much‚ and I promise‚ someday‚ I’ll make it up to you.”

I was about to respond when Paul’s eyes lit up. “I almost forgot! I have something for you!” Before I could respond‚ Paul bounded down the steps from my room and out the door. I looked out the window as he ran across the street to his own house and then emerged a few minutes later to come bounding back up the stairs. “Here‚” he said‚ a little short of breath‚ more from excitement than from the running. “It’s a photograph of me!”

Paul handed me a five-by-seven frame with a picture mounted inside. It was a league photo of him posing in his baseball uniform. I am so thankful to have it‚ to see always a moment of his youthful magnificence frozen in time. You can see the field behind him‚ outfield toward the right‚ infield to the left. He is crouched at first base‚ hips pointing toward home‚ his left knee planted firmly in the bag and his right coming up at an angle behind him. His left buttock rests on his left heel. His shoulders twist in toward the camera so you can see the number on the front of his jersey clearly. His left arm rests against the side of his body‚ his hand spread across his left thigh. The right arm is raised up‚ his hand gripping a Louisville Slugger resting gently on his right shoulder. His head‚ topped with the team cap‚ angles inward slightly more so than his shoulders‚ and he is looking straight into the camera. He does not smile‚ but his lips are firm and smooth. His skin is clear and blushed red in the light of the sun. His jaw bears the minutely perceptible shadow of his development toward manhood. He is strong‚ confident‚ cocky. His blue eyes are calm and full of fortitude‚ and seem to present a direct challenge to the world. When I see that look‚ I know instantly why I’m attracted to him‚ why I feel an inward pull and longing. He bears the kind of demeanor that makes you realize why we celebrate boys like him‚ why we reverence them deep within our hearts.

“It’s so you’ll have something to remember me by—so you won’t forget me.”

God almighty‚ did he actually think that could ever be possible? “I’ll never forget you‚ Paul. Even until the day I die.”

We were standing near the door to my room‚ where I’d met him when he came back in. I eyed him hungrily. He took the photo and propped it up on my desk‚ and then he turned back to face me‚ with a look so feral‚ so predatory‚ that it nailed me to the wall. Never breaking eye contact‚ I nodded my consent. He owned me again. So began a ritual as old as life and death.

Paul stepped back to me and pressed me against it with the weight of his body‚ with an intensity—a violence‚ even—he’d never shown before. I hooked my arms around his chest and met his forceful kiss with a shudder of sensation that ran from my crotch to the base of my skull. He leaned into me‚ bracing himself with his left arm held against the wall over my head. With his right‚ he lifted my left arm over his shoulder‚ giving himself access to my body. Never once did he stop kissing me or allow his lips to break contact with my skin. His hand hunted under my shirt‚ up and down my chest and abdomen‚ before opening the buttons for better access. He twisted my nipples‚ each one in turn‚ as he chewed on my neck and the corner of my jaw just under my ear. The fierce determination of his attack and the deliberateness of his motions made me feel‚ as never before‚ ensnared in his lust and captured by his will. I was weak‚ vulnerable‚ and completely receptive to him.

With impressive deftness and speed‚ Paul unfastened the front of my shorts‚ letting them fall to the floor around my ankles‚ and liberated the turgid rod in my underwear by forcing these‚ too‚ to the floor. With his hand‚ he invited me to spread my thighs‚ stroking them on the inside as far as he could reach. Then he slipped his hand behind me and cupped my buttocks‚ kneading and probing as he continued to assault me above with his lips. Returning to the front with his hand‚ he cradled my scrotum‚ first grasping with his whole hand‚ then pressing and rolling each testicle smoothly in his palm with his thumb. With the tips of his fingers‚ he tweaked each oval mass in turn‚ with a generous bundle of skin‚ twisting and pulling‚ until I vocalized a response in high‚ pleading whimpers. The strain from his manipulation was painful‚ sharply so‚ but it only served to make me want him to go further‚ to stretch the boundary of my willingness to let him use my body. And all the while‚ he kissed my neck‚ nibbled on my earlobes‚ and whispered into my ear the words that said how much my capitulation pleased and excited him. He reached beneath my balls to probe me with his finger‚ tracing a sharp‚ exploratory line with his fingernail across my perineum to the ridge of my anal lips and back. And then he touched me‚ finally‚ where I needed to be touched‚ taking the shaft of my cock in his strong grip‚ stroking me firmly and deliberately‚ up and down. Rough‚ then smooth. Up and down. Pulling‚ then pushing. Up and down. Stretching and mashing. Up and down. Delightfully‚ painfully‚ deliciously‚ pleasingly‚ delectably. Precum dripping past his fingers‚ partly lubricating the steady massage. His lips brushing against my face‚ his breath flowing on my skin. My eyelids slowly dying‚ my mind draining away into darkness.

