In Leather, with Silver Chains, 2
I want to meet him, Bud said.
Who? Terry said looking up from the trig problem they were supposed to be working on and turning to him.
They were sitting side by side in Terry's room at his desk, thighs pressing together.
Stelios, Bud said.
Stelios?
Yeah. Do you think I could?
Depends, Terry said teasing him.
On what? Bud demanded.
On your behavior.
Bud slipped out of his chair, fell to his knees at Terry's feet, bent low and began licking the burnished leather of his friend's new boots and caressing his calves.
Please master, please, please. You know I am your slave and live to obey you, he begged, raising his eyes without raising his head, so hard he felt the tension in the back of his neck.
You live to feel leather pressing against your skin, Terry said, withdrawing his foot.
That, too, master, but only as it is a sign of my enslavement to you, sir.
Terry mussed up his thick hair which fell back in place by itself, caressing him affectionately on the back of the neck, as he would a dog he cherished.
Not now, boy. Get back in your chair, he said, and let's concentrate on logarithms.
Yes, sir. Thank you sir, Bud said relaxing. But later?
Terry kissed him on the lips and, smiling, nodded.
Later.
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The full moon glowed like a pale apricot in the night sky as the two walked arms around each other, slowly through the woods just beyond Terry's house.
They made their way down a grassy side path off the dirt road and into a grove created by an imperfect circle of maples.
Take off your shirt, Terry said. Bud was quick to obey. He stood at attention and immediately was hard when he felt Terry's admiring glance caressing him and the balls of his thumbs teasing his pierced nipples.
Then Terry lit a joint and filled his lungs to their fullest and held his breath. When he was ready to exhale, he did what Stelios had taught him and put his lips to Bud's. Bud yielded to him and took his master's pot-filled breath into his lungs. Every sense was heightened and his stony cock pressed against his jeans. Terry traced its outline through the fabric. Undoing Bud's belt and unbuttoning his jeans, he let them drop to his ankles. He pushed his hand beneath the waist band of the black microfiber boxer briefs stretched over his hard abs and made a fist around his straining cock.
May I touch you master? Bud gasped.
I want you to, Terry said.
Chest to bare sculpted chest, the boys gazed into each other's eyes, a millimeter of air between their almost touching lips. Nearer by that fraction now that had separated them, they pressed their lips together and struggled with their tongues deep inside each other's mouths to take possession of each other.
Naked in the grove they brought each other the intensity of youth and springtime, young gods whose fertile phalluses met in frottage, and by the escalation of their arousal came the release of the seed that causes in the world the force of life to blossom.
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The flowering dogwoods were fully in bloom, the temperature was touching the eighties, the air was fresh, and the boys felt the rush of spring and the heat of early summer in their blood.
In his skimpy black speedo, Terry was not the boy he had been almost a year ago. His daily work-out routine with Bud had made a difference. His body was lean and tight, with cords of muscles defining his arms, legs, and chest. His abs had a gentle definition and there was a forward thrust to his pelvis that made him irresistible. His neck was still slender, but his shoulders were broad and square and his collar bones horizontal. His eyes were large almonds with limpid rich brown irises, and they seemed to project an inviting smile. His sun-dried curly dirty-blond hair was untamed but not unkempt.
Kent felt keenly his inadequacy as he stood up to his waist in the water, aware of how nerdy he must look in his ballooning trunks, too ashamed of his body to try a pair of speedos.
Up on the diving board Bud was in his element, posing in his speedo before each graceful dive.
Kent looked at him and then over at Terry who was chinning himself on one of the lower branches of an old maple and envied the boys their bodies and their friendship.
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The moon is amber. The back of the black river at midnight trembles under a warm summer breeze. Brent and Stelios stand quietly entranced by a still soft music as ripples slap at the sides of the pier extending out over the Hudson.
Tired? Brent said.
Exhausted, Stelios answered.
It's a beautiful spread. A half a dozen pages of you in leather and chains. Hotter than I've ever seen you.
Brent pressed him closer and faced him and stared at his perfect face for a long time, their eyes locking, then their lips meeting, then their breaths mingling.
Stelios, dressed for the heat in a pair of skimpy cut away jeans and a loose apricot-colored tee shirt that had been cut short so that it stopped midway on his chest and left his hard abs exposed, was snuggling up against him as they walked. He kissed Brent's neck, and Brent, his arm around his lover's waist, drew him closer.
We have the time, almost two weeks before the next shoot. Let's go away.
What about Jerry?
He can do without me for ten days.
What do you have in mind?
Mykonos.
As they approached the corner brownstone, Brent fished for his keys in the pocket of his cargo shorts.
That's them, Terry whispered to Bud and Kent from where they were standing in front of the doorway of the falafel place across the street.
They watched as Brent unlocked the wrought iron gate, closed it, and how the two lingered before the carved oaken door looking up at the moon.
