julian.obedient@gmail.com
Three Transformations
1
I was shy about my body. I was ashamed of the pride I felt in it, ashamed of the image I kept hidden of a well-toned, well-contoured , lean body, rippling with muscles, and graceful.
Ease of body -- I wanted it, I envied it, I did not have it.
And I couldn't help looking at guys who did. With infinite, inexpressible longing, a longing that broke my heart.
Sometimes I showed my obsession with my body by letting it go to pot, eating badly, not exercising, not paying too much attention to hygiene or how I dressed.
This kind of neglect shows contempt for the body that is borne out of a sense of one's own insufficiency.
But moods change; cycles end; new ones begin. The moon fulfills and extinguishes itself.
Although I had fallen into a troth, a slough of despond, I had extricated myself. While nothing around had changed much -- I still lived alone, spent a lot of time inside my head trying to make myself feel that although imagination was not experience, perhaps experience might be conjured through its exercise.
I knew from the first moment I saw him that I could have him doing anything I told him to do in a matter of weeks,
I liked the way he looked. I got off on the idea that I could make him look better. I could shape him, own him, become his god.
The blasphemous thought made me shudder with a nervous excitement.
He looked at the locker like he'd never seen one, grasped the handle and slowly opened the door.
He pulled his clothes off and stuffed them inside the locker. Instead of underwear, he was already wearing a bathing suit. He looked ok in it. A nice black bikini.
He walked out to the pool.
I followed him.
That's not all you come here for, I said.
He was startled. Good.
Not just to swim, I said. But to work out.
He looked at me but did not say anything, probably because anything he wanted to say got blocked by something that blocked its being said. He was lost.
Come on, I said, indicating he ought to follow me. And I started to walk back to the lockers.
We were inside the gymnasium, just in our speedos, alone. The hour had gotten late.
Let me see how you do push-ups, he said.
I hesitated, but felt comfortable and then did not hesitate and did ten.
Not bad, he said, not bad form, but ten. What's that? I won't settle for less than fifty.
With a grace and an elegance that took my breath away, as if he were dancing rather than doing push-ups, he easily did fifty.
That's what I want from you.
But...
No buts.
He was working as hard as he could to please me, and he was doing a pretty good job of it, and whenever I let him know it, he just began to shine with happiness.
I like to see you sweat, I said. I like the way it makes your muscles glisten, and you become so smooth, I said, sliding my palms over his bare chest, so...slippery.
He sighed and collapsed in gentle surrender, letting his body lean into mine and our chests stuck together as we radiated the energy we'd accumulated in our work-out.
It had not taken great effort to take hold of him, and now, I possessed him completely. I could make him do whatever I wished. He drove himself for me.
==================================================================================================== 2.
I was not going to let any of it get to me. That was what I told myself. That was my resolve. I was not going to let barriers be barriers or obstructions prevent me. I would master the circumstances and come out successful.
Needless to say, there were numerous obstructions. But that firmed me in my resolve. I understood, if I let this go wrong, there would be nothing else after that. And I am not the sort who is good at dealing with nothing. I am not God, able to make something out of nothing.
Nearly every characteristic of every one of the young people was an obstruction.
The boys showed an arrogant politeness; the girls, a brazen shyness.
My colleagues, too, were an obstacle, my colleagues with their southern-fried iciness, the chilling warmth that had as its only real purpose the ability to freeze you to the bone until you learned to give it back.
I lived in the blue heat of isolation.
Every night, I sat late at my desk after preparing lessons, wondering how I had gotten myself into this. That was idle reverie, but in the cold hot climate I needed something to keep me warm. And that was it. And it was easier to think about that than to wonder how I was going to get out.
Even I understood, tremblingly, that my nebulous resolutions to succeed were very likely ill-founded. They were not becoming actual.
So it was something like whistling in the dark to say I was not going to let barriers be barriers. I was daunted by obstructions, blocked by obstacles, stymied by forces that confined me, by currents I felt but was unable to see.
It was obvious, I was incompetent at my job. I was weak when it came to keeping order. Pandemonium was the rule in my classes. Nothing I did worked. Not scolding, lecturing, quietly waiting, cajoling, being a good fellow, being harsh. Nothing.