If not for the weight of Paul against me and my arm hooked over his shoulder‚ I would have fallen to the floor. The strength and force of his body were overpowering‚ and I was his to do with as he pleased. After working my cock in his hand for several minutes‚ he suddenly frenched me with his tongue‚ giving me a full dose of his saliva and hot breath. And then he broke contact with his lips and turned his face downward‚ biting me firmly where my right shoulder met the side of my neck. The sensation of pain was so sudden as to be paralyzing. At the same time‚ he lifted my cock and balls with his hand and jammed his knee up between my thighs‚ so that I was straddling his leg. His knee was both resting against the wall and making contact at my perineum‚ pushing my cock and balls forward and upward. His powerful quadriceps held the weight of my body while he pinned me down in the grip of his jaw. As he resumed his stroking‚ grabbing hold of my erection like it was a handle‚ I threw my head up and back as far as it would go‚ making a loud thud against the wall‚ and wailed some unhuman sound‚ as if a fawn twisting in its final death throes‚ caught in the merciless jaws of a lion. At the penultimate moment‚ he released his teeth from my shoulder and bit me even harder just under the corner of my jawbone. I could feel his incisors digging into my skin and his tongue mashing into the skin of my cheek‚ zealous and dripping. The strength of his bite forced my head into an awkward sideways angle‚ and I heard a pop at the base of my skull. At the same time‚ he pumped my cock quickly about ten times. Short‚ frantic‚ relentless‚ brutal jabs. His fist cruelly‚ excruciatingly pounding against my balls‚ squeezing my shaft so hard I feared the skin on the head of my dick might burst. I thought I would scream again‚ but my body’s natural response was smothered by the intensity of the sensation‚ the exquisite blending of bliss and agony. When my orgasm ripped through me‚ audibly erupting from the deep convulsing in my gut‚ it was like the flesh of my body tearing open and my soul breaking forth‚ ascending into the rising glory of a morning sun.

It was the first time my orgasm had ever preceded Paul’s‚ his gift to me‚ and a fact that seemed significant even then. After Paul went home that afternoon‚ I looked at the photograph for several minutes‚ tracing my eyes over every feature‚ every detail‚ memorizing anew the physical attributes of the body I knew so well. He never before provided me such a plenitude of satisfaction. Earlier‚ I’d wanted Paul so badly after I came that I pushed his leg down‚ sank to my knees‚ and attacked his crotch with my mouth. With me gumming at the fabric of his shorts‚ smearing my face with the strands of my own cum clinging to his clothes‚ it took him only a few seconds to pull them off and drive his rigid flesh into my throat‚ impaling me in an instant with his steel flesh. My head‚ still wedged between him and the wall‚ provided solid resistance against the taut muscles of his lower abdomen. The weight of him pushed my lips against the sharp edges of my teeth and‚ had I not been so good by that time at controlling my gag reflex‚ I probably would have choked violently. But he was already so hard and so close that he stabbed into my throat only about eight or nine times before he‚ too‚ emptied himself into me with blazing splendor‚ plunging my esophagus with the solid lump of his cockhead‚ vocalizing his release in a guttural roar‚ pounding his fist against the wall. Only afterwards did we realize there was blood on my jaw from where he bit me‚ and blood on his lower lip and chin. Paul licked the wound until it stopped bleeding. Then he kissed me‚ penetrating my mouth with his tongue‚ and I could taste myself in his saliva‚ mixing with the remaining flavor of his cum. I was otherwise bruised‚ swollen‚ and sore—my lips and throat as well as my testicles and penis—so I knew I would feel the effects of this‚ our last encounter‚ for several days. What had motivated him to assail me the way he did‚ I don’t know‚ but it was certainly the most extreme encounter we’d experienced together. It proved that we were yet bound to each other‚ that I was still Paul’s good boy and he my master. Still hearing the triumphant sounds of his climax ringing in my ears‚ I held the photo to my lips and kissed the image gazing back toward me. “Paul Clements. My dream boy‚” I said to the open air‚ “I’ll always have you‚” hoping with all my heart that it would be true.

