i.
Yeah, Jerry, Brent said almost at the same moment he picked up the phone.
Yes, it's arranged.
Starting this afternoon.
An all night shoot, right.
Have we ever missed a deadline?
That's right.
On the stands Thursday night, just like it's been for the last ten years.
I know how much you've got ploughed in. And you know how much I've brought in. A beach house, a yacht, a town house in the east fifties, diamond pinkie rings. Gimme a break, Jerry.
I'm sorry to have to remind you too, but, I don't know, maybe it's too much fucking that babe at The Stork Club is weakening your memory.
Ok, Jerry, ok. No hard feelings.
No. no.
Jerry, listen, hey, Jerry, I got a go. It's my other phone. That's him now. Ok. Later.
ii.
I look perfectly respectable when you pass me on the street, even ordinary, a prosperous guy, good looking, unassuming. I have a nice apartment in Greenwich Village, I like to go to the opera and Carnegie Hall, the Modern and the Met. I look good in a tuxedo and paten leather pumps or in an Izod shirt, chinos and loafers. My tennis game is good, and I'm sharp all in white -- ducks, bucks, and a cable knit sweater with broad blue and red stripes bordering the neck and cuffs. I go to Mykenos for a couple of weeks every winter. My life is good. My eyes are very blue. My hair is sandy. You'd like the way I look on the beach. If anybody thinks I'm queer they don't mention it. And the people who know for sure -- I've slept with most of them. Knock on wood I got no problems. Not even Jerry, despite the conversation between us you just overheard, or at least my half of it. I try to be a gentleman, and one of the things that means is I don't repeat what other people say. But you probably got the drift. Anyhow if I stay here talking to you, I will be late for the shoot. And that, despite my skill at handling Jerry, would not be good.
iii.
I couldn't have done better than Stelios. He was gorgeous. A Greek god, a marble statue in the flesh. Muscular, lithe, dark blond hair, greenish brown puppy eyes that were used to command. Sculpted chest, flat, hard, heavenly nipples, ribbed belly, inner thighs that make you hungry, an instep to get down on your knees to worship with your tongue. A cock...but there is nothing to be said about that cock, except, perhaps, that I cannot imagine anyone who could do anything but surrender to it. It was encircled at the base of its hard shaft right now for the shoot by a titanium ring.
He smiled his puppy dog smile at me when I entered and stepped off the set, came over to me, embraced me and kissed me gently on the lips. I took a draught of his sweet breath and felt the cool silk membrane of his tongue.
Thanks, Brent, he said.
I'm glad you were available.
Come on, Garry said sardonically. You're not paying me two hundred an hour to watch your foreplay. We got pictures to shoot, and a lab that needs them by six a.m.
I don't need to describe the shoot or tell you what the coffee tasted like or how good the pot was, or what we spoke about during the breaks, or even how we got home after the shoot as dawn broke over Lexington Avenue, but I should let you see one of the pictures that appeared in the magazine when it hit the stands Thursday night.
Gary and Stelios connected. Stelios posed and Gary shot, and we got a glorious six page spread with a dozen pictures that found their way into more closeted boys' bedrooms than a tube of Vaseline.
Besides the cock ring, Stelios wore a wide silver chain-link collar around his neck, close to the skin, but not too tight. A chain was attached to each of the silver rings that pierced his hard nipples. And a small silver chain, each end attached to each nipple ring, hung on his chest like a silver crescent moon. From its center a silver strand of chain hung down to the cock ring and was fastened to it. His cock stood high and hard. The rest of Stelios' adornments were a set of silver cuffs braceleting his wrists and biceps, a wide silver chain around his waist, and a pair of tight leather boots, whose heels gave his legs an exquisite shapeliness.
His body was shaved, taut, and elongated, the skin glistened and each muscle gleamed. His torso was as carved as a bronze breast-plate. His chin was held high and his entire face turned slightly to the right, his eyes locked on a point in the far distance. His left arm was extended and his hand, palm up, held an imaginary object he seemed to be offering to the spectator. His right arm was raised as if in his hand were an imaginary goblet, also being conferred. His phallus extended rigid and veined, its domed head an exquisite velvet. His legs were spread slightly, his weight equally distributed on both.
"Living Marble," the head, text beside the picture read.
"The Egyptians turned their hottest captives into exotic statuary. The same magicians who developed ointments which would preserve the corpses of the great Pharos also found the secret of preserving eternal youth in the living. The price was complete immobility for the slave who was turned into a living statue, but no one can deny that for the Master who owned such an art treasure like the one shown on this page, it was gold well spent."
iv.
Shut the light.
No response.
Now, Terry!
No response.
Terry, I don't want to tell you again!
Mom!
Get to sleep. A good night's sleep is as important as last minute studying.
Ok, Mom, I'm shutting the light.
But the moon fell on the pages of the magazine, on the glossy photographs of Stelios in leather and silver chains.
Terry held his breath as long as he could. His whole body got stiffer and stiffer and harder and harder, as tight, he imagined, as that master of Egyptian marble in the magazine -- until he couldn't hold it any longer and his muffled cries of surrender cascaded into the pillow he pressed against his face.
v.