I knew everyone knew it. Just from the looks everyone gave or did not bother to give, I knew I was of no account. It was only a matter of months before the year was over and I would be out, out. No chance of renewal.
If there was anything that made the days tolerable, well, it would be better to say, if there was anyone who made the days tolerable, it was Farrell Whitney. He taught mathematics, Greek, and was the boys' swimming coach.
I felt, although we had hardly spoken and he was not in any way an outsider, as I was, I felt nevertheless, that there was a hidden bond between us, that he saw through me, understood me, appreciated me, could see that I was not the person I appeared to be, so singularly insignificant, but that there was something to be regarded, although it was not apparent to a common gaze.
I don't know why I should have this sense. Perhaps because of something in his gaze, something that invited confidence although I had never known how to begin a conversation.
It took the day I was let go, something not altogether unexpected given the impossibility of my performance at the school, for the bond that I had sensed between Farrell and me to show itself as something more than a disturbance of my imagination.
I was walking back to the staff lodgings wondering where I would sleep that night. I had been given until week's end to clear out, but remaining on campus could only constitute deeper humiliation than going. So, I imagined I would put up at a cheap motel and figure it out, or at least try to, from there.
Farrell approached me, walking towards me across the campus green, a mottled sky behind him.
Granger, he said, using my name and addressing me for the first time in all our acquaintance or, really, our non-acquaintance.
And I knew he knew.
I looked at him without speaking.
It won't be the end of the world.
No, I suppose not, I said.
This isn't the time or place for it, he said. Look, come to dinner tonight. My last class ends at four and I'll pick you up and any of your things. You can stay over the night at least.
He had a house off-campus. I knew that.
That's very kind of you, especially since you hardly know...
He did not let me finish.
None of that, he said. Be ready at four.
I was standing at the school gate.
Get in, he said. Stow your suitcase in the wayback.
It was all I had, that suitcase. I opened the hatch, slammed it down and got in the front beside him.
He drove through the woods that lead away from the school, away from the gate towards the road and pulled at his tie with one hand and undid his shirt button.
Any plans? he said
No, I answered.
You probably don't have much money either.
Enough to get by if I'm careful for a year.
No place to stay.
Right.
Motels?
That's depressing.
I'll put you up.
I looked at him, but he kept his eye on the road.
It'll save you money.
I can't do that.
Why not?
It would be...
a relief not to worry about how you were going to get along.
I guess so, I said, but, I can't do that. It's too...
You tend to argue a lot don't you? he said. That's why you're at this pass now.
He turned into a driveway and pulled up beside a two story Tudor style place.
It's big enough, he said. Come on in.
I got out and followed him but he turned. Don't forget your bag, he said.
I went back to the car and took my suitcase out and wheeled it along the brick path.
We went in by the side door.
It was a big place with quite a bit of land around it.
It was part of a larger plantation, Whitney said. But they've all been divided up. Too much for anybody to keep up without slaves.
You almost sound wistful, I said.
No, he said. I'm not.
I looked at him.
You don't believe me, he said.
No, I said. It just sounded...
I'm not wistful, he said. I get what I want.
I did not know what that meant, and I did not know what to say. So I remained silent and followed him into the house, into a large kitchen.
Follow me, he said.
We climbed an enclosed stairway up to the second floor, and I followed him down a rather narrow corridor. He threw open a door and revealed a large room with a four poster bed, an oak dresser, a straight-backed chair, and an oak desk.
Why are you doing this? I asked.
Call it Southern hospitality, he said and winked.
The bath tub's over there. Take off your clothes and follow me, he said walking away from me down the long, narrow hall. He turned into the bathroom and began to run the water into the tub.
Get in, he said when I stood before him naked.
I obeyed without speaking. I stepped into the tub and lowered myself into the embrace of hot water that is still tolerable.
Stand, he said.
I stood. Slowly he began to lather me with soap in long soapy strokes from my heels to the fork of my body. Then with strength he did not withhold, he caressed my chest and then with soapy hands he took my scrotum in his palm and laved it, and then he brushed soap strokes on my cock, which had already risen and was standing hard and straight. He took it within his fist, looked at me with clear delighted eyes and said, mine.
