This is a work of fiction. It includes scenes of gay sex between adults. No resemblance to persons living or dead is intended. If you are underage, or if possession of this text is illegal in your area, leave now. Some of the activities described in this story could cause injury or transmit diseases, including HIV.
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Lights! Camera! Rope! Action!
There is nothing quite so all-consuming as the birth of a sexual relationship. Bodies are endlessly surprising, and as they say, "the brain is the largest sex organ." We're deprived even of the tools to talk about sex, sometimes, so revealing yourself--even to that hunk next to you--is tough. "What will he think if I tell him I like to be tied up? To wear lacy underwear? To drink piss, or have my toes sucked or even like classical music?" It's baffling how something so powerful as lust can at the same time seem so fragile.
Standing next to the bed at four in the morning, awakened by my bladder, I stared down at a softly snoring miracle. We went from being strangers to last night's intimacy over what? Three days! From the abrupt decision to invite a stranger to have dinner with me at a greasy spoon, then to join my apparently pointless drive across the country, to this motel room--in three days.
I knew, that first night, only as much about him as he'd told me: that he had no home and no idea what to do next, and that all this was churning beneath barely concealed anger. It was obviously a matter of sheer, dumb luck that he encountered a guy who was attracted to that anger, and the power it implied.
I, too, was in flight, I guess: from the disastrous result of confessing my love to the guy who'd been my best friend since fourth grade. We'd shared our first experiments with that thing between our legs we weren't supposed to talk about, our first cigarettes, our first tentative explorations of girls, our first beers, our first successful attempts to sneak into an "R"-rated movie. We were like brothers, but without the fights that it seemed to us brothers were always getting into. We backed each other up in the lies we inevitably told our parents, we confessed our fears and pushed each other past them. Without realizing it, we were partners in a perfect love--until I ruined it.
I had no choice. I was just sixteen when I found the website. It insisted that I be eighteen, of course, so I played along and found myself staring at pictures of naked boys: boys jacking off, boys embracing, nude boys wrestling--and later, of boys tied up, of boys humbled before more powerful boys or even men, of boys violated, apparently against their will--although the web site, and every one I found beyond it, assured me that the boys were eighteen years of age (or at least "assumed to be") and engaging in these acts voluntarily. The proof was on file.
Even at sixteen, I could imagine myself engaging in those acts, and always with Glenn. It was Glenn at whose feet I knelt, Glenn whose cock I sucked, Glenn who pounded my virgin ass. It was Glenn's mouth I imagined on mine, our bodies locked together, arms and legs intertwined, kissing again and again. And it was Glenn to whom I confessed my love at last, baring my soul before him, overcoming shame and the greatest fear of all: that he would reject me.
He did, of course, but he did more: he undid our friendship of nine years, trashed each memory, mocked each intimacy, and sent me again and again to Hell.
I stood at last with my fellow graduates, shedding my graduation gown, as they mocked the valedictorian's address and the principal's farewell remarks and the counsel of the former graduate now a nationally respected historian. "The world was ours," we'd been told. And we were on our own but "bound forever by our lives together at Ridgemont High." Except for me: Glenn's one mercy, that he told no one of my confession, turned out not to have been a mercy at all. I wasn't "out." No one but Glenn knew that the best soccer player in school was gay, and he didn't tell anyone, and I couldn't. My secret isolated me from any insight, any guidance, any sympathy from anyone at Ridgemont.
I wasn't interested in college. My parents weren't too upset: there was a job for me in my uncle's construction company. My summer job for two years would be my future. Maybe they thought that another year or two of carrying lumber and sheet rock around would give me some motivation to succeed, or that my uncle would someday turn his company over to me, since his own offspring were all girls.
