i.
September was ending. The trees were bare. The air was gray. New England was in its petulant glory, giving neither light nor heat, but demanding allegiance, even love, nevertheless. And for what? For a memory? The heat of the summer? A blue that was more than blue? The fiery kaleidoscopic foliage of the autumn? The winter snows of momentary beauty? He could do without them. Much more did he love the heat of July, and the golden light of August, and the whole duration of the anticipatory Spring.
Today it was raining. It didn't faze him. He liked the opportunity to wear a trench coat, an authentic '40s model. It both hugged him and skirted as he walked.
He hung an umbrella over himself effortlessly. His step was brisk, and, effortlessly, he took the steps up to the library. In the back of the building was the bursar's office. There, as chief financial officer, he took his place -- Gil Madison -- shaking out his umbrella in the main hall; exchanging 'mornings with colleagues he passed on his way to his office; slipping out of his trench coat and hanging both coat and umbrella on the brass clad clothes tree behind -- or beside -- the door, depending on whether it was open or closed.
His brown tweed jacket, pale Dresden green cotton sleeveless V neck and a pale rose tie against a pale cocoa shirt were exquisite. His gold pinky ring and leather-banded wrist watch were, too. Everything set off his sandy blond hair and his turquoise blue eyes to perfection.
At his desk he looked through several folders regarding students whose requests for aid, extensions or deferrals he would have either to approve or prevent. They were not pleasant encounters, but they were essential. You had to hear someone out, and you had to look them in the face and let them see yours when you turned them down. He tried to be fair and not mechanical.
ii.
Nathaniel Rosenberg was a sloppy kid in the way he dressed and in the way he put things together, made arrangements, forgot to pay bills, neglected his studies. And he was sitting on the couch facing Madison.
I can't help it, Gil said, almost with tenderness.
The kid was no fool, and was gonna play to this guy's sympathy. He really felt he liked him. There was a chance.
But there wasn't. When Gil had a case, he had a case, and he didn't back down. In this case, moreover, Gil had hit the nail on the head. The kid was a bad investment. He shouldn't be going to school. He was bored. He needed excitement, adventure, to do something formative. Sitting through lectures, reading books, taking tests - those things weren't for him. He'd proved that by his abysmal record. But to look at him, you could see he was bright and lively. He was just in the wrong place. None of that however could Gil utter. He could only deal with the economic facts.
It had nothing to do with liking. As far as liking went, he liked the kid; he liked the kid fine. He would have liked to see the kid pull off his t shirt so he could scrutinize what looked like it promised to be a great chest. He'd like to see the kid pull open his pants and pop a grand boner. He'd like the kid cleaned up, shaved, given a cool haircut, in boots, tight jeans, wife beater and an open motorcycle jacket. So it had nothing to do with liking. Shit! He'd like to kiss the kid's feet. But that was something else.
Sorry, he said, giving a really attractive smile connecting him to the person he was rejecting. But I'm not rejecting the person, he'd argue.
The kid was dazed. He was sure he'd gotten through. He couldn't believe he was being dismissed without having succeeded. And maybe the worst of it was, he didn't even feel angry. He wanted that guy to like him, and re-approving his stipend would have shown it, and not approving it made him feel just as depressed at not getting Madison's personal acceptance as at being turned down, more so, actually.
iii.
He grinned at Kenneth
Depends what you make of it, he said.
It's not what you make of it, Kenneth said huffily. It's what is.
It's hard to say exactly what is, Gil said quietly.
That's nonsense, Kenneth shot back dismissively.
No, Gil responded. There are guidelines that have to be followed.
But there's leeway, too.
Yes, that's where judgement comes in.
Your judgement!
Exactly. That's what my job demands, that I make judgements. Do you want another?
Maybe that's enough. You want to go back to my place?
Not tonight, Gil said as gently as possible. But Kenneth wasn't appeased, especially since he had felt it was coming. They hadn't really been there the last few times.
I'm disappointed, he endeavored to say airily as they left the bar.
We were never like that, Ken, Gil said. As consolation, as explanation, defensively? It was hard to tell.
iv.
