Flight 12

Flight 12 - a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER 16 – SIX FLASHBACK LIMIT PER CHAPTER

Previously, on the surface:

• Seth finds a message in stones ("Gin and Tipsy") from Abe.

• Abe encounters Percy and runs from him, but is hit on the head by a rock.

• Jasper learns of the multiple personalities of Ray/Cody/Gary and resolves to meet Gary, whom only Harry has met.

Underground:

• Hamish greets the left-siders, including Stan, and informs them they will be used sexually. He allows Barry, the pilot of Flight 12 but now Hamish's slave, to fuck one of them (Theo). Barry's crew on Flight 12 included flight attendant Percy and a co-pilot, Phil.

In Switzerland/Aruba:

• Stimulever reacts in panic to the fact that Jordan and Miles have broken through the wall', jeopardizing The Project'. They send a representative to Aruba to meet with and `neutralize' them. In advance of that meeting, Miles works to arrange a meeting with a reporter, to put additional pressure on Stimulever.

• Jordan has reverted to presenting himself as a male.

In flashbacks:

• Seth has a third date with Abe, without sex, after his friend Ian spies on them at an Armenian restaurant. He admits to Abe that he used a succession of boyfriends to rebound from previous ones, especially to get over a man named Sean.

• Augie (who is in love with Jordan, thinking him female) is haunted by an incident in high school when he had given a blow job to a friend, Alfonso.

• Barry witnesses Hamish, a fellow bdsm dom, burn two disreputable men to death, one of them seemingly by magic.

• • • • • • • • TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4 * * * * * * * *

THE WESTERN BEACH – SETH

After finding the GIN AND TIPSY sign, I was buoyed. But I traversed up and down that beach until sundown yesterday and found no trace of Abe or anyone else, unless you counted the huge HELP sign written in stones, clearly intended for a passing plane, of which there hadn't been one.

Something was off. Way off. If Abe had survived, where were the other left-siders? Had he gotten separated from them? Was he the only survivor? Were they all hiding together somewhere? Had another phallic tower drawn THEM in?

There were more questions than answers, but at least the questions had one thing in common: Abe had lived. And, unless something had befallen him since he left that note, he was still alive.

I WILL find him.

THE THRONE ROOM – BARRY

• You've been a good boy, Barry. I think you deserve a reward.

• Thank you, Master.

I was more apprehensive than appreciative. Hamish's rewards could take the form of his cock in my mouth – or my ass. I had been fucked by him every day since arriving and by the rest of his `lieutenants' at least once apiece. And then I was paraded in full puppy-dog mode in front of eleven terrified, naked men, all from the left side of ZTA Flight 12.

But he let me fuck one of them! A sexy Black boy named Theo. It felt good to be on top again – a place where I've spent my entire adult life – until three days ago. So when Hamish promised me a `reward', I hoped it would be another chance to dominate. And not a chance to be a cumdump for his henchmen.

• Would you like to see your reward, boy?

• (with mixed feelings) Yes, Master.

I wasn't prepared for what happened next. They brought in a man – naked, of course, and, from his posture, clearly a bottom. Only this was a bottom I recognized – and not from the room yesterday where I had fucked Theo. This was Phil. My co-pilot Phil, whom I had not seen since the incident.

• Would you like to fuck him, boy?

Oh, shit. I longed to fuck ass, but . . . Phil? Phil was a swinging bachelor, looking for a girl in every town we flew into – not exactly my pal but my colleague, my partner on 80% of the flights I made for ZTA. And now he stood before me, a quivering mass of jello, praying I would not say `yes'.

• Yes.

Sorry, Phil, but an ass is an ass and if you're here, your ass will get used plenty and probably already has been. One more cock won't affect your life much in the long run. The thought made me hard.

• I see you've said `yes' in two ways.

Phil was looking at my erection; his face was filled with such hatred that, should we ever get out of here, I knew there was no way we could ever work together again.

• Bend over that sawhorse, boy.