I did manage to lose my virginity to Klaus Bremer, a mountain of a man and the head of our construction crew. He befriended me, tutored me, and bedded me. He was almost perfect: powerful, commanding, arrogant, merciless--I may be exaggerating a little, but he played the game well, at least. I could almost believe his observation that my safety at work was entirely in his hands, should I reveal anything about our relationship. That meant, of course, that I was replaceable by the next summer's pretty part-timer; that I was my darkest fantasy: a thing to be used and thrown away. So, as soon as I had enough money for a car, I fled. And I realized, some four or five hours out of town, that I'd forgotten a tell-tale magazine tucked into the bottom drawer of my dresser, a tattered confession that, sooner or later, would reveal my shame to my parents.
There seemed no point, really, in continuing my story: I was without Glenn, still the love of my life, and with nothing ahead, so it seemed, but a succession of Klaus Bremers. There were gay rights activists, of course, and various counseling and support groups, but none of them could possibly have understood my situation. It was hopeless, and so I ran west, taking roads at random, hoarding the rest of my cash, picking up odd jobs here and there and to my disappointment, being invited to play Klaus Bremer again and again to men who seemed to echo the worst parts of myself.
I thought of pornography. I wondered if there would at least be enough money to live on for a while. I wondered if there was any point to any of it, but decided to head to LA, where it seemed there was, at least, a porn industry.
I crossed into California just at sunset, found a cheap motel--there are cheap motels everywhere, once you know what to look for--and headed out to find dinner. I rounded a corner and almost stumbled over a man with a cardboard sign that said, "Homeless. God Bless."
"Sorry. Didn't see you," I grumbled.
"Got any spare change?"
"Afraid not." I headed onward and heard him mutter behind me: "Asshole." I stopped and turned. "Takes one to know one," I challenged. Apparently, I was hungrier than I'd thought.
The man was up in my face almost immediately, and I realized he was my age, give or take. "Eat shit!" he yelled.
"Eat me!" I replied, crouching for a fight.
"Go to hell!" And at that moment, we were hit with light from a passing squad car.
"Hey!" the cop shouted, flipping on his light bar.
"Let me handle this!" I whispered. "No problem, officer. I was just asking for directions to a restaurant!"
"On the ground! Both of you!"
Oh, shit. I obeyed, and the other guy followed.
"You got ID?"
"Yessir," I said.
"Pull it out--slowly."
My heart was pounding. I moved slowly, expecting a bullet at any moment. I gave the cop my license and waited while the other guy handed over his. Then, we both waited while the cop radioed for an ID check, and other people stepped hastily around us, trying to pretend nothing was happening.
"You got any open warrants?" I whispered.
"Fuck you."
"Stay cool. Maybe I can talk us out of this."
"You and Jesus."
It was a stroke of genius. "Just stay cool," I replied. When the officer turned back, I spoke. "Officer, please forgive this young man. I was about to speak to him of Jesus, that's all. I'm new in town, officer, but I'm a preacher, myself. Are you saved?"
The cop threw our ID's back to us. "Go to church," he replied, although "church" was clearly not what he meant.
"I was only hoping to take this poor soul to be fed, Officer."
"Waste of time and money, if you ask me." He shone his flashlight on the other guy. "Next time, you're going to jail for vagrancy. Find some other town, got it?"
"Yessir," the guy mumbled.
"Stay down until I pull away--both of you!"
"Yessir," we both said, then waited, struggling to be invisible, until the police car was gone. "I'm sorry, man," I said. "Let me buy you something to eat, okay?"
"Fuck your Jesus talk!"
"Give me a break, man! It got us out of trouble. Good thing he didn't ask to see a bible, because I ain't got one." I held out my hand and helped him to his feet. "Name's Roger--Rog."
"Mike." He dropped my hand abruptly.
"Anywhere around here cheap and decent?"
A roll of the eyes, and then, "Munchie's--cheap, at least."
A quarter-hour later, we were seated at a counter. We both got burgers, and I gave my fries to Mike. "I'm not an asshole when I've got some food in my stomach," I said.
"Me, neither." In the light of the restaurant I could see, under a scruffy beard and hair that looked like it had been mowed, rather than cut, a guy who was almost cute. His eyes watched mine. "You looking for anything...special?" he asked.
"Special?"
"Sex?"