And still the boys stood there as Brent and Stelios went inside, and watched as in one window and then another an amber light incandesced. They saw Stelios remove his t-shirt, arms extended upwards and his magnificent, model's chest stretched taut as Brent, impatient in his lust, pinched his exposed nipples before Stelios had even gotten his head free from the neck of the shirt.
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The island of Mykonos rises out of the blue waters of the Mediterranean on a congested hillside and its apex sits beneath an azure sky.
Stelios stood on the edge of a rocky promontory far from the harbor in a gold thong, as hard and sculpted as the rock he stood upon. Bronze in the sunlight, he stood gazing into the distance, as if contemplating his own magnificence and offering himself as the object of other gazes.
But it was not the lost distances of ancient Greece he was peering into, or the magical rituals of Egypt which had entranced him. On another rock some fifteen feet away from him, Gary had set his tripod and camera, and he was taking pictures.
Stelios had consented to it, although Brent had objected at first when Jerry offered to have the magazine pay for their trip if they would agree that Gary would join them at Mykonos and produce a feature spread.
It's not fair to you, Brent said, holding him.
I don't mind.
But we don't need the money.
It's not for the money. I don't mind. Gary won't be there the whole time, and even when he is, he'll only be around for the shooting. You know him. He doesn't intrude. We'll have plenty of time alone together.
Brent kissed him. Show off he said, tousling his hair.
Stelios blushed.
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Kent figured Terry would be awake by eleven and slipped through the break in the fence at the back of the garden, hoping he might find him already swimming, but he was not at the pool. Kent rang the backdoor bell. No answer. Since the door was open and the screen door was not fastened he walked into the kitchen.
Terry, he called. Hey, Terry.
Still no answer.
He approached the staircase and climbed up to the second floor and then turned to the attic staircase and ascended to the attic loft that was Terry's space. He heard the shower water running, and knocked on the bathroom door.
Hey, Terry, it's me, Kent.
Be out in a couple of minutes, he heard his friend call.
Kent looked around the loft. Sunlight poured in from the skylight onto the unmade bed in the corner. On the desk, Terry's laptop was open. There was a roach in the ashtray next to it, and on the floor there was a magazine with a cover photo that riveted Kent's attention. It was Stelios standing in a gold lamé bikini upon a rock jutting over the sea, a cloudless blue sky stretching behind him.
He picked it up and started leafing through it.
Hey, Kent, Terry said, stepping into the room with just a small white towel knotted around his waist.
Hey, Kent responded.
Like it? Terry said, indicating the magazine cover.
You bet, Kent said, looking at Terry.
That's Stelios, the guy we saw down in the Village.
Hey, Kent, Bud said emerging similarly toweled from the bathroom, touching his fingers to his forehead in a half salute.
Hey, Bud, Kent said.
To tell you the truth, Kent went back to Terry's question, I'd love to look like that, or, or like you guys.
But you don't let yourself.
What do you mean?
You don't let yourself. You're ashamed to be the way you want to be.
I'm ashamed of the way I am, Kent responded in contradiction. The words had spilled out before he could stop them.
It's the same thing.
I have no discipline, Kent said.
That's because you think discipline is something you impose upon yourself like a force to make you do what you don't really want to do.
Yeah, Kent said. Like working out or not eating chocolate.
But it's not, Terry said. Discipline is something that comes from inside you. It's the way you act on your real wishes.
Kent frowned.
But if you don't accept what you really want, if you don't allow yourself to be who you really are, that's what you call having no discipline.
I don't know, Kent said. I mean^Å. But the words got stuck in his mouth and he fell silent.
I'm so bottled up, he said after failing to say anything else. It's hopeless. If I could only say^Å.
Bud and Terry looked at each other and a flash of unspoken communication sparked in the air between them. They nodded to each other in agreement.
Do you trust me? Terry said.
Yes, I think so, Kent said. About what?
I'm going to hypnotize you, Terry said.
Kent felt himself stiffening with excitement.
Do you know how to?
Yes, Terry said. Will you let me?
Okay. Kent said.
But what for?
Be quiet now, Terry said.
And Kent was quiet.
I want you to relax, Terry said. Sit down in the chair next to my desk and get comfortable.
Now let your head fall forward a little and roll your eyes up so that you're looking at a point in the center of your forehead. Now let them drop all the way down and fix your attention on a point below your chin. Now up to the point high up in the center of your forehead.
Kent began to shiver.
Breathe and look up, all the way, and then down. Breathe, gently, patiently. Up. See the point at the center of your forehead. Down. See the point beneath your chin. Breathe. Relax. Good. Feel how heavy your eyelids are becoming. It's impossible to keep them open.
The tremors had ceased and Kent's eyes were tight shut. Try as he might, he really could not open them. All he could hear was Terry's voice, and he felt himself weaving in and out of consciousness. He thought he was there and then he could not remember if he was or not and then he was just confused. He could not be sure who he was or where there was.
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