Prison aftermath - Transition
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(I dictated this to Johann. Don't blame him for typos - he's German - and wonderful!)
Following my description of how my life evolved after I was released from prison we started to receive emails from readers who identified to disconnect in my narration. Initially we decided that the various matters that we were working on were more important than responding to the messages. Unfortunately, the volume of messages increased significantly as more and more people read the story and the messages also revealed a number of people who were despairing of their own experiences. The four of us have been discussing what to do and, although I am reluctant to do so, Lukas, David and Johann convinced that I should come clean about the time between my departure from prison and my current rather stable circumstances.
The principal issue that readers focused on was the extent of my relative equanimity regarding my adjustment to life on the outside. In a sense it pisses me off that people are so perceptive, but on the other hand I suppose I am grateful the readers were actually concerned enough to write.
My departure from prison occurred at 10 o'clock on a Thursday morning. I had a little money, the clothes I was wearing and a list of halfway houses provided by the prison service. The only other things I possessed was a sore backside [courtesy of Ray] and a chip on my shoulder which is probably as large as Tower Bridge. The day was overcast which matched my mood extremely well. The prison service are provided me with a token for a bus and so I went to the shelter and took the first bus into the city. I ignored the list of halfway houses and resolved to stand on my own two feet come what may.
I knew I had to register for unemployment and did so that afternoon. The huge crowd in the office told me that I had a snowball's chance in hell getting a job but at least I would get some financial benefit. I was actually surprised that the woman behind the counter was very helpful and asked how much money I had on me and arranged for a small amount to be made available to supplement my meagre savings. Having completed that task I then had to confront the issue of what the future held.
Expecting rain at any moment I sat in the doorway of an empty store feeling angry, depressed and an overwhelming need to block out my feelings. Even though I have never been into drugs apart from the little ecstasy from time to time, I had no aversion to getting totally drunk and forgetting about the past, the present and any future that might exist. I knew my way about and headed for what most people would term 'the red light district' where liquor and everything else was to be had in abundance. To cut a long story short, I drank myself more or less into oblivion and woke the following morning under a railway bridge feeling the full effects of my hangover and my having slept rough.
It might be expected in such circumstances that I would resolve to get my act together, but I didn't. Quite frankly I didn't give a damn about anything. Sure the air outside prison was fresh and probably cleaner but such things had no relevance for me. My body and my senses still reeked of prison - a stench I thought would never disappear. Moreover, after having spent eighteen months with every moment of life regulated [if not by the system then by my master] the very thought of having to get myself organized was quite a shock. When I looked in my pockets and found that I had actually registered for unemployment, I was quite amazed. I had no memory of having done so such was my overwhelming sense of worthlessness.
I had enough money to go to the YMCA, have a shower and clean up but even that process seemed strange because there was no one ogling my body and Ray was certainly not there to make sure I cleaned myself to his satisfaction. At one moment as I showered I thought one of the other guys in the room was looking slightly at my groin but when I turned and made it clear that I was looking at him he quickly departed. It didn't occur to me at the time that I was probably the only person in the entire place and had no pubic hair. Had it occurred to me I don't believe I would have felt the anger building up that I did.
At around the middle of the day I had something to eat and as I did so I spent some time considering my options. Even though my bum still hurt, I realized that it and my cock were the only things I had going for me apart from a face which most people found not unattractive. So once I had finished the fast food I headed back to a pub near the area where I knew a lot of rent boys tried to ply their trade. I had already concluded that if I was going to join their number I was at least going to be slightly inebriated so that my disgust would be blotted out in large measure. A few cheap drinks later I walked out onto the street and headed for the area where the curb crawlers were most frequent.
There were a whole set of rules of which I had no knowledge regarding the rent boy trade. One was that each boy or group of boys had their own area and no one tried on somebody else's turf. Almost as soon as I stopped walking and lent against the nearest available lamppost, a kid slightly younger than me told me in no uncertain terms to 'piss of'. The second thing I found out as I smacked the kid across his face and told him to mind his own business [although not in quite that civilized manner] was that none of the kids was alone. A group of boys nearby started approaching clearly with revenge on my mind and yelling at me about how poor little Joey wouldn't be able to work for a day or two because of my aggression. My time in prison had taught me that I'm not a fighter and so I retreated to where I thought I might be relatively safe but still able to catch the attention of the curb crawlers.