"Oh! Can't afford it--and chances are, there's nobody in town I'd be interested in. Except maybe the cop," I added, stunning myself at the words. But so what? Who cares if some vagrant knows that a passing faggot bought him dinner?
"You can do better." Mike cocked an eyebrow.
I looked at him, mentally bathed him, tried to remember how he'd looked just before the cop stopped the fight. "You offering?"
"You got a place?"
I named the motel.
"That dump? Perfect. If your money's good, they don't care what happens--long as you pay for the extra guest."
"You're on." It was crazy, but why not? If he cleaned up ugly, we could just crash. If he stole what little I had, it really didn't matter. Thing was, he didn't look gay. I have nothing against guys who look gay, they just don't turn me on. Glenn didn't look gay, for instance--and the pain rose to the surface again.
"What's wrong?"
"Huh?" "Your face just went tragic, all of a sudden."
"Just remembered something."
"Obviously not something fun."
"No," I said. "Drop it."
"Dropped." He trailed his last fry through the last of the ketchup. "So, I guess the motel's out?"
I looked at Mike for what seemed like a long time. "No," I answered. "The motel is definitely on."
Mike cleaned up pretty damn good. He's one of those guys who's muscular, but not bulgy. Almost like an anatomical drawing, every muscle sharp. And he was hung. Fuck you, Klaus Bremer. "Let me get your back," I said, and went to work with my towel. To my surprise, Mike leaned his head back.
"Feels good, man. I'm a sucker for a decent backrub."
"Your wish is my command, Sir," I laughed. I guided Mike to the bed and onto the cover, then straddled his ass and went to work. Fifteen seconds later, I had him purring. I picked up a few tricks in high school. The soccer coach was always talking about rubbing aches out of muscles--mostly in the legs, of course, but he touched on a few other places, as well. I suddenly wondered if he was gay. Not my type, which I guess was why I'd never thought of it before. "How'd you wind up on the street?" I whispered.
"Does it matter?"
"Just curious."
"Old man threw me out."
"Did you have a boyfriend or--"
"Not any more. I thought I was in love. He was horny."
"At least you got to his cock." And I told him, briefly, about Glenn.
"Dumbass," Mike said. "Who in his right mind would turn down a blow job?"
"It wasn't--" I stopped. "He was a dumbass," I agreed. I shifted to Mike's left leg.
"I knew I was queer in the fourth grade," Mike explained to the bed. "Maybe everyone's queer in the fourth grade. Had a lot of fun until everybody else started getting into girls. I got raped when I was just fifteen."
My hands froze. "Raped?"
"My dad's fucking brother. Gave me the clap. That's how my dad found out I was queer--me, not my asshole uncle. My dad said I must have seduced him. Like fifteen-year-olds want an old fart's dick up their ass, right?"
"Fucker." I shifted to Mike's right leg.
"Lousy fucker," Mike corrected. He was quiet for a minute. I just kept kneading his muscles.
"You think being...like us is a sin?" he suddenly said.
"I guess not. I mean, I didn't say, 'Hey! I think I'll be gay so I can get beat up!' It just happened."
Mike almost laughed as he rolled over. "I just want some guy to be ... with me, I guess. Hold me, or something. Is that all that awful?"
"No," I said, and accommodated him. I wanted more, of course, but we were both, apparently, exhausted. We splurged on breakfast, just by having it. I was more of a coffee and toast guy, and Mike was on the street.
"You ever been down to the--of course not! What am I saying?" Mike interrupted himself. "There's a river. Nice nude beach. Wanna check it out?"
"Sure. But I don't have any swimming--"
"What part of 'Nude beach' don't you understand?" Mike scowled. We jumped into my car and headed out.
The beach was secluded, actually quite pretty, and empty. "Too cold for swimming and too early for cruising," Mike said, spreading out his shirt and lying down. The sun made his body look incredible. I stood gazing at it until he said, "Lie down, already!"
"Yessir, Boss," I laughed, and spread my own shirt on the sand. "It's so quiet."