That instruction was to Phil, not me. The item in question was about three feet high, just the right height for Phil to bend over. He looked at me, he looked at Hamish, he looked at the four lieutenants waiting nearby to force him onto it, and knew there was no way out.

What a nice ass he had. It wasn't perfection, but it was meaty, with cute dimples. But it was the cleft that drew my attention. As I approached him, his cock hung down between his legs. Had he been in my playroom, I would have reached between his legs and squeezed his balls, hard, to make him cry out in pain before I sank my manhood deep into his bowels. But I couldn't do that in this case.

His balls were missing.

FLASHBACK – BARRY (SANTO DOMINGO) – May, this year

The ring-tone sounded. I looked at the name on the phone. Shit! It was Hamish.

I considered ignoring it, but what good would that do? After what he had done to Martín – setting him aflame from across the room – who knew what he was capable of. He was not someone you could ignore. He called himself a magician. I didn't like his definition of magic.

I picked up.

• (as if it was a good thing) Hamish!

• Hey, buddy, ready for more fun this weekend?

Fortunately, I was prepared for this. I had a ready-made excuse, and this time it was not a lie.

• Oh, sorry, I'm working solid from Thursday to next Wednesday. Santo Domingo to Bogotá, Santo Domingo to Hamilton. I don't have a few days off until next Wednesday.

• What about next Friday then?

• (oh, shit, trapped – I HAD said `a few days', hadn't I?) Well, I might be available. Have to check my calendar. But Hamish – please, nothing like the last time.

• No worries, I don't have any contracts. Remind me who you're flying for again?

• Progresa. They're small, but they keep me busy. I never know, they sometimes call me on short notice to fill in, they're a little understaffed.

True, but misleading. Progresa was a small regional airline who occasionally needed me to fill in, but rarely. My co-pilot Andrés and I would have a long weekend coming up after Wednesday.

When that Friday came around, I called Hamish and told him my (invented) client had canceled, hoping to get out of it. Hamish told me to come anyway, we could share his client. He assured me he was not in a snuffy mood and promised no spontaneous combustion.

Unless you count my internal combustion when I saw who his client was – Andrés. Andrés was shocked when he saw me, but also – I think – turned on a bit. Perhaps future flights would be more interesting, especially when the automatic pilot was on.

Andrés wanted to be spanked, and he got more than he wished. After he gave us each blow jobs, we whacked his ass until it was the color of a ripe tomato. And we caned him on top of that. Then we both fucked him, and Hamish fisted him, which he had not asked for, but which he had no option but to accept. He had verbally consented to submit fully other than a few proscribed activities, and had failed to list fisting among them. Lessons learned.

Hamish forced a spider-gag into his mouth and I emptied my bladder into it, while Hamish pissed all over the rest of his body. Andrés objected, but I paid no heed, blithely ignoring the implications for our working relationship. How do you work side-by-side with a man who's forced you to swallow his piss?

It had implications for our working relationship, all right. We were both fired. Hamish had filmed me belting and fucking Andrés's ass and pissing into his mouth against his will. But he also shot Andrés willingly sucking my cock at the beginning of the session, to make it clear that my co-pilot was complicit in his humiliation. And `somehow' our boss got hold of it.

Hamish called me afterwards, simultaneously threatening me and apologizing. He admitted he had been responsible for my losing my job. But only, he said, because he wanted to offer me another one. A new airline, in which he had an interest, called Zen Tropical Airways. He would make sure they hired me.

And Andrés?

• Don't worry about Andrés.

I did worry about Andrés. After I'd witnessed what Hamish had done to Martín and Felix, he had no worries that I would turn him in to the police. But Andrés might pose a threat to Hamish. I kept watching the obituaries in the newspaper and was relieved every day I didn't see his name.

I didn't like the idea of working for this Zen Tropical Airways. I wanted to break ties with Hamish completely. I contacted my boss at Progresa, groveling for a recommendation. He told me he found my behavior repulsive and had no choice but to fire me, but if he was asked for a recommendation, he would tell them I was a good pilot and not volunteer any details of my extracurricular activities.