Prison had also taught me to be suspicious of everyone and everything and, if possible, to have eyes in the back of your head. After my altercation with the kid called Joey, I was most certainly on my guard. Yet nothing happened and I started to relax and concentrate on trying to attract the attention of somebody who might pay for the use of my body and possibly even buy me a meal or a drink. Eventually a car stopped at the curb and I walked around to the window that was opened and asked him how I could be of service. It was then that I realized that I had no idea about prices on the street, but to hide my ignorance of such a fundamental part of negotiation I challenged him regarding the amount he was prepared to pay. The guy seemed genuine enough and he displayed quite openly the hundred euros he was prepared to pay to have possession of me for the night. Given that in prison Ray gave me nothing other than a degree of protection, such a handsome sum of money was more than acceptable. As the car door was unlocked I didn't hesitate to jump in.
That first successful sale on my part led me to believe that I could negotiate limits with the punters with a direct correlation between what they paid and what I provided. And so it was for some weeks. I developed a pattern of behaviour whereby I prefaced the sale process by consuming more and more alcohol. I have to say I wasn't conscious of my self-destructive behaviour and the fact that I was rapidly going downhill. Generally I had food in my stomach, had found a squat in which I was welcome, had a clean body, a bit of money in my pocket and a degree of confidence in my ability to manage my situation. In hindsight I hate to think what Ray would have done had he known what I was doing: it certainly would have been extremely painful and unpleasant!
The others in the squat where I was living were mainly druggies of both sexes who didn't really give a damn about me provided I kept to myself and didn't interfere with their habits. My working life meant that I was away for considerable periods of time starting in mid-afternoon and when I actually arrived back [when my clients only wanted to rent me by the hour] my fellow squatters we generally off in their own little druggie world or, when they were able, screwing one another's brains out. The thought of AIDS from the needle sharing and their unprotected sex was more than enough to keep me from participating in the antics.
I suppose it had been three or four months since I had left prison when my consumption of alcohol started to affect my marketability. I wasn't conscious of the fact but I was aware of the diminishing amount of money that I had available to pay for my drinks and, occasionally, food. It was the fear of not being able to drink that increased my anxiety day by day. The inevitable happened of course. I was in my usual bar getting plastered, yet still believing that I could pull a trick or two, when I put my hand in my pocket to pay for my next drink and found nothing there. Even in this district the barman wasn't prepared to take my body in return for the drink I needed and, like the mess I was, I threw a tantrum which was worthy of an eight-year-old I'm sure and stormed out of the bar not knowing what on earth I was going to do. I knew I was a fuck up and thus my contemplation of jumping into the river from one of the bridges to put an end to my misery led to the inevitable conclusion that I couldn't even succeed at that.
It was raining which only made me feel more miserable so I jumped on a bus, not caring where it was going. To my surprise the driver didn't really make a fuss about the fact that I had no money. I don't know to this day why he allowed me a free ride. I finished up more or less in the suburbs where nice terraced houses lined the streets and one could tell from the quality of the cars parked along the streets that there was money and booze to be had.
The rain had turned to a light drizzle as I took stock of and the opportunities presented by the neighbourhood. Well-lit houses with shadows moving were clearly not potential targets to my mind although that view would change within a matter of days. Cars were also a little too risky because breaking their windows would be noticed in the peace and quiet of the area and what's more I was pretty sure that they would all have fancy alarms. If the cops came, no matter where I went, I would stand out like a sore thumb - so that option was quickly ruled out. But my needs were great and so I started testing out the accessibility of those houses which had basement entrances and no lights on inside.
I had heard the expression that 'a man's home was his castle' and it seemed in this neighbourhood at least learned that people took that quite literally: doors and windows were locked usually with more than one lock on each door. It took me a little while to figure out that instead of trying to enter through a basement it was more logical to look at the upstairs windows from the back of each property. I finally found one place that had a little corner of a curtain blowing in the wind and that was all I needed. With surprising ease I was able to scramble up pipes on the outside of the building and then move across to the window in question. I eased myself through the window being as quiet as possible just in case the occupants had gone to bed early. Fortunately that was not the case.