"Yeah. Sometimes I wash up down here in the morning and just lie in the sun and dry off. Try to leave before it gets too hot--either way."
"You don't like sex?" "I love sex. But what have I got to offer?"
"A gorgeous body, for starters."
"Yeah, but once you've had it--I don't think I've had a relationship that lasted longer than a week. Guys are assholes."
"Present company...?"
"You're leaving town today, right?" He spoke as if that proved his point.
I turned my head to look at him. "I might stay, just to see--"
"The bars, right? Cruising?"
"No! Or yes, I don't know. I don't know anything." He waited, silent, staring toward the sky, and I went on. "It's just...we don't really know each other. I'm a meal ticket, you're a hunk--hunk and a half, actually."
"I'd show you my estate in the Hamptons...if I had an estate in the Hamptons. Or anywhere." We were silent for a few seconds, while a flock of birds flew over. "I was going to be an actor, when I was a kid. That may have been my old man's first clue."
"Bet you'd look good on the big screen."
"You have to be able to act," Mike said. "Never thought about that part."
"Did you ever try?"
"School. I had a small part in the Senior Class play. Six lines. I froze."
"Well, it was your first time."
"I almost never was that scared again in my life--until my old man threw me out with ten bucks and whatever I could fit into a backpack. He just stood there, watching me pack, like I was going to steal something. What the fuck was he expecting me to do? Walk off with my bed on my back? Steal a lamp? God, I hated that lamp. My mom..." Mike lapsed into silence again.
I took a risk. "What about your mom?"
"She died when I was twelve. I was in the hospital with her, and she said goodbye...sorry. I..."
"Must have been hard."
"It sucked!" Mike yelled. "It sucked!"
"Sorry--"
Mike rolled to his side, facing me, jaw tight. "I was holding her hand when she died. 'Keep my lamps,' she said. She had these two lamps she found at a thrift store. I rewired them for her. She put them on the ends of the sofa in the living room. My dad hated them. Broke one. Deliberately, right after the funeral. Goddamn--he said it was an accident, but it wasn't. So I grabbed the other one and put it in my bedroom."
"I thought you said you hated it."
"I did!" And his face softened. "But it was hers. She liked them--loved them, even. I just tried to protect what she loved." He was quiet for a few seconds, just looking at me, then rolled onto his back again.
"My parents don't know," I muttered, as much to myself as to Mike. "Well, I guess they do, by now: I left a little gift in my dresser." I snorted. "I did! I've been thinking all this time I forgot it. But I didn't, I don't think."
He turned his head and we were looking at each other. "What? What was it?"
"A porn mag. With..." I stopped. I just stopped.
"What? Six-year-olds?"
"No. Nothing like that. But..."
"Spill it, Rog! Or I'll beat it out of you!"
"Guystiedup."
"Guys...?"
What the hell. Just say it. "Guys...tied up."
"You into bondage!?" I turned to the sky, imagining Mike fading away before my eyes. As if being gay wasn't enough.
Except he didn't fade away. "Ropes? Chains? Rubber?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
"Spill it or I'll beat it out of you! What!?"
"Belts. Leather belts." Maybe the river would overflow and carry me away.
"I'm into ropes. You can do anything with ropes."
It took me a second to put his words together. "What?" I whispered.
"Just real simple stuff, like tying somebody's arms and legs to the corners of the bed, or that Japanese thing that's all elaborate, with colored ropes and stuff."
I turned to back to face him. "You like...you're into bondage?"
"Hello? Earth to Roger. Come in, Roger. Yes, I'm into bondage."
I stared down at my cock. "Holy crap!"
Mike followed my gaze. "Whoa! I guess I rang your bell."
"I only ever strapped myself up. Used every belt in the house." God, if my dad only knew!
"I started out with clothesline. I read somewhere that cotton clothesline was the best. But it's too thin, I think. And you can't get too thick, or the knots won't hold. You know?"
"Show me!" I buried my head in Mike's crotch. "I'll do whatever you want, if you show me!"
"I haven't got any rope!" Mike wailed.