That was all I needed. I couldn't break ties with Hamish if I remained in Santo Domingo. But if I went elsewhere – especially outside the U.S. – Hamish was unlikely to track me down. I submitted scores of applications and got offers from two airlines in Africa.

That's when Hamish decided I needed another incentive to comply with his plan for me.

STAN'S CELL – STAN

• Do we have to do this, Ian?

• It's my job, Stan. And now it's your job, too.

• Who would know? I mean, we're here alone, you could just say you . . . you know, did it.

• Fucked you, Stan. I could just say I fucked you. Are you afraid to even say the word?

• I'm not gay.

• You ever been fucked in the ass?

• What a ridiculous question. No, Ian, I have not.

• Then how do you know you don't like it?

• If I liked it, don't you think I would have made it with a guy by now?

• You're only twenty-two, lots of men don't come out until they're older than that.

• Men who knew they were gay but were afraid to come out. I'm straight.

• Well, if you were gay you'd have a better time here. Because, Stan, you are going to get fucked for the rest of your . . .

• For the rest of my . . .?

• Stay here.

• It sounded like you were going to say `for the rest of your life'.

• . . .

• Am I ever going to get out of here?

• I've only been here a year. But I've never seen anybody actually leave.

• Fuck.

• Good idea. Bend over the edge of the bed.

• No.

• Do you want to be forced?

• You and I are about the same size. I like my chances.

That was when Ian went to a little button behind the toilet that I hadn't noticed before and pushed it. A minute later, two strapping lieutenants burst into the room.

• (lieutenant #1) He being uncooperative, Ian?

• (Ian) First time jitters, you know. Reality hasn't set in.

• (lieutenant #2) Reality is our middle name.

You can guess what happened next. I could – maybe – have taken Ian, but not these two mammoths. They lifted me up and dumped me over the edge of the bed, holding me down while they spread my legs and I felt something wet and slimy invade the crack between my cheeks.

A finger massaged my asshole and then poked inward, pushing the lubricant (for that's what it was) deep inside. Soon afterwards, I felt his finger again, adorned with fresh lubricant. He spread it around good – I'll give him that. And then I felt a hard bump against my hole and the weight of Ian's legs against the back of my legs. His hands grabbed my love handles – I gained fresh appreciation for why they were called that – and then I felt nothing but intense pain.

He pushed his cock past my sphincter. I gasped.

• Easy, Stan. We're just getting started.

He pushed in further and further until I felt I had swallowed a cucumber through the wrong end. Every inch of my rectum was being pushed to the limit. I thought about how, when I shit, my colon was wide enough to accommodate the diameter of a turd – which was at least the width of a cock. The difference was: The turd was soft, the cock was hard. I was voluntarily expelling the turd, and its release felt good. The cock was being rammed up my ass, and it was a solid mass, not squishy remnants of food.

To sum it up, it hurt like hell and I couldn't believe how full my ass felt. And then he started to pull out – and then ram back in again. He rammed me again and again, and after a while I felt an odd sensation – my prostate was getting poked and it was stimulating. It was painful, but also sending endorphins to my brain and blood to my cock. I started to realize why sometimes men had their women use strap-ons and penetrate them. And I started to understand why gays liked it up the ass.

Ian kept plowing away at my ass, increasing his tempo, making me grunt in pain (and a wee bit of pleasure) with every thrust. I felt completely and totally violated, completely and totally used, completely and totally dominated, and completely and totally confused that I wasn't hating it more than I was. Ian was asserting his domination over me, and strangely there was something in me that wanted to surrender and let him have his way. There was something powerful about submission that I would never have expected.

Finally, he quickened his tempo, then slackened as his viscous seed flowed into my bowels. He stayed there a minute; I didn't anticipate the pain as his cockhead popped past my sphincter on the way out. I lay there, panting, grateful that it was over.

But it wasn't.

Moments later I felt a pair of hands massage my buttocks and a heavy pair of legs push against mine.

I heard Ian's voice.

• After I had to call them in, I couldn't let them leave without giving them a go, now could I?

• What? Ian, are you – aaaaaaaah!