Gil walked home alone. It was after eleven. The streets were deserted. Most of the windows of the single family homes he passed were dark. Occasionally one was electrified by the fluctuating luminations of a television.
New York City would be good, he thought, or San Francisco.
Then he slipped into a fantasy and indulged the longing that charged him.
It would be dark, but Fifth Avenue would be glittering with the golden lights of its famous store windows, when a beautiful guy in a red convertible stops and asks him directions, and as they are speaking their eyes catch each other and the driver invites him to get in if he's got some time and maybe they can drive slowly through Central Park.
He wanted to surrender. He wanted a master who had the power to overwhelm him and make him submit. Often he imagined a man a little older than himself with a beautifully sculpted masculine physique and an unpredictable intelligence who hypnotized him and turned him into his slave. Just thinking the words slave and master was enough to send a charge through his body and stir his cock. His anal sphincter contracted as he walked, and he zoned out, as if already he had fallen under a master's spell.
v.
The kid came back to his office the next afternoon.
I been thinking a lot about what happened yesterday.
Gil wanted to ask, what happened yesterday? but knew enough to be quiet. Therefore, he almost nodded and he almost smiled.
I got a sense talking to you that I shouldn't be here, that I have something else to do. I don't know what it is, but if I stay here I probably never will.
I'm glad, Gil said, and smiled a serious smile warmly.
It made the kid feel glad.
vi.
The truth is, Gil thought, I haven't let myself go. I came out about being gay, but I haven't come out regarding my desire to be a slave. Why? Was there something shameful about it? Was he ashamed of it?
Yes; the answer was yes. It was as bad as, maybe worse than, being effeminate. In both cases you were being what you weren't supposed to be. Men weren't supposed to be like women, not even gay men. Indeed, the cock to cock encounters he'd had with variously muscled and mustachioed studs were anything but effeminate. They were supreme scenes of triumphant masculinity.
And men weren't supposed to want to be submissive, to be controlled by another man, to surrender their wills. Men were supposed to be free and assertive, able to step up to the plate, take the initiative and make decisions, to stand tall, not to kneel begging for a cock in the mouth or up the ass. But even when he was cock to cock with the most masculine stud, he felt himself swooning, surrendering to him. It was a feeling he loved. And he loved being made to feel it. The sexual energy welled up in him, and it was all giving. That's what it meant to feel sexually aroused. It meant submitting, surrendering, giving yourself over to somebody else who's making you feel yourself like you never could by yourself.
He shut the bedside nightlight and let his mind drift, holding his cock and rubbing it. Half in self-mockery, and half with awesome seriousness, he repeated the word master, and the rush of his excitement sent the jism flying from his cock.
vii.
Saturday morning it was still raining, and it didn't feel chic anymore. The glamour was gone. It was dreary. He felt like lingering in bed but made himself get up and shower and shave, trim his pubic hair and admire the light coat of golden hair that enhanced his chest, his muscular chest, and swept down over his washboard abs. His face was, well, boyish, blond hair, blue eyes with the whites still sky bright, straight-nose and square jaw, with strong, well-shaped teeth. He held himself well. After a light breakfast of fruit, cashew nuts, whole grain bread, a licorice herbal tea with molasses and a super vitamin capsule, he set himself off to the gym as he did every Saturday morning (and Wednesday evening, too).
He stepped into his plain black speedo instead of the 2(x)ist black thong he usually wore, pulled on a tight contoured olive sleeveless muscle shirt, jeans and a burgundy turtleneck, calf-high leather boots and a light bomber jacket, kept the roof up on his car and drove to the gym.
He pushed himself: a great workout nearly two hours long and then a hundred laps in the pool.
I been watching you. It was a voice that met him as he emerged from the water. What you need now is a good rub down. Come with me.
Gil smiled quizzically, but the guy was gorgeous, and no matter what it would be for, you wouldn't say no to an invitation from him. He followed, and stepped into a room with a massage table when Mike held a door open for him.
Hi, he said as he did. My name's Mike. He was smiling.
I'm Gil, Gil said extending his hand and smiling too.