"Let's get some! Come on!" As always, when sex meets budget, sex wins.
We found a farm supply store and bought rope: five-eighths inch diameter. Cotton. Two twenty-footers. And got back to the motel as quick as we could.
"Should have gotten some twine to whip it," Mike sighed, as he pulled out his knife and began cutting it into shorter pieces.
"Whip--"
"Sort of wrapping the ends, so they don't fray."
"What should I do?"
Mike studied me for a moment, then grabbed a piece of rope and started putting knots in it, or braiding it or something, and a couple of minutes later, he'd turned it into a sort of collar, which he ceremonially tied around my neck. Then he tied me to the bed, spread-eagled, and took my cock in his mouth. I was in heaven. So naturally, he gave it a few strokes, then took it out.
He made an elaborate harness for my head, then went to work on my cock, wrapping it tightly. I moaned.
He chuckled. "Yeah." He straddled my chest, hung his nuts in my face, ordered me to lick them. I worked my tongue past the rope across my mouth and went to work. "Yeah," he growled again, and a few minutes later, "Lick my cock." Between us, we got it good and wet and then he jumped off the bed. He untied my ankles, then retied them to the headboard so my ass was exposed. "Gonna fuck your butt."
"Yeah," I said.
He added more spit and plunged in, not too quickly, but relentlessly, while I watched his face, watched the concentration turn to pleasure and then to lust. He was big enough to hurt, at first. But then, I was out of practice, and I was helpless, and I could struggle against his ropes to feel even more helpless--and incidentally to increase Mike's pleasure. It stopped hurting.
At last, he poured himself into me, then lay on me and we kissed. "Fucker," I murmured.
"Asshole," he whispered in reply.
We showered, we ate, we fucked, we lost track of time and exhausted, slept. I woke up with my wrists tied behind me and my arms aching like crazy. Mike took my mind off the problem with his mouth on my cock, then topped it off by rolling me over and fucking me before he finally untied me. The maid woke us up by knocking. "Checkout's at eleven," she called through the door.
"Okay!" I answered and Mike and I busted our butts getting everything into my car and the room more or less plausible. We got the key to the desk about five minutes late, but the manager just looked at us and sighed. "Beat it," he said. "Close enough."
So we did.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Fucked if I know! We could rob a bank, maybe, die arm in arm in a hail of bullets, like Bonnie and Clyde."
"Or I could get a job. I'm a carpenter, sort of."
"Sort of?"
I shrugged. "I used to work for my uncle, building houses and shit. I know the basics, anyway: saw, saw, pound, pound."
"I did the pounding, though," Mike laughed.
"Yes, Sir. You sure as hell did."
It wasn't hard to find work in California--especially if you weren't too worried about how much you made per hour. Mike found work bussing tables at a diner and I found a job doing construction on yet another shopping mall. I did a lot of clean-up, unloaded trucks -- they always delivered the heavy shit as far from where it was needed as they could -- hauled trash; I could imagine myself as a slave, sweating in the hot sun and getting yelled at. Then we'd meet back at the motel and Mike would tie me up and fuck the life out of me. He put me on my stomach, tied my arms and legs behind my back, planted his cock under my face, and rocked me back and forth. He tied my elbows to my knees in front of me and filled my ass, gave me a spanking, and filled it again. He spread-eagled me on the bed, tied my nuts to his boot and hung it off the footboard, sat on my face so I could lick his hole, and jacked off all over me. We bought a lot of rope.
"Rog?"
"Yeah?"
"What would you say if, say, somebody wanted to watch?"
"Watch?"
"Watch us. Fucking and stuff."
"I dunno. Who?"
Mike took a huge breath. "There's this guy who comes into the diner. He hit on me. I turned him down right off, of course!" He looked at me like he'd done something awful.
I nodded. "It's okay. Guy at work's been asking me about my girlfriend, like he's hoping I don't have one."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I knocked her up and her old man threatened to shoot me, so I split."
Mike nodded. "Good move."