That last sound was what leaped from my jaw as a second cock pushed its way up my unwilling ass. This one was thicker and longer than Ian's. He made me scream as he pummeled my guts relentlessly for ten minutes. And then it was the third man's turn. He was equal in size, but I was getting used to it by now and I just lay there and took it.

• See, Stan, if you had just cooperated it would have been only me. It's always best to cooperate around here. You'll learn that the longer you stay.

But there was something in the way he said that. Something intriguing. Ian looked at me the way I had looked at Magda . . . once. I wondered what was going on in his head.

FLASHBACK – IAN (CLEVELAND) – December 9, a year ago

• So, how did it go?

• We didn't have sex.

• No? After you took him back to your place?

• No.

• What happened? Did you do something to turn him off?

• Yeah. I was human.

• Abe, humans have sex.

• Yes, and they also relate to each other as human beings. The man is struggling, Ian. Something happened in his past that hurt him, hurt him deeply. I think it has to do with a guy named Sean.

• Ah.

• I didn't want to be someone he just hopped into bed with on the rebound from his last boyfriend. That last boyfriend . . . that was you, Ian.

• Did he tell you that or are you just guessing?

• Some of both. He said he had a series of boyfriends, and maybe now it was time to take relationships more seriously. He did say you were part of his past, but not more than that.

• Did you tell him that I was also part of YOUR past?

• No. I don't want him to know that. It would make our getting together seem too . . . I don't know, artificial.

• Well, it was. It was an artifice that got you back together after that second date.

• I'm glad you did. We're going to have another date, and I don't think we'll have sex then either.

• You're doing things backwards, you know. Instead of sex on the third date', you're doing stop having sex on the third date'.

• (grinning) It's kind of nice, being appreciated for my mind.

A week later and I was on a plane to Martinique. Or so I thought. A little detour to an underground space on a mysterious island. I've been here a year now. I wouldn't have expected to ever see either of them again. And yet it's all Hamish talks about – Herrick, Herrick, Herrick. I don't know why Seth is important, but Hamish is the boss, and whatever he says goes. I still have my balls, I'd like to keep them.

ORANJESTAD, ARUBA – JORDAN

Miles had received an email saying that "Stimulever's representative" would meet us at 8 p.m. at my hotel. Which gave us some time to meet with the journalist which Miles had so competently found. His name was Maurice Straume, and he was reputedly the `Aruba Advocate's best investigative journalist.

• (Maurice) I understand you have a story you're interested in.

• Yes, the airplane that disappeared Friday night. ZTA is failing to provide any infor-

• An airplane disappeared Friday night? I hadn't heard about this. Was it a lone pilot or did they have passengers? Is it anyone you knew?

Miles and I stared at each other.

• (Miles) Mr. Straume. We're not talking about a twin-engine Cessna here. We're talking twenty-four passengers on a flight from Santo Domingo. Who never arrived.

• (Straume) A passenger plane? That's absurd. Anything like that would be a major story.

• Exactly. Why isn't it? Did ZTA get to your publisher?

• (Straume) ZTA?

• Zen Tropical Airways.

• (Straume) I've never heard of them. They don't fly into Queen Beatrix.

• (Miles) They're covering it up – that's why you don't know about it.

• (Straume) Mr. King, no one could cover up something like that. A passenger airplane that disappeared? You can't hide that.

• It happened. We were there. We were –

• (Straume) Did Willem put you up to this? (suddenly smiling) Tell him nice try, he should save it for April Fool's Day.

• This is real. I swear.

• (Straume, condescending) What kind of an idiot do you take me for? If an airplane had disappeared with no explanation, we would have been all over that story. Airport personnel would have reported it. Relatives of other passengers would have reported it. If you're going to make up a story like this, try using an airline that actually exists. Zen Tropicana –

• Zen Tropical Airways. It exists. I flew on it.

• (Straume) You flew on it. Zen Tropical Airways.

• That's right.

• (Straume) Hold on.

He went to his computer. I knew instinctively what he was doing and what he would say next.

• (Straume) I just googled Zen Tropical Airways. No such thing exists.