Saturday night. Greenwich Village.
Standing in the red fluorescence of the neon window.
And then it shook him. There was no doubt. It was Stelios. He recognized the eyes, the lips, the biceps and torso, the whole body he had gazed at in the magazine in nightly fascination.
It was Stelios, arm in arm on Seventh Avenue with Brent on the warm spring evening, wearing a pair of tight, faded jeans, a sleeveless, torso-hugging, black t-shirt, leather cuffs around his wrists and motorcycle boots with a silver chain over the instep of the left one .
Terry's heart rattled in his chest. A fist gripped his skull and he felt the pain in his eyes. He was overcome by an overwhelming force and had no power but to follow its commands.
Stelios and the man he was with, slightly older, a little taller, intimidating in his good looks and the casual elegance of a suit and tie -- he watched them and they took up their walk. He fell in line behind them and began following them, and when they turned onto Christopher Street and then onto Bleecker, he turned, too.
They ran into someone in front of the Marquis de Suede and stopped in the pale green neon radiance. Terry loitered in front of another store window several shops down and pretended to look at the antiques.
He saw Brent write something in a notebook he took out of his breast pocket, and then they exchanged kisses and began walking again. Terry followed.
Down Barrow Street, passed the Bil Baird Marionette building. They turned on to Bedford. They went into an old Federal style brownstone. The carved oak street door closed behind them. The street was empty. Terry was trembling; his heart was pumping; his balls ached.
vi.
It was in his blood, now. Images of the rooms haunted him. He saw Persian rugs and velvet sofas, oak floors, marble fireplaces, teakwood tables, mirrored bathrooms, a big mahogany bed with an oriental canopy.
He took the F train down to the Village whenever he could. He did homework on the subway and sat in the coffee house on the corner of Bedford and Lafayette reading Silas Marner and Giants in the Earth, doing trigonometry and memorizing Latin declensions, drinking hot cider from a US Government surplus mug with a cinnamon stick in it. Sometimes he drifted into daydreams, and from one table, when it was available, he could see a little corner of a room on the second floor where he had once seen them standing by a French window watching the sunset. They weren't wearing shirts.
Thursday afternoon his luck changed. It was cloudy and grey, chilly for spring, and it was threatening to rain. Stelios appeared at the door, came down the stone steps alone and turned right, walking over to Christopher Street and then down to the river. It was dusk and the Hudson was darkly flowing, iron grey under a sky full of clouds.
vii.
Hi, Terry said, as his god passed the bench he was perched on seeming to stare out at the water.
Hey, Stelios said.
Do you come down here often? the kid said.
Stelios sat down next to him and pulled a joint out of the pocket of his motorcycle jacket.
Smoke? he said.
What is it? Terry asked.
Pot, said Stelios.
Really? the kid said, losing his cool for a moment, but catching it back, smoothly adding, Yeah, sure.
But Stelios wasn't fooled. As he lit the joint stuck between his lips with a match cupped in his hands to protect the flame from the wind he said. Here I'll show you how to smoke it.
Without a warning Terry felt the back of his neck gripped, gently pulled back by the hair. He went with it willingly, and Stelios' lips pressed against his, forcing his mouth open and forced a stream of the smoky breath into his lungs.
viii.
It was blowing his mind. He was sitting in a plush red velvet chair across from Stelios. He knew rain was beating against the French windows. Thunder was booming in a distance like fireworks exploding. From time to time he could sense an all consuming burst of silver white light.
His eyes were focused on a silver pendant with a bright blue diamond at its center hanging from a silver chain and just barely he could hear Stelios's melodic voice:
A small silver pendant with a blue diamond in its center
Slowly slowly swinging back and forth before your eyes
Makes it so easy to relax
So sweet to be hypnotized
So perfect to submit
Your eyes follow in easy arcs
The slow and silver sweep
The flood of pleasure drowns your mind
The pulse of blood swells your cock
Surrender is easy and feels so sweet
The silver pendant swings
Your eyes entranced obey
Your mind is filled with a silver glow
That's one with me and one with you and will not go away
Terry's eyes had fallen closed and a silver glow suffused his inner consciousness. He was drifting in an identity-less vacuum and at the same time he felt himself to be more focused than he had ever been, every nerve taut as if his entire body were one hard cock. And then he felt how hard his cock was when he felt Stelios's hand encircle it.
Open your eyes now. You can open your eyes even while you are in this deep trance.
Terry opened his eyes; he was standing up, stripped down to a pair of black microfiber boxer brief. He saw his image in a mirror placed against the far wall, but only as a blur.
Eyes lowered!
It was the voice he heard, but he saw no one. Instantly, however, he obeyed.
What is your name?
His mouth opened as if to speak but no sound came out. Some connection had been broken, some cable unplugged.
ix.
Terry stood transfixed in front of the sporting goods store looking at the weights.
Hey, Terry, Bud said when he entered. What's up, man? Never expected to see you in here.