The plunder from that first house was enough to keep me going for several days. I actually took a plastic carry bag from the kitchen and filled it with the available liquor. I knew from my own days at home that there was likely to be housekeeping money in some jar in the kitchen and after a while I was able to find that and life looked good. I finally exited the house the way I had entered and, as it transpired, none too soon. I had barely reached the rear entrance to the property which had a small yard at its back before the lights in the house came on. I made myself scarce as quickly as I could without drawing attention to myself all my precious cargo. I found an area beside a river underneath the bridge and there I proceeded to have my liquid refreshment until I passed out.
I was surprised when I woke the following morning, heavily hung over, that neither me all my possessions had attracted any attention during the night. I took that as a good omen. The next few days were pleasant. I could afford food and I certainly have enough booze. As I started to realize that my one-man crime spree had to continue if I was to live the 'good life', which was how I viewed my present situation, it was necessary to plan ahead.
That night, while I still had my wits about me, I hid my greatly diminished stash of booze and went in search of another likely target. Whether word had spread about my activities several nights before or whether it was just circumstance, I found no seemingly unoccupied houses with readily available access. Naturally enough I started to become a little panicky at the prospect of being without my precious alcohol. I returned to where I had hidden my remaining booze and on the way stopped in at a convenience store where, to my surprise, the proprietor with some distance down one aisle. He glanced up as I entered and I quickly took the money I had from my pocket and made as if to count it in order that I would delay his fears that I had come to rob him.
I quickly assessed the layout of the shop and if the proprietor asked what I was looking for I would be able to indicate something that was as far from the entrance as possible. I started down the aisle closest to the side of the shop and was quite surprised that the man in the next are just continued his stocking of the shelves. Emboldened by his apparent preoccupation I walked a very quietly to the front desk, slipped behind it and helped myself to as many packets of cigarettes as I could stuff into my jeans and jacket. Even though I didn't smoke at that stage, I grabbed a lighter as well even though my plan was to sell at a discount my illegal gains.
I knew that if I then walked out the owner of the shop would be suspicious and so I walked back to where I had originally been and selected a toothbrush and some toothpaste and a small bottle of scotch from the back of the store. I walked back down the aisle and stood in front of the counter onto which I placed my intended purchases and just stood until the shop owner realized that his sole customer was waiting. The man was pleasant enough as he walked to the front, tallied my purchases and gave me change. He was clearly oblivious to my earlier actions in the fact that I was walking out of the store with a significant amount of contraband. He even wished me a good night as I left.
The fact that I started smoking my ill-gotten gains rather than sell them should've told me about my self-destructive nature. But suitably numbed by the booze any such message from my brain certainly didn't register in my consciousness.
Over the next few weeks I increased my expertise in robbery and was feeling reasonably confident in the future and assessing my next likely target - a very cluttered corner shop - when Joel briefly entered my life.
Not overly tall, neatly dressed in casual clothes, short dark hair, clearly showing the effects of working out in a gym, and a handsome [not pretty] face, Joel introduced himself by grabbing my arm and telling me that I was going with him. The grip itself told me that there was a certain amount of determination in his statement and when I tried to swing my left fist towards him in protest, the smack I got across my face readily drew me to the conclusion that, like Ray, Joel was not going to brook any argument. He dragged me around the corner away from the shop I was about to enter, unlocked his car, strapped me into the passenger seat and warned me in no uncertain terms that if I tried to escape while he went around the other side I would finish up with my testicles in my mouth. Even though I was more than a little inebriated, the image of my balls in my mouth was enough to keep me in place.
Joel was a man of little patience - a fact which I found out immediately when I reached for a cigarette. His warning against even thinking of smoking in his car had such a menacing tone that I put my smokes away. On reaching his rather nice detached house Joel ordered me to go and have a cold shower while he prepared some coffee. I responded by telling him to put his head where the sun never shone. I didn't even see Joel move he was so fast but in what seemed like seconds he had my arms behind my back and my wrists secured together with a plastic zip tie. Joel it turned out was a plainclothes policeman and he knew precisely what I had been planning before he grabbed me on the street.
For about five minutes Joel gave me a lecture regarding my stupidity and the fact that he thought it was about time I got my act together. I thought he was ranting and raving but, on reflection, I think he was just talking loudly to try and get the message into my thick skull. I suppose some of it sank in although I did protest when Joel divested me of my shoes, socks, jeans and underpants.