• Mr. Straume –

• Please leave. I don't have time to waste on pranksters.

So much for our attempt to pressure Stimulever. ZTA had obviously gotten to the airport personnel and pressured them to keep the incident under wraps. But I was amazed that no one else had contacted them. Miles and I couldn't be the only people upset about this. I remembered the pink-haired girl I had seen on the street by Royal Plaza Mall, who had failed to acknowledge me when I called after her; why wasn't she banging on the doors like we were, demanding answers?

If it weren't for Miles and Jen, I would think that I was delusional, that Flight 12 had never even existed. I wasn't delusional. But there was a lot that didn't add up. I hoped when the Stimulever representative got here, that they would do the sums.

THE PHALLIC TOWER - JASPER

• (Ray - ?) Hi.

• Hi.

• Which one are you?

Oh, so not Ray. Could this be Gary?

• Jasper.

• Jasper, hi. I'm sorry, I don't have a good memory. I'm sure I met you but I . . . well, something keeps getting in my way.

• (taking a risk) You mean like Ray or Cody?

He took a step back and assessed me. Fear spread over his face, and doubt. It was so strange seeing these emotions coming from a man, who in his other personas, exuded a self-assurance unmatched by anyone other than Lucas. This was a vulnerable man, a frightened man. And my heart went out to him. It having been six days since I'd had sex, my cock was plenty interested, too, but at the moment the emotional side of me was dominating the physical.

• (Gary, unsure if he could trust me) You know Cody and Ray.

• I've met them. They're not as nice as you.

• Thanks. I'm Gary. Did you know that?

• Harry told me.

• I like Harry. What day is it?

• It's Tuesday, the fourth.

• Could you tell me what I've missed? I . . . blanked out for a while.

• What's the last thing you remember?

• It must have been yesterday morning. I got up and I remember this guy saying we were going to take a trip to get water. I must have blanked out at that point. He didn't have any clothes on – maybe that's what freaked me out, I'm not sure.

• That's Seth. He's actually our leader, and, yeah, he's naked. It's . . . complicated. I'll fill you in on our situation, but I have to warn you, Gary, it's very strange, and I don't understand it myself.

I told him as much as I could, going slowly, and leaving out certain parts. I made sure to warn him about the dodecagons, without being specific about what they seemed capable of doing, or about Leo's or Paul's disappearances. He probably wouldn't know who Leo or Paul were, anyway.

When Seth returned, Gary would be confronted with his nudity, and I felt I needed to prepare him for that, so I told him that Seth had awakened without his clothes and had to stay that way. Taking a risk, I made the mistake of telling him that another guy had found himself waking up wearing only a jockstrap, as a means of warning him the degree of strangeness that surrounded this place.

• You're talking about Paul.

• Oh, you know Paul?

• (grinning) Of course I know Paul. Man, that ass poking out from his jockstrap – one of the best!

Uh-oh. Hello, Ray. All the talk of nudity had freaked Gary out, and brought out lusty Ray.

I made an excuse to leave the tower, where Ed was haranguing Harry, blaming him for Leo's disappearance. I decided this was not the time to inform Harry that I had met Gary and to apologize for freaking him out so much that he reverted to a personality happier with the concept of nudity.

Last night, Harry had shared with me his theory that we had been chosen to be on Flight 12. We shared a lot of commonalities – our home towns being on that map, our December birthdays, and so on. There was another coincidence that Harry seemed to suggest but didn't mention explicitly, one that had been passing through my mind for some time now. I was convinced that (counting Ray) ten of us were gay. If all of us were gay – or at least bisexual – it would be a common thread. The problems were Ed and Augie.

Augie clearly had a girlfriend whom, he had told me, he had planned to propose to in Aruba. Ed was a rabid homophobe – although there were plenty of instances of public homophobes who were secretly gay. A small part of me wondered if each of them didn't have something to hide.

FLASHBACK – AUGIE (WHITE SETTLEMENT, TEXAS) – over the last five years

I think Jordan saved my soul.