Bud was a jock in Terry's math class. They moved in different circles, but Bud was a sweet guy, and Terry liked him and sometimes they went over their trigonometry homework together.
Terry shrugged and made a silly smile feigning more embarrassment than he actually felt.
I got the bug to get in shape, he said. You know.
That's cool, Bud said coming out from behind the counter. What can I do for you?
I want to work out, get some weights, tone myself. I don't want to bulk up like the hulk or anything. Just define myself a little, the arms, the abs, pecs. He said the words as if they were slightly foreign to him.
Hey, said Bud, I know just what you need. You're a kind a skinny guy, so you don't want to strain. You want some lean muscle, some contour. Here, look at these.
He showed Terry a pair of fifteen pound dumbbells, a kind of lead grey in color.
They're not very heavy, but you don't want that. Going slow is better than rushing. You might even start with tens and go up to fifteens after a couple a weeks. Here, buy the tens and I'll trade 'em in towards the fifteens in a few weeks. How's that sound?
Good, Terry said smiling. Thanks
Bud shrugged. He had always liked Terry even if he was bookish, but he found something really charming about him now.
You know, he said, working out gets hard. It's tedious. You start off psyched but sometimes motivation can flag. Do you have a workout buddy? It helps.
No, said Terry.
Well, Bud said, if you want, we can get together everyday after school. Swim practice doesn't start till seven thirty so I've got the time, and I think I could use a little push in my workouts myself. How bout?
Far out, Terry said. It's good with me. Sure. We can talk about secants and tangents as we pump iron.
Bud gave him a playful jab in the shoulder.
You're gonna be rugged, kid.
x.
They workedout well together, with a single-mindedness that is rare, meeting in the weight room near the gym at school. Being on the swim team, Bud was allowed to use it whenever he wanted during the week. Friday afternoon he asked Terry if he wanted to continue over the weekend. They could get together at his house. There was a workout room in the basement.
They met in the morning. It was a gorgeous day. The air was translucent. The light was airy; the air was light.
They had a good workout and then Bud heated up the sauna in the basement and after they sweated out their toxins they showered and swam laps in the backyard pool. Terry was dizzy with happiness, elated and frisky, bursting with energy. He hardly knew himself and it was all perfectly familiar.
He was staring at Bud's swimmer's body as Bud bounced on the diving board in his black speedo, and wasn't embarrassed when Bud looked back quizzically.
I'm admiring your physique, he said without missing a beat and made the jock swell with pride.
I wouldn't mind looking like you.
Both their cocks were mildly tumescent, but they didn't seem to be uneasy. It was something about the way Terry was: it was just his way and it was alright.
I've never seen you like this, Bud said.
I feel like I'm stoned, Terry said.
Now it was Bud's turn to be the novice.
You've smoked pot?
Uh-huh, Terry said cautiously.
Where d'y smoke pot?
I have a friend in the Village, Terry said.
Bud looked at him.
You keep surprising me.
They dried themselves off and then Bud said, as if he'd mulled it over and had made a decision, I wanna show you something. And they went up to his room.
There in the back of his wardrobe, hidden in a plastic garment bag was a complete leather harness.
x.
Terry gasped. You are hot!
You like it? Bud asked, posing like Achilles in the gear.
No kidding. But...
I guess we've both been keeping secrets, Bud said.
Trigonometry's never going to be the same, Terry grinned, put his palm on Bud's smooth, bare chest, fingered the leather cross straps and the stretched silver chains and kissed him.
Bud's eyes were glazed. He was staring inward at the fire of his own longing.
xi.
I'm going to hypnotize you, Terry said, remembering ow Stelios had hypnotized him.
Bud shivered in his harness, and then a breath escaped him, and he sank into himself.
Listen to my voice, Bud.
You want to follow my instructions.
Your eyelids are becoming very heavy.
They are going to fall shut and you will not be able to open them except when I tell you to.
You want to do everything I say.
You want to be a leather slave.
You have always wanted to be a leather slave
Now you have no more resistance.
You are falling deeper and deeper into a trance.
Your eyes are so heavy. You can't keep them open. Feel how they weigh you down. Now they are shut.
And you cannot open them no matter how hard you try.
That's good, bud.
It feels so good to be in a trance.
It feels so good to listen to my voice.
It feels so good to obey my commands.
It feels so good to wear leather and chains.
You only feel truly alive when you are wearing leather and chains.
Bud repeated the sentence and knew that it was true.
The silver rings, Terry continued, that pierce your nipples make you swoon.
The leather collar, the silver bracelets, the silver chain around your waist, everything makes you feel as cold as marble, burning with desire.
The heels of your black leather boots give your legs an irresistible shapeliness. You can feel it. Their muscularity make them hard as steel.
Your eyes are cold as ice and fixed with desire on mine. You are proud very proud of your leather and your chains and proud, very proud to belong to me.
He pressed his lips to the lips of the living image in front of him, his hot flesh, chest and thighs, to the statue's burning marble. They caught each other by the breath. Their eyes were filled with orgasm.