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Story codes: M, MM, bd, sm, exhib
The Downward Spiral of Jim – Chapter Six
David and our attorney arrived mid-afternoon Tuesday. I had been sitting in jail for three days now. We went into a special room for attorney/client meetings. Our attorney pulled out a bunch of papers. The attorney did all the talking.
"Jim, because of what happened Saturday night that became a public spectacle, David has decided that your relationship together is over. David is bearing the brunt of your arrest with all your relatives, friends, colleagues, and neighbors. Your boss called David yesterday morning. You no longer have a job. Without your income, David and you can no longer afford the house you both live in. The first paperwork here is the house listing. It is going on the market today. The property is priced for a quick sale over maximum return. You both do not have the cash flow to hold onto it long. There is also a power of attorney for me to represent your part in the sale of the house. David wants to sell the BMW wagon to pay cash for a less expensive car completely in his name. Here is the pink slip that you are to sign off on so he can sell the car."
"Where is the convertible?" I asked. It is funny that I even thought about that car considering my problems were a lot more challenging than where, the fuck, a BMW convertible was.
"David reported the convertible stolen. BMW followed the signal until it stopped at a warehouse building. The police are working on getting a search warrant. By this point, though, it could be in a chop shop taken apart and sold for parts. The insurance company is handling the whole thing. David is taking all proceeds from the insurance settlement of the car; since he feels it is your fault it's gone."
I didn't argue.
The attorney continued. "When the house is sold, along with the contents, your part will be put in a trust for safe keeping until you get out of jail. I have spoken with the public defender about your case."
"Won't you represent me?" I pleaded.
"Jim, I don't do these types of cases and you cannot afford a private attorney. The public defender is a good man. He will do the best he can under the circumstances. You will just have to remain in jail until your trial. There is no money available for bail."
I bowed my head in shame and said, "I understand." I knew there was money available for bail and there was money available for a good attorney; however, not from David and me. My family had more than enough money to post bond and hire the best attorney in the country. Obviously, they were not going to do that. My family was great as long as one fell in line. My public humiliation of Saturday night took me out of that line. That attitude is why I was able to stay in such denial for so long. I still towed the line; however, for the rest of my life I would tow the line as a bottom, subservient, slut whore. My family never spoke to me again.
I said to the attorney that someone needed to check me out of the extended hotel because my computer was in the hotel. He told me that would happen. David was not speaking so I did not direct that comment to him.
I signed all the documents. I didn't read anything. Our attorney was excellent and there was no need to question the arrangements. I wanted all this taken care of and I was not in a place to argue.
I must say that the attorney handled the entire process without the least amount of disgust or judgment in his voice. He and the public defender were the only ones who treated me like a human being after what happened. It would be several years before someone treated me like a person again.
When I finished, David and the attorney both got up. The attorney shook my hand and wished me well. David never said a word, not even goodbye.
How could I blame him? I wanted to, but it was entirely my fault. A cop took me back to my cell.
Talk about a fast downward spiral. Thursday morning I was a happy, contented, hard-working guppie and the following Tuesday afternoon (five days later), I was in jail, jobless, awaiting conviction, divorced and homeless.
In two weeks, I went to trial. I pleaded guilty because it would get me out sooner. They sentenced me to two years in jail and a significant fine that came out of my part of the house reducing my trust account balance.
Jail was hell. The only saving grace was I immediately became the personal bitch to a big dude. The man was huge. He was 6'3" weighing in about 240 lbs. of solid muscle. He had a baldhead, which provided a deeper aura of invincibility. His cock was 9" and beer can thick. He was one scary motherfucker, but he was very kind to me. We lived together in the same cell for the entire two years. The Gods were taking care of this little queer boy.
The big man fell in love with my pretty faggot body the moment I walked into the cell. The nice thing about being someone's bitch in jail was he protected me. Nobody ever fucked with him and consequently, nobody fucked with me. I serviced him, which was a pleasure. As long as I was in this place, I might as well take maximum use of my talents. He wanted me at least twice a day. This constant fucking and sucking did open both holes of my body considerably. Do the math, two years is 730 days times two equals close to 1,500 fuck and sucks. Secretly, I was appreciative because I wanted to be better at my favorite sport.
The last night I was in jail, the big man told me he loved me. It was after I had sat on his cock working my cunt up and down until he gave me his juice. The gesture took me aback. He said he understood that I didn't share his love. I didn't know exactly what to say. I told him that I would probably be dead if he hadn't taken care of me the past two years. I said that my gratitude knows no bounds. I also expressed how much I enjoyed our sex life and that he was one of the most incredible men I had ever met. I did apologize for not loving him back, but I did say that I liked him very much. I hoped that he would forgive me for not feeling the same. He said it was no problem. The big man understood that we were two diverse individuals that were together for a time. He said he would miss me terribly and hoped that his next bitch was half the cunt I was. I thought that was sweet.
The next day before I walked out the front gate of the prison, I called the attorney to find out how to get some of my cash from the trust. I took a bus into the city with the money the state gave me when I got out. At the attorney's office, he told me that David had designed the trust so that I would only get enough to set up a small place and live until I could get a job. He said I had no direct access. Every transaction had to be administered through the executor. A small weekly spending amount for groceries and basic living items was on a debit card. It was $200 a week. When I got a job, that stipend would go away. The rest of the money was in investments and was only available in the event of disability.
I found it fascinating the amount of control David designed into the trust. David decided that I was a threat to myself and took away everything that I worked for over the years. I was super mad about it for a while. Then, it occurred to me that I had been living with a domineering top for ten years. This was how he took control of me. I, eventually, had to laugh about the irony of it all. I had my master all along and didn't know it.
Again, the Universe demonstrated to me that I thought I suppressed my desires for subservience. I hadn't. Instead, I found a man that was as controlling as the men I longed for, as controlling as the men that got me into trouble, just in a different way. David was the free version of my big man lover in jail. David loved me just as big man did. David demonstrated that love by taking care of me in the only way he knew how under the circumstances. David knew I was incapable as a sub to take care of myself. That is why he set the trust up that way. David loved me; yet, now I realized I didn't love David. Fuck, denial is a horrible thing.
I went to work at one of the local bathhouses. I felt that if I was going to continue to be a whore, I might as well work in that environment, plus who else would hire someone with my criminal record.
One night the original cop came in. I was at the front desk. He didn't acknowledge me, but I know he knew who I was.
Later I was walking a hall going to clean another greasy mess left behind by a customer. An arm grabbed me and pulled me into a room. It was the cop.
"So this is what happened to my little faggot."
"Yes Sir." I bowed me head in shame. When I did, I saw the beautiful bulge of his cop cock underneath his towel.
"You were such a big man on campus and look at you now." The cop laughed.
"Yes Sir." I said feeling smaller and smaller.
"When do you get off work, fag?"
"7 AM Sir." I perked up a little. Why was he asking?
"I'll be at the front door at 7 AM. I am taking you to breakfast. I want to talk with you. I have a proposal."
"A proposal?" I queried.
"Now little fag boy, don't your worry your pretty queer head. I just want to talk with you."
"Ok Sir. I'll meet you at the front door."
I walked out of the room. I obsessed about it all night, but I thought, how bad could it be. It was just breakfast. Little did I know.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
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