The incident with Alfonso my sophomore year it had weighed heavily on my mind ever since. The times were growing more perilous. My father bought two more AR-15's – he felt the need, he said, because the country was experiencing moral decay. LGBTQ and Antifa and immigrants and Jews were taking our country away from us. And Pastor Markson – whom Dad called Pastor Marksman because he displayed his gun from the pulpit – preached at least once a month about the evils of homosexuality.

And here I had engaged in a sexual act with another boy.

I started dating, beginning with Emma Rutherford. There were others, but I never really felt it clicked. I got hard-ons, of course, what boy didn't, but I didn't get them when I was with girls. I got really worried once when I found this wrestling magazine in the locker room after baseball practice, and I started to get an erection looking through it. Those were men with almost no clothes on – why was I getting an erection?

I was NOT a homosexual. I was a Christian. You couldn't be both. And even if I got an urge like that, I would suppress it.

The worst moment was when I ran into Alfonso at the mall. I tried to avoid him, but he came running up to me and put his arms around me. Before I knew it, my dong was tenting my pants. He noticed.

• Oh, yeah, Augie, you still want me, don't you? You know, we could find a place to meet and have fun together. Someplace no one would know about and –

• Alfonso, get the hell away from me. I'm a Christian. I'm not a queer.

• You can be both, Augie.

• That's not what Pastor Markson says.

• I think Pastor Markson's queer himself. That's why he's always preaching against it. He and Mrs. Markson don't have kids, do they?

• That's been his great disappointment in life. She's been cursed.

• (laughs) Yeah, cursed with a husband who doesn't fuck her.

• Go away, Augie, before I –

• Before you cream your pants? Be a man, Augie, own up to who you are.

• You know who I am? A person who wants nothing to do with you. Or any other homo.

• (smiling) We'll see. Meet me in ten years and I'll bet you're living on your knees.

That incident disturbed me. Why did I get a hard-on then? Could Alfonso possibly be right? Could I be a queer? Would I be condemned to hell?

That's why I am so grateful to Jordan. She came into our church one Sunday and we really hit it off at the social hour afterwards. And I was drawn to her like I was drawn to no girl I'd ever known before. And I got a hard-on. Just being around her made me hard.

Which proves I'm straight. Hallelujah.

FLASHBACK – ED (LONDON, ENGLAND) – December, eleven years ago

• (Beatrice) Oh my God, Ed, it's here.

• What's here?

• Look where it's from. This is it. The New Year's Honors List is being released today.

• You think I'm on it?

• Why else would you be getting this?

After gaining substantial recognition for `revolutionary' surgical techniques in joint replacements, I had heard rumors that I might be on the List. Of course, it didn't hurt if your father was in the House of Lords.

It was exactly what I had hoped for, had dreamed of, all my life. KBE. Knight of the British Empire. To be honored in person by Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, at Buckingham Palace. The timing was somewhat ironic, to be honored by my home country less than two weeks after I had accepted a prime position at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston, in the U.S.

Beatrice, naturally, had to go out and buy the most expensive dress in the United Kingdom, followed by the most expensive shoes and the most expensive hat. Why she had to wear a hat I didn't know, but she said the queen wore one and so she would expect it. (The Queen, at least, looked good in a hat.) My tuxedo had to be a classier weave and Italian, and I needed thousand-pound shoes to boot. Even Leo, who was only eight, needed to be outfitted for the occasion at the finest places on Savile Row.

The event itself was as wonderful as I could have hoped. Her Majesty was gracious (as she always was), and a number of friends rallied round me to celebrate. And one person was there whom I never wished to see again, but he kept popping up in my life from time to time: Ryan Mackenzie.

FLASHBACK WITHIN A FLASHBACK – ED (CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND) – twenty-eight years ago

Exams were over and we were confident we had aced them. Time to celebrate. Ryan and I were mates, athletes good enough to make the national under-21 team (I in sprints, Ryan with the javelin), but both brilliant enough (if you'll excuse the rodomontade) to realize we'd have to leave our athletic endeavors to a sideline. I could have gotten into any medical school in the world – I chose Harvard. Ryan, not quite my academic equal, was headed for Kings College, London – one of the more elite dental schools.