Nearly completely drunk and half naked, I offered no resistance when Joel remove the plastic tie that held my wrists and meekly complied when he instructed me to remove my jacket, shirt and singlet. When I was totally naked he took my arm in a vice like grip and more or less dragged me into his bathroom where he threw in the shower stall, turned on the cold water, shut the door and told me that if I left the shower before he returned or turned on the hot water there would be all hell to pay.
Joel left the bathroom leaving me under the freezing water. I was having none of that: even in prison I got a warm shower! I opened the shower stall door and got out as quickly as I could. Even in the drunken haze I could understand that I would know when Joel was going to return so I thought it was better to turn on the hot water tap just sufficiently to take the sting out of the cold water. I stood with my back towards the bathroom door so that I could rapidly turn off the hot water when I heard Joel open it. I almost laughed: being drunk didn't stop me from being clever. Fuck Joel!
My policeman captor returned after a reasonably lengthy period and I rapidly turned off the hot water and pretended that I was shivering from having spent all that time under the freezing water. Joel came in and put down a bath mat over the clear evidence of my having exited the shower - my first mistake - and then told me to turn off the water, get out and dry myself. As I did so he lent into the shower, felt the hot water tap which clearly demonstrated my disobedience - my second mistake.
Covered only by a towel I followed Joel out of the bathroom and was quite surprised as to how unsteady I was. I hadn't realized just how much I had drunk. In the living room I expected my clothes to be waiting for me, but they were nowhere to be seen. Joel poured a cup of coffee and had me sit down and drink it while he calmly told me that he fully intended to help me put an end to my self-destructive manner, whether I liked it or not. A yelling match followed during which my towel fell off, and yet I didn't feel at all stupid at yelling at this policeman with my dangly bits gyrating to and fro. The fact that the Joel was laughing at my performance just made me angrier.
One aspect of being a policeman was that his house was absolutely secure. The doors were deadlocked, windows were locked and those within reach of the ground had bars on them. Although I didn't register it in my rage that night, the following morning it became all too apparent that there was no way to escape.
Joel allowed me to continue yelling obscenities and abuse at him until finally I was too exhausted to carry on. By that stage my coffee had gone cold and so he reported me another cup, told me to sit down and shut up. He sat opposite me and proceeded to tell me, with far more accuracy than any clairvoyant, what my immediate future held. Whether I liked it or not, Joel told me, I was going to dry out, accept his discipline and, if I was really well behaved, would have the pleasure of him making love to me. I was too far gone for the message to really penetrate my thick skull and I was grateful when Joel led me to his bedroom and put me to bed.
At some future stage Joel joined me in bed although I was not at all conscious of the fact at the time. When his alarm clock went off at some ungodly hour, I got the shock of my life from both the noise and the fact that there was a warm body beside me. Joel turned off the alarm, got out of bed and, with his firm and rather attractive backside on display, left the room to go in shower before going to work. I remained in the bed because it was nice and warm and, moreover, I had a hangover. For reasons I didn't understand I moved over a little so that I could smell the scent of Joel. Even though I was a prisoner, as I was about to find out, there was something extremely comforting knowing that he had been in the bed with me.
Joel returned from having showered and shaved. He was totally naked, which was not surprising given that this was his house. What was surprising, even to me, was the size of the cock which hung flaccidly between his legs. I immediately made a mental comparison with Ray and the other prisoners: they had nothing on Joel. I don't think I was afraid of how well Joel was built but I wasn't exactly unconcerned if he intended to use me.
Joel obviously noticed the way in which I was looking at him. I don't know whether it was a thin smile or a smirk that passed over his lips but I didn't take any comfort from it. I watched them get dressed in nice jeans and a casual shirt, pretty much the same way he had been dressed when I met him the previous evening. He didn't look like a cop, which I suppose was the idea. Once he was ready to depart he came and took hold of my face so that I was looking at him and he quietly but firmly told me that he was locking me into the house, that there was no way of escaping and that I should contemplate the error of my ways the previous night when I had left the shower contrary to his instructions and also used hot water which he had specifically prohibited. The next thing I knew he was leaving the house with me locked firmly inside.