When they shook, he felt a charge of energy that put him very much at ease.
Strip off your speedo and lie face down on the table.
How 'bout I leave it on?
What?
My bathing suit. How 'bout I leave it on.
No, take it off.
I'm not sure I want to.
You know you do. It's wet and clammy and it breaks the steady flow of your gorgeous body. Take it off.
Hesitatingly and feigning indifference, Gil obeyed.
He was lovely to look at in his nakedness, solid, sculpted muscles, lithe and supple as well as taut with a vital tension. When it was at rest his penis was beautiful. When it began to stir it was a mighty cock. And that's what it was becoming now. Always it made your mouth water. He lay down upon it.
Breathe, says Mike.
Relax.
Breathe.
Easy.
Let go.
Let go.
Give in.
There.
As he chants these words in a quiet, husky voice, elongating the syllables, more like a movement of air fraught with meaning than a sound, Gil is surprised that he is doing exactly as he is told.
That's right, says Mike.
Let yourself go.
Surrender.
Relax.
Gil nearly fell asleep as Mike kneaded him from head to foot. In the depths of his trance he felt Mike's hands slippery with massage oil run through the slice of his cleft and tease his hole into exquisite delight.
Mike let him subside, then said, turn around now.
Gil obeyed, aware he was exposing his front to his new friend, and that in itself made his sleepy penis yawn and stretch and stiffen in obedience to his desire.
Not yet, said Mike. First the chest, and especially the nipples.
He began with small concentricities around the aureoles. Then he worked out from the sensitive stiffening nipples to the powerful mounds above the lungs. He ran his palms around them and down the sharp descent into the cleft. He alternated digging into the body and making broad circular sweeps of the skin. He was kneading the abs. Without even Gil's noticing it at first, he was stroking his grateful cock till it was so happy it could have burst.
Calm there cowboy, no coming, no coming. Only when I say, but not now, not today. He pulled him down from that ledge and soothed him back into a trance.
Doze now. Sleep. There. I'm going to stop now, but you will fall deeply asleep.
After you wake, you'll go take a shower and get dressed. As you're leaving and you see me at the front desk, you'll say, good-bye. I'll say, come back soon. You'll say, I will, sir. And I'll say, I look forward to it. And you will say, so do I. You will begin then to have trouble clearing your mind of thoughts of me. Your only relief from this tension is to come for more workouts and massages. But no matter what you do, you're not going to be able to shake the thought that what you really want to do is surrender and obey and serve.
With that he left the room.
Gil slept for over twenty minutes and woke with a good feeling of calm and balance. He pulled himself up to his full height, even stretching to his toes, and, though he usually waited till he got home, he felt like taking a shower in the gym today. Once in the showers, he couldn't figure out why he hadn't used them all the time. There were beautiful boys in there, and quite a few of them must've been gay because their cocks were as high at the sight of each other as his was at the sight of them.
He noticed that a lean, wiry guy, but beautifully built and with a sweet handsome face was looking at him, and he easily smiled at him. He'd seen him around town, but they'd never approached.
Hey, said the guy.
Hi, Gil said.
Name's Paul, he said.
I'm Gil.
What are you doing when you leave here, Gil? Paul asked.
Think I'm gonna get some lunch.
Mind if I join you?
Glad to have you.
Hope so, said Paul, gently groping him.
Think so, said Gil, cupping the back of his neck.
They lathered and rinsed, dried off and dressed.
Passing the front desk, Gil stopped a moment.
Hey, Mike, he said, good-bye.
Come back soon, Mike answered.
I will, sir, Gil said grinning.
I look forward to it, Mike responded.
So do I.
That guy is hot, Paul said as they hit the soggy, now chilly street. Masterful!
Gil smiled. He liked this guy and found himself getting horny - horny and hungry.
After lunch Gil drove Paul back to his place, and without having to speak they fell upon each other's mouths.
Take off your shirt. Strip for me slowly, Paul said. I want to see you naked again.
Yes, sir, Gil said smiling and pulled off his turtle neck, posed for a moment in his olive muscle shirt and faded jeans, and then started to pull everything off.