In Cambridge there was a tradition of punting on the Cam – a punt being a low flat boat propelled by sticking a long pole to the bed of a (not very deep) river and pushing it along – the Cam being the river in question, a bridge over which gave the town its name.

It is not generally advisable to go punting under the influence of alcohol, but that's what we did. Under the influence' is a euphemism: plastered' would be more accurate. When you go punting on a river when you're absolutely trollied, the results are predictable: I fell in. I can swim, but Ryan decided to plunge in after me to save the pole, which he did; we both wound up soaked.

Alcohol tends to impair your judgment. We wanted to get out of those wet clothes, and being young men of considerable nerve, impetuosity, and devil-may-care after the success of our exams – and fortuitously (it being about two in the morning) on an otherwise unoccupied section of the Cam, we thought it would be uproariously funny if we removed our wet clothes and continued our sojourn in the altogether.

We were having a high old time punting in the buff until both of us landed on the same side of the punt with too much force and tipped it over. Into the Cam went our clothes and, of course, it was a moonless night and we couldn't find anything except for Ryan's shirt. We still found this hilariously funny – we'd have to find our way back to his flat in the nude, hoping not to get arrested en route.

Something else happened first. We pulled the punt over to the side, abandoning it, and climbed onto the shore. I fell over a tree root, and Ryan fell on top of me. And then he kissed me.

• Ryan, I don't think you're supposed to be doing that.

I was so drunk I thought it was funny.

• I'm not supposed to be doing this, either.

And he redirected his mouth to a lower part of my anatomy. Now I have known alcohol to have a deleterious effect on one's ability to maintain a stout erection, but for some unbeknownst reason, in my legless condition I got a reaction from my third leg. I had never received a blow job in my life – it being something girls in my social circle just didn't do – and I resolved to persuade them otherwise in the future.

Ryan ran his tongue gently over my shaft, making every inch of me tingle.

• Oh, God, Ryan, keep doing that. It feels wonderful.

• Mm-hmmm. Actually, mate, I'm going to start doing this.

He took my whole cock in his mouth and started bobbing up and down on it. The wetness, the feel of his tongue on my shaft, the sensations tingling throughout my organ were unbelievable. He withdrew, wrapping his lips around my cockhead, then dived in full throttle, pushing my cock deep down toward his uvula, then retreating, licking me under the glans, then withdrawing altogether to suck my balls.

It did not take long until the tension grew unbearable.

• Look out, I'm going to come!

• Exactly what you're supposed to do, my friend.

I shot my load into his mouth and he swallowed every ounce of it.

• Did you like that, Eddie boy?

• I did. . . . Ryan, that doesn't make me a fruit, does it?

• No. Not unless you also enjoy this.

• Enjoy what?

• Well, you got your rocks off, old man, didn't you? My turn.

• Ryan, I don't think I could put your thing in my mouth.

• You won't have to, mate. Flip over.

Well, I was relieved. I was not gay. I did not enjoy what he did to me. It hurt. Yes, I got hard during it, but that's just science, isn't it? Stimulation of the prostate.

And a weird feeling of ambiguity. I was horrified at what Ryan had done to me. And yet part of me . . .

No. That did not happen. I will never let anything like that happen again. Cocksucking is for nancy boys, not for sons of Peers who are going to Harvard Medical School.

THE WESTERN BEACH – SETH

Wait – there was something. On the left, as I continued to walk south, there was a disturbance in the sand, on a dune that led up to the plateau above. It didn't look like a random pattern created by nature, and when I got close enough to read it, my heart jumped: it read `SETH'.

SETH. Abe was trying to communicate with me. Or was he? If he was trying to communicate, wouldn't he have written more than my name? There was room to do so.

But then I saw something else: a rock about eight inches in diameter stuck in the sand halfway up the incline. Underneath it was something white.

