Broached and Conquered
Brandon yawned.
I looked at him. "Am I boring you?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "I've had enough of talk. I want to hold you. I want to feel you."
I lowered my head and raised my eyes. "I'm sorry," I said. "I live so far away from my body that..."
"...that you can't even feel sexual arousal."
"You're right...or almost right."
"Almost right?"
"It's hard to admit this."
"What."
"I need force in order to be aroused. I need to be broached and conquered."
Brandon laughed aloud. He felt an insult in my words, although I was unaware of any.
"So I am insufficient unless I fulfill your fantasy."
"I never thought of it like that."
"It's time you did," he said with an edge in his voice that made me wary.
"Come on," he said, the edge gone now. "Let's go back to my place."
"Don't turn the light on," he said when we were at the door and he was turning the key in the lock.
I nodded. "Ok."
We went inside. He struck a match. It flared. He touched it to the wick of a candle standing straight in a silver stick that looked like it was made by Brancusi. The wick flared, then retreated, then settled, baring a steady glow.
"You know you have a lot of nerve," he said.
"I'm sorry," I said, not apologizing for anything but signaling my complete surprise at a sudden expression of animus I had been unaware of.
"What are you sorry for?" he said.
"I meant I don't know what you are talking about."
"You mean you don't want to know."
"You're making me dizzy."
"Do you always assume that you are the center of everything?"
"What's happening?" I said.
"You tell me," he said.
"I don't know," I said.
"You better start to get to know."
"Why are you talking to me like that?"
"Why does it matter?"
"I should go," I said.
"No, you should not," Brandon said and pushed me so that I fell backwards and landed on the sofa behind me.
"You don't leave here until I give you permission to go."
This was not making sense to me. I began to protest and felt the quick sting of his hand on my cheek.
I put my fingers to my burning cheek and felt his hand cuff my wrist. He pulled my hand away from my face and propelled me off the sofa onto the floor. I landed on my back.
"Don't move," he said, as I began to raise my head.
He stripped off his shirt and stood above me only in his tight-fitting jeans and boots.
He knelt over me, brought his face close to mine and devoured me, eating my mouth with an unending kiss. He took possession of my breath and I burst with the sense of overwhelming desire to be consumed.
He backed his head away from mine, grabbed me with his eyes, locked our gazes, and smiled: an ebullience of joy flooded me. I moved towards him but just as I was about to put my lips to his, he backed away and teased me into submission, until finally he relented and brought our lips together again.
"What would you do if I never fucked you again?" he said.
It was morning. We were drinking coffee, standing up, only the snowy white towels with which we had dried ourselves – each other – after the shower, were tied now around our waists and rising like snowy mountains where our cocks rose with insatiable eagerness.
"What would you do if I never fucked you again?" he repeated.
"But you do want to fuck me again," I said as seductively as I could, reaching out to caress his hard cock.
"I'm not a slave to my wants," he said, pushing my hand away and putting his coffee cup on the counter against which he was leaning. "I've got a lot to do now. You better go."
"What!" I said.
"Don't say `what' like that. Come on, boy, do as I say."
"Yes, Sir," I said, trying to pluck something out of my fallen heart. "Will I see you again?"
"You want to, don't you?"
"Very badly," I said.
"No guarantees," he said, smiling like the rosy dawn when it swells to see the new day's sky.
"May I call you?" I asked.
"I wouldn't. I'll let you know if I want to see you."
"That's it?" I asked.
"I really have a busy schedule today and need you to go," he said with the flattest affect I had ever heard.
By then I had gotten my things from the pile by the sofa and was dressed.
"Good bye," I said, going up to kiss him. "I hope we see each other again."
He reacted with nothing more than a vaguely impatient look that made me understand that there was nothing like a kiss between us now. I backed away, toward the door and reached for the knob. He beat me to it, opened the door, and with the curtest nod of his head, saw me out.
It was raining. I raised the hood of my parka over my head and headed for the subway. The graduate school library was nearly empty. I put in my three hours behind the circulation desk reading Howards End. I left at one and spend the rest of the day watching movies on my laptop and making notes. The dissertation would be finished in May. I would get a doctorate and teach film studies. I was promised a tenure track job at NYU if everything went as it should, as I was sure it would.
To his question what would I do if he never fucked me again, he knew the answer as well as I. I would diminish. I would always seem to be less than I might be. Everything I did would seem less than it might be. No one I would meet would be the one I really longed to know. He had been the master of my satisfaction and now he had sewed dissatisfaction in me.
Weeks went by, then months. He did not call. I was unable to call him. I began teaching in the fall, and that absorbed me. But at night, I was haunted with the torment of longing. I cruised the Village, and sometimes Central Park West.
Every night I found someone to go home with. But no one ever made me hard. A few fucked me, but all I could do was bear it.
Until I met James. He got really angry. I had not come and I did not even get hard.
He looked at me with frightening fury.
"I need to feel you inside me," he said.
"I can't," I said, plaintively.
He was lean and muscular. His jaw was square and his eyes were black with anger.
"You can't," he said. "Or you won't?"
"I can't," I repeated, whining.
"I don't believe you," he said, "and I don't like being teased." He took me by the throat, and slapped me hard several times with his open palm and the back of his hand. Then he smiled when he saw my stiff erection. He took hold of it in his fist and pulled me to him.
"That's better," he said.
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