"He offered to 'ease my pain,' he called it. 'Any port in a storm,' he said. So I told him the weather wasn't that bad." I smiled at Mike. "And I've got a damn fine port already."
"But you don't want anyone watching the ship come in, huh?"
I thought about it for a few seconds. "If he was quiet, maybe. Sitting in the dark?"
"He said he'd pay a hundred each for a good watch job. No touching, nothing like that. Just to watch."
"Live-action porn?"
Mike nodded. "Yeah."
"Does it turn you on?" Mike turned beet red. "I think I got your answer," I smiled. "Let's do it." So we did. The guy's trip was he'd be "hiding" behind a chair, or something, and we'd walk into the room and go at it like we didn't know he was there and then we'd find him and "force" him to pay us.
So Mike set it up. We went for a walk and left the door unlocked, gave him maybe fifteen minutes to get in and hide while we split a beer, and then we came back to the room.
"Man, I'm drunk!" I said.
"Me, too," Mike agreed. "And horny. I'd give anything for a good lay! I'd even do it with you!"
"Well, I never did anything like that before."
"You're a virgin?"
"Ah, gee, Man. That's--"
"Then it's time for you to lose your cherry!"
"Huh!?"
Mike threw me onto the bed and forced me to strip, then he more or less sat on me while he stripped.
"I'm gonna fuck you, Man! Ass or mouth?"
"Huh!? I don't understand!"
"Look at my crotch, Man. See my big tool? You want to suck my big cock?"
"Golly! I never sucked--"
"Or should I shove it up your asshole?"
"But it's so big!"
"Make up your mind!"
"I guess I'll suck you. But it's so big!"
"You're damn right it is, cocksucker! Take it!"
Mike pretended to push me to my knees and I took his great big fat long cock. He held my head and I pretended to struggle a little bit. "Yeah, cocksucker!" he moaned. "You take that dick! You suck me dry, kid!" He more or less fucked me around the room until he was in front of the chair, and then he sat down. "Yeah, cocksucker! Kneel in front of me and take my juice! Choke on it, you little whore!" I moaned, and gasped, and grabbed the chair and pretended to struggle until Mike let out a roar and exploded into me. "Phooey on the Senior Class Play," I thought. "He's acting up a storm now!" We waited a few seconds, until there was a gasp from behind the chair.
"Did you hear something?" Mike pretended to whisper.
"Golly! Is someone else in here?" I asked.
Mike leapt to his feet and tipped the chair over, revealing a middle-aged guy with his pants around his knees and his cock in his hands, still dripping. "Who let you in here, faggot?!"
"I ... I ... the door was unlocked!"
"Well, if you want to get out of here in one piece, it's gonna cost you! Hand over your wallet, creep!" Mike thundered.
"You better not tell anyone," I added, not sure exactly how I should act. I watched the guy hand over his wallet. Mike took out two hundred dollar bills and threw the wallet back. "Now, beat it!"
"Yessir!" the guy said, scrambling to his feet and heading for the door while he tried to get his pants up.
"You better be dressed before you open that door!" Mike threatened, sort of. But there was a hint of humor in his voice, as well.
"Oh, I will! Thank you!"
As soon as the door closed behind him, Mike grabbed me and we tumbled onto the bed, laughing. "That was the best hundred bucks I ever made!" he cried. "Fucking awesome!"
"You are so goddamn hot!" I replied. "He got the deal of a lifetime!"
"You know what would make it better? How about you shoot all over my face?" Mike whispered.
"Huh!?"
"Can't let you have all the fun!" Mike rolled off the bed and knelt with his chin on the edge of the mattress. "I want to watch you shoot!"
"Whatever my Master wants," I laughed. Maybe a minute later, Mike was trying to catch my cum like a puppy chasing a bug.
It's best I don't tell you exactly where we are, now. We linked up with a few guys who knew a few guys, found this old wreck of a building, and built what amounts to a movie studio for kinky porn. We love show business! More important, I can still remember my first few nights with Mike, and years later, it still feels that way. The only thing that would make it better is an order from a customer named Glenn from my home town.