=============================================================================================================== 3
Locke Pierson stood by the parapet of the penthouse terrace idly scanning the park with the telescope that was usually pointed at the heavens.
Find anything? Crane said, handing him a vodka and tonic.
Locke looked up, took the drink, smiled his entrancing smile, tipped his glass in jaunty greeting, and they both took long swallows of their drinks and felt the excitement of the alcohol rush through them.
Their flesh became magnetized and drew them together.
I wasn't really looking, Locke said.
But I did find something, he said, after a pregnant interval. Look.
A boy, in his late teens, it appeared, sprawled on the steps at the Bethesda fountain.
So? Crane said, looking sideways at Locke.
You are particularly adorable when you are obtuse, Locke said, putting his arm round Crane and pulling them nearer each other.
Oh, said Crane. I thought your days of picking up strays were over.
Don't be bitchy, Locke said, his lips nearly brushing Crane's as he spoke.
Their breaths touched first. Then their lips brushed and stuck.
They dived into the ocean of a kiss but quickly broke water before the sea tide could take them out very far.
Sorry, Locke said.
Don't mention it, Crane answered with the slightest show of petulance.
It still feels good.
Don't go there, Crane said.
Locke took another swallow of his drink and finished it. He handed the empty glass to Crane.
One more for the road?
I'm glad you stopped by.
And you're glad I'm going.
Buzz will be home soon, he said sheepishly.
Right, Buzz.
So no drink.
Not this time.
Next time?
Next time.
When's that?
Surprise me.
Don't I always?
Are you going into the park?
Might.
Take care, Locke. It really was good to see you.
Sure. So long.
Not long enough.
The kid was still sprawled on the steps, a knapsack next to him, when Locke passed him apparently on his way down to the fountain.
Although it had begun to drizzle, the boy looked like he was not moving from the spot.
You're going to get wet, Locke said, stopping beside him.
So will you, the kid said.
But I intend to get out of the rain. It doesn't look like you do.
It won't rain long.
Don't you have any place to go?
What's it to you?
Nothing, Locke said. Just concerned.
Concerned about what?
Somebody down on his luck.
What makes you think I'm down on my luck?
Because you're sprawled on the steps in the rain and it looks you got no place to go..
Yeah, the kid said. I guess you've got a point.
You want to go for a coffee?
You trying to pick me up?
You could say that.
You don't have somebody regular.
Nope.
Ok.
Fuck the coffee, man, if you want take me home with you, as you yourself just observed, I got no place to go.
Come on kid, Pick up your junk, Locke said. But as far as I'm concerned you can leave it.
Thanks, the kid said, standing up.
He gathered his stuff together and bunched it tight in the blanket he'd been sitting on.
We gotta find some place where I can ditch this shit.
Just put it down in that corner.
Now where are you gonna take me? the kid asked, hooking his palm over Locke's arm.
Home.
Where's that?
By now they were by the curb and Locke's arm was out and a cab stopped for them.
First Street off Second Avenue.
It was two interconnecting floors of an old tenement that had been redone and were painted white and sparsely furnished.
Get into the bath tub, you little beggar, I cried roughly, tossing him a fluffy white towel, which he caught.
Get out of those filthy clothes and get into the tub.
What are you going to do? he said as he pulled his t-shirt over his head after I snapped my fingers because he had not immediately heeded my words.
He was a very sweet boy and I soaped him very gently and made him shine in his naked beauty aglow with calmness.
He smiled at me.
I touched his lips with my fingers and without even thinking about it, he kissed the fingers his lips touched.
We gazed into each others eyes, and we both understood what had happened. I had taken him and he had surrendered.
He lay naked on my bed in the glow of half a dozen wax candles, drifting high and deep, awake and sweetly stoned and I slowly dragged my tongue over his nipples, making them tumescent as I blew cool breath on them and stroked his abs and then went lower and took him from under the scrotum and caressed him with the undulating pressure of my palm.
I rubbed the crown of his cock the tender glans and made him crazy with desire.
I raised myself up and kissed him on the mouth and knew he was mine by the way he surrendered to the kiss.
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