The morning I left‚ only Paul and my mom were on hand to see me off. After much debate‚ it had been decided that I could drive myself on the long‚ three-day journey I was taking‚ especially after the doctor I was seeing agreed that it would be all right to remove the cast on my left arm and replace it with a smaller‚ lighter one that still held my elbow and wrist in place‚ but allowed me to grip things with my fingers. The right one stayed on‚ but I didn’t need my right hand much to drive as my car had an automatic transmission. In the end‚ driving myself was the only practical solution‚ as my mom couldn’t get the time off work to take me and there would be the additional expense of her flying home. Plus‚ it was the original arrangement that I had planned for‚ so it wasn’t like I would be unprepared.

My mom made quite a deal of reminding me this and that‚ eliciting promises to call along the way‚ and telling me how much she loved me and would miss me. Paul told me to be careful and asked me to write to him and send him my address as soon as I had one. By way of saying goodbye‚ he took my shoulders in his hands and squeezed them. Had we been alone‚ he would have kissed me‚ and his eyes told me as much. I fingered the Band-Aid covering the tooth marks on my jaw—I had explained it to my mom by saying I cut myself trying to shave—and smiled. “Thank you‚” I told him. “For everything.”

I had a map‚ a lunch‚ and a carload of my gear. I wondered what happened to fags like me in the unknown world I was about to enter‚ fearing the answer would be frightening. I wondered if I would ever meet anyone with an experience similar to my own‚ mostly assuming I wouldn’t. And I wondered if I would ever be at peace‚ hoping for at least an equal chance as others had to find out. All I knew for sure was that I could never go back to the town of my childhood and expect anything I was acquainted with to remain familiar. An irreversible turn had been made‚ with the terrible consequence that I had to prepare myself for the possibility of never seeing Paul again.

I launched my car onto the highway‚ my foot heavy on the pedal‚ and gazed down the long black strip of asphalt forcing a determined cut through the landscape all the way to the eastern horizon. One trajectory‚ at least‚ was predetermined. In the rearview mirror‚ I caught the last glimpse of a now alien town‚ one that had tolerated me as long as it didn’t have to ask and as long as I was selfless enough not to tell. One that had silently tormented me through the long‚ dark unfolding of my guilt and shame‚ yet had unwittingly provided the boy who‚ in a small but significant way‚ saved me from it. One that had taught me‚ with almost uncanny consistency‚ that cruelty and kindness‚ like two sides of the same coin‚ are each one as likely to turn up as the other. The world ahead was unknown to me‚ yet there it was‚ spread out and awaiting discovery. A universe open to my exploration. Terra incognita. A blank space on my mental map. But like a man landing on the moon after a long and perilous voyage‚ I saw that my real journey had just begun. One small step‚ one giant leap‚ I embarked on an odyssey of seemingly immeasurable proportion.

I was happy to leave home. Having cycled through the apogee of delight and the perigee of hatred‚ I knew each one to its most potent extent. And the experience of so much rapture and the experience of so much anguish left behind something cold and lifeless‚ something insensible and dormant‚ within me.

The End.

Comments may be sent to paulsgoodboy@hotmail.com.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading. If it’s not too much trouble‚ I’d like to know your reactions. Also‚ I’d like to thank D. B. for his friendship and encouragement during the writing of this story‚ as well as the Nifty Archivist for posting it to the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive. I would also like to thank all of the readers who’ve contacted me‚ especially those who’ve since become regular e-friends. You guys have been fun. Finally‚ if you enjoyed “A Service Out of the Ordinary‚ Part One: Coming to Terms‚” look for the continuation‚ “A Service Out of the Ordinary‚ Part Two: Boys Like Me.” It will begin appearing in the fall of 2001‚ barring any major disruptions to my writing schedule‚ like my finding a better job... or a steady boyfriend... or a million dollars... One can always dream‚ I suppose.