My immediate instinct was to go in search of my clothes which Joel had removed the previous evening. I think I looked everywhere but I couldn't find them. Moreover, Joel had a lock on his wardrobe so I couldn't take refuge in some of his clothes. He did have a dresser with some underwear in it which I took advantage of so that I didn't have to spend the day totally naked. Naturally enough I searched the house from top to bottom to find some alcohol to take the edge off my foul mood but there was none to be had: that simply increased my anger. I did find a couple of doors on the ground floor that were locked and I searched around for keys without any success. The cop obviously had prepared his house very carefully and apart from the absence of anyone else to me it looked like nothing more than a very comfortable prison.
I guess Joel had deliberately disconnected the electronics for his television so that I had nothing to do that diverted my attention from my increasing anger and frustration. I lay in bed cursing my captor as well as my own stupidity. Had I been so inattentive to detail in prison as I had been when I met Joel I knew that I would have been gang banged till the cows came home or Raymond found out [whichever occurred first]. I couldn't believe that I had been so stupid and that knowledge just made me more and more upset. I don't know whether it was at that stage that I first acknowledged the effect of my drinking was having on me. Perhaps that recognition came later - I'm not sure.
I think that day was probably one of the longest I had ever known. Even in prison there were things to do. By the time the cop returned I was pretty much at my wits end. I actually welcomed the sound of his keys in the lock on the front door. Had I known what Joel had in mind for me I would not have been quite so relieved at his return.
Once he had locked the deadbolt on the inside when Joel went to the sitting room and called me from the bedroom. Sullenly I got out of bed and walked to the sitting room. Joel took one look at me and demanded that I immediately removed his underwear and I did so while expressing my views on his parentage, cruelty and the need for him to inspect his arse from the inside. Throughout my tirade Joel remained silent with that ambiguous look on his face that expressed neither humour nor surprise at my behaviour. Once I had finished my ranting Joel finally decided that he had had enough. He ordered me to sit down on the floor and then proceeded to lecture me about my lack of self-respect, lack of appreciation for his putting up with me and for my inability to obey even most simple of instructions. Of course I took little notice and I think it was evident to Joel that I was simply sitting there because he had the upper hand.
Actions speak louder than words and when Joel realized that I didn't care the least in what he was saying he got up, pulled me to my feet, grabbed my arm and then walked me to one of the locked rooms which I had discovered earlier in the day. He unlocked the door and pushed me inside, turned on the light and quickly secured my hands behind my back with one of his very practical but annoying plastic ties. Without saying a word he left the room, locked the door and left me to contemplate my new prison.
It would be an understatement in the extreme to say that fear didn't run throughout my body as I looked about the surprisingly large room. Although there was a toilet, open shower and a small bed, the room was dominated by shackles that hung from chains which were fixed to bolts in the ceiling. To one side there was a heavy timber table which had eye bolts strategically place on its corners and legs, and on the wall beside it a number of shelves upon which were all manner of terrifying implements and devices. Had it not been for the lights and the relative modern nature of the contents, my impression would've been that I'd finished up in some medieval torture chamber. The reality of course was that this was just a modern version.
I looked through the stuff on the shelves. Apart from punishment instruments such as canes and straps the shelves contained any number of devices designed to cause really severe pain and also a number of dildos, enema bags and suchlike. The collection seemed to confirm my suspicions that Joel was a sexual deviant than me: this was some serious shit and I was afraid.
Beneath the shelves there was a small refrigerator - a little larger than a bar fridge. My pulse raced at the prospect of a drink but, of course, when I opened the door the damned thing contain nothing but water bottles and fruit juice. The brief moment of hope evaporated.
I went and sat on the bed to try and work out how to escape. All sorts of fanciful schemes ran through my head but sanity prevailed. I realized that getting past Joel, even if I could achieve that, we just leave me in the larger prison of the totally locked house. I fantasized about overpowering Joel and finding his keys but quickly realized how pathetic such thoughts were.
I suppose perhaps an hour had passed when the door to my cell opened and Joel told me it was time to have dinner. He threw a pair of underpants to me and told me to put them on. Meekly I did so and then followed him out to where the dining room table had been prepared and sat opposite Joel. The food he prepared was remarkably good and, to my astonishment, I was allowed one glass of wine with the meal.