Wait, Paul said. Stand still. Play with your nipples. Gently. Good boy. Feel yourself being swept away, like the tide ebbing back to the ocean. Surrender feels so good. Relax. Let your self go. Give in. You know you want to. Good boy. Now fall to your knees.
Master, Gil says kneeling before him, may I kiss your feet.
Lick them, Paul says, putting a sneer in his voice.
Gil begins sweeping the strong and well shaped instep of Paul's foot with his salivating tongue, going from foot to foot, then caressing his ankles with his mouth and feeling the marble of his inner thighs.
Master, he says, may I lick your ball sack?
No, Paul says, withdrawing. We have to make sure a few things are clear. Who am I?
My master.
Gil is trembling.
What is my name?
Master.
Who are you?
Your slave sir.
What is your name?
Slave, sir.
Why are you here?
To obey you, sir
Stand up.
Gil feels Paul's eyes piercing his own.
You are in a trance, he says. You obey and do as you are told.
Yes, sir.
Obedience will be rewarded. Disobedience will be firmly punished. I expect perfection.
I will please you master, Gil says enraptured.
Good boy; then: worship my balls, slave.
Gil kneels again, but now his head raised as high as Paul's waist. He tilts it and reaches under the sack with his tongue. The mingled odor of Paul's natural scent with his cologne nearly makes him swoon. His eyelids fall closed and he is lost in the osculation of Paul's scrotum, gently taking his testicles in his mouth and tracing their shape with his tongue, until his lips form themselves in kisses along the shaft of the extended cock hard as a stone and hot as when in summer the sun has baked it all day.
viii.
I can't believe it, Kenneth said, taking a big swig from his beer stein.
Gil remained silent.
It hurts. It's like you've become one of the pod people.
How did people react to you when you first told them you were gay?
That's different.
Was it?
Of course it was.
How?
In the first place, it wasn't demeaning.
I'm not demeaned.
You don't feel it.
It's not that way.
What way is it?
Gil let out some air and shook his head.
Does that mean you and I...?
It was never like that, Ken. I've said that before.
Yeah, but I didn't...
You didn't take what I said seriously. How's that for demeaning?
ix.
I want to give myself to you, Paul. I've been thinking about it for over a week. It came on me really strong after my last massage with Mike at the gym.
With his arm around Gil, he said, I want to receive you.
I want you to control me, to tell me what to do and how to be.
He was naked except for the silver cock ring Paul had given him, saying, You are to wear this always.
Paul was naked too and wore no ring.
The room was dim in candle light. The midnight sky painted the window panes black.
You will obey me; you will know what to do and how to be and who you are. It's frightening to reveal yourself all the way from the inside, but when you do, when you find a master who accepts you, it is mind blowing to be able to let his wish be your identity. I dig you, and it excites me to have you in my power and under my control. Good boy.
Gil sighs. They are facing each other and Paul guides Gil's mouth to his and they start to breathe deeply each into each other and it feels as if from the other, entrancing themselves. From underneath the kiss, from the depths of his chest, Gil moans, Master, and Paul takes his mouth more violently and he responds with greater waves of surrender, and Paul teases his nipples and a shock of lightning splits his brain.
Their steel rod cocks are touching and Paul grabs them both in one clutch and squeezes them together. Their muscles are straining. They have immobilized each other.
This, says Paul, is who we are. He rolls their cocks around each other as they continue to kiss, and Gil in the fever of his kisses is running his ecstatic hands along the sculpted hardness of Paul's magnificent chest overwhelmed by the hardness of his master's nipples. But before they come Paul pulls his cock away from Gil's and presses his thumb towards the base on the underside of Gil's cock, and in an instant all his sexual excitement slams back inside himself and turns him into marble, and when Paul orders him to kneel and kiss his feet and worship his ball sack and phallus, enraptured and transformed, Gil submits in solemn obedience, his own rigid phallus straining in devotion.
He is as ecstatic as if he were hearing the music of the spheres or the voices of the heavenly angels or following the prompting of his own heart.
(When you write to me, please put the name of the story in the subject line. Thanks)