A note! He had written me a note! I was pretty sure he had a little notepad in his backpack, and he probably had a pen. This was meant for me. The name `SETH' was to make it clear who it was written for, and the note would include his personal message. I reached for it eagerly, hopeful it would read something like "meet me at the third coconut tree on the left".

As soon as I picked up the white slip of paper, I knew it did not come from Abe. On the outside of the folded-up paper, it said, "Lee S. Herrick" in the same calligraphic script that accompanied the note I had received two days ago. Abe would never call me "Lee S. Herrick" and his handwriting was nearly illegible.

I unfolded the note and read what had been typed inside.

WE HAVE HIM.

THERE IS NOTHING MORE TO DO HERE.

GO BACK TO THE PHALLIC TOWER.

STAY NAKED.

THAT IS YOUR ONLY CHANCE.

My only chance. My only chance for what? For getting Abe back? For getting off the island? For survival?

It was only then that I noticed that the underside of the stone had blood on it.

FLASHBACK – SETH (CLEVELAND) – five years ago

• You look anxious.

• I'm a married man, Sean, with three sons.

• Yes, and?

• And I'm betraying Megan.

• Does Megan know you're seeing me?

• Of course not.

• Then you're not hurting her. You're protecting her by keeping us a secret.

• God, you drive me crazy,

• That's the idea. Crazy with lust. Do you love me?

• Yes. Sean O'Hara, I think I love you.

• Then what's the problem?

• You need to know this, Sean. Megan's the only woman I've ever slept with. I'm not sure why I even did, I think I wanted to prove to myself that I was bisexual, it would give me an excuse to get married and have kids, and that would be good for my career, and –

• And so you got married and had triplets and life's just not fulfilling, is it?

• No.

• You feel the need, don't you, Seth? You're tired of being in control – I'm not talking about your marriage, I'm talking about your life.

• That's exactly it. I'm a supervisor now, I have to be a leader.

• And sometimes you want to surrender that control to someone else. Someone strong and powerful, like me.

• Yes.

• And you feel you've done wrong by Megan, don't you?

• Yes.

• `Yes, sir.'

• Yes, sir.

• You've done a bad thing, haven't you, Seth?

• Yes, sir. I've done a bad thing.

• You deserve to be punished for that, don't you, Seth?

• Yes, sir. I deserve to be punished.

• Then strip, boy. Master Sean O'Hara is going to give you a punishment you'll never forget.

That was the first time I ever saw the handcuffs.

ORANJESTAD, ARUBA – JORDAN

There was a knock at the door. Miles and I looked at each other. We tensed. This was it.

We had talked about strategy. I would let Miles take the lead. Although I was, I thought, just as articulate and motivated as he was, there was no doubt he was more masculine. A company like Stimulever was probably full of alpha males and wouldn't respect an effeminate gay man confronting them.

I wished we had Vic with us. Miles had shown me pictures of Vic – strong, Black, tattooed, a hulk. HE they would have respected. Miles was small, like me, but not effeminate in any way. It was just a matter of presentation, like standing up to a bear and making yourself as large as possible to discourage them from attacking you.

I opened the door. In came a very handsome man, in his mid-thirties, I would guess. His suit looked like it was painted on. His body just seemed to pour out of it – and by that I don't mean he was fat. He was all lean tissue, and I could see the outline of his pecs – not too much, not too little – through his shirt, even with the jacket on. There was the hint of a five-o'-clock shadow (at eight-o'-clock), a strong chin, eyes that were as dark as his neatly trimmed brown hair. To summarize: he was gorgeous and exuded masculinity. Probably a dozen years older than me, but my heart went zing.

• (trying to keep calm) Hi. I'm Jordan Murdock and this is Miles King. And you must be Mr. Stimulever.

He smiled and extended a hand like a politician seeking a vote.

• Call me Sean.

• Do you have a last name?

• Actually, it IS Stimulever. Family business.

ORANJESTAD, ARUBA – SEAN

In light of my plans, it was best if Jordan didn't know my true name. I shouldn't even have called myself Sean', but it slipped out. Jude' would have been so much better. It had worked with Ian.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – LOVE AND DEATH]