As we started to eat I gave Joel a good piece of my mind telling him that when I was released I was going straight to the police to tell them about his torture chamber, my the false imprisonment and whatever perverted things he intended to do to me. Using rather colourful language, I carried on my rant for several minutes until the food before me and the wine got the better of me.
Joel seemingly ignored my ranting. When he finished his glass of wine he poured himself another making it quite clear that my ration was one glass. I finished the meal fairly quickly and just sat there waiting for Joel to say something. He finished his meal, sipped his wine and looked at me. In no uncertain terms he told me about how pathetic he thought my behaviour and proceeded to enumerate all the offenses I had committed during my brief crime spree. Then, to my shock, he told me that he was quite prepared to take me to the police station, have me charged, and returned to prison. The alternative he said was for me to stay, behave in a civilized manner, return to sobriety and, most importantly, develop a viable plan for my future which didn't involve being an inebriated rent boy.
I didn't like either option but the thought of returning to prison was clearly far less preferable than the alternative. I challenged him about all the sex toys in his pretend prison cell which just caused him to laugh. The room he explained was a playroom for willing partners and he had no intention of having sex with me since I was clearly not such a partner. He told me that he would have to put part of his own sex life on hold while I was in the room and that I should appreciate the sacrifice that he was making for my benefit.
I suppose I was relieved that he wasn't as kinky as I had anticipated but I still deeply resented his intrusion into my life.
Joel had me do the washing up and then returned to me to the room. Once inside he told me to remove the underpants had provided and when I handed them to him he stuffed them in his pocket while he explained that as long as I continued to behave like a baby with a foul mouth I was going to continue to be held in my naked condition. Such was my anger that I didn't pick up on his reference to my language that during the next hour the extent of his annoyance with the way I addressed him became quite apparent.
Using a remote control which he took off one of the shelves, Joel lowered the wrist cuffs that hung in the centre of the room and, making it quite clear that I had no option, he pushed me forward and restrained my wrists separately. He then use the remote to raise my arms until I was standing on just the sole of my feet. He returned to the remote to the shelf and then extracted an evil looking black leather strap. He came and stood just a couple of feet from me and showed me the strap, explaining that it was now time for me to be punished for my disobedience the previous evening in the bathroom.
Ignoring the string of expletives which I shouted at him, Joel calmly moved to my left hand side and then proceeded for about fifteen minutes to methodically turn my backside on fire. Well before he had finished I was yelling and screaming and tears were running down my face. Clearly my performance cut no ice with Joel.
Calmly Joel walked back to the shelving and put the strap down. He then walked out of the room leaving me hanging there with my backside convulsing from the pain. I wallowed in self-pity during his absence and I have to admit I had no constructive thought at all during that time. When he returned Joel informed me that I had paid the price for getting out of the shower in contradiction of his instructions and that it was now time for me to pay for using the hot water despite his prohibition on my doing so.
I yelled and begged as he walked over to the shelves and removed a very thin, wicked looking switch. I took one look at it and pleaded with him for mercy promising that I would not be disobedient ever again but he simply laughed in my face and told me that I had committed the offense and therefore should pay for it. Again moving to the left hand side of where I was hanging he measured the distance to my thoroughly beaten and throbbing rear and proceeded to thrash me with the switch. I moved from one dimension of pain which I could barely manage to a new dimension of unbelievable white hot agony as he delivered, I think, ten slow strokes of the switch. Compared to this experience the terrible pain I felt when my virginity was forcibly taken from me paled into insignificance. I screamed and begged, tried to twist my body away from the switch but all to no avail.
Joel left the room again leaving me hanging and gasping for air but he returned moments later with a bottle of white fluid and a clean white rag. He said nothing but soaked the rag in the fluid quite thoroughly and then proceeded to rub the rag over my wounded bum. From the smell I knew it was alcohol. While I had drunk plenty I didn't until that moment appreciate the excruciating agony it could cause to all well strapped and striped backside. Although the alcohol dried quickly, before he did so I endured a whole new adventure in pain.
Joel and went and got the remote so that he could remove the cuffs. Once he had done so he took the bottle of rubbing alcohol and the cloth and walked towards the door. Before he closed the door he told me to get some sleep and that he would attend to the matter of my foul language the following evening.
I hobbled to the bed and lay down on my stomach with my terribly wounded backside in the air. This position was not unfamiliar to me but this was the first time that I adopted the position as a result of a thrashing rather than more intimate activities involving that general area of my body. I sobbed and cursed, swore vengeance and fantasized about how I would treat my captor when in some mythical future the positions were reversed. Sleep didn't come easily as every nerve in my bum, or so it felt, protested vigorously and continuously about it till treatment.
When the following morning arrived it will be fair to say that my condition had improved only marginally. I was angry and depressed and desperate to escape back to my old life. Joel was his usual civilized self over breakfast and he departed urging me to spend the day in developing a positive strategy for my future.
As many will know, one has to reach rock-bottom before any positive activity might develop. I was continuing my downward spiral, despite having no alcohol apart from a single glass of wine at the end of my first full day, and although I didn't know it I had a little way to go. That evening when Joel returned we sat and ate in a rather heavy silence. Joel had a beer but I was offered nothing that even resembled alcohol. Joel was considerate however and allowed me the benefit of a cushion to sit on, clearly aware of the continued throbbing across my bum.
True to his word, Joel went about the matter of my first lesson in restraining my foul language. He explained that he didn't take exception to any of the language I used but that he felt it unwise that I should fall into a habit which would offend many, particularly since he thought I could develop a positive future for myself. Hanging from the ceiling as I had the previous night I was shaking in terror at the prospect of my backside receiving a further beating. Yet Joel had no intention of attacking my rear. He stood in front of me and told me that he was going to confine his lesson to that part of my body from which my language emanated. When he went to the shelves and returned with a three tailed whip and an ugly looking mouth plug I started to get the drift of his intentions.
Joel wasted no time in plugging my mouth and fastening the ties behind my head and then returned and stood to my right, released the strands of the leather whip, swept his arm back and then swung forward and lashed me across my pectoral muscles. The pain was abominable but I knew from the previous evening that my pathetic scream into the mouth plug would have no effect on Joel determination. From my abdomen to the top of my pectoral muscles, Joel striped me with my skin turning into a boiling mass of agony. From time to time Joel would move about and, with great deliberation, allow the whip to visit my nipples which were at the best of times me a little knobs.
When he judged that the severe lesson might suffice to curb my language, Joel repeated the process of the previous night using an alcohol soaked rag. If it were possible I swear that the pain on my chest that the rag caused was even greater than the pain it'd generated on my backside. If I thought the previous night had been uncomfortable sleeping on my stomach, this night was far worse for both my bum and chest hurts with every movement.
During the days that followed my overwhelming need for alcohol and tobacco reached fever pitch and I offered to do anything for Joel in return for just one drink or one smoke. He had made it clear well before that he was not interested in me as a sexual being and of course he dismissed my offer immediately with a statement regarding how pathetic I was.
Throughout the period Joel disciplined me with great severity for every indiscretion and every obscenity that passed my lips. It was during this phase that my previous physical response to being disciplined on my backside became part of my consciousness. Joel never commented on it but I knew that the nexus between pain and pleasure was a part of my nature. It was not contrived, it was not created by any person or action - it was just part of my.
It was probably about day ten when I reached the low point. For some reason the disgusting actions that I suggested to Joel in return for a drink or smoke came to the fore of my consciousness and in a moment of great clarity I realized how much I was demeaning myself. In the hours that followed from that moment until Joel returned, I lay on the bed reviewing every aspect of my life from an affluent beginning, through prison and prostitution, to this cold windowless chamber.
The journey upward began that night and I think Joel was conscious of my having reached for the absolute bottom of my downward spiral. That night I lay in bed and thought long and hard about where I was and what I had become. The one thing that stood out was that I was blaming the past for the present. Wallowing in self-pity might be a nice, self-indulgent, existence but it was hardly productive. That thought process about the past and the present occupied all of my consciousness until the door opened and Joel came in and took a seat on the bed beside me. Quietly he asked me what I was thinking about and so I told him. He stroked my arm quite tenderly and almost in a whisper told me that what had gone before was over and done with - that it couldn't hurt me anymore and that life is about the next minute, next hour, next day and so forth. For the first time Joel gave me a tender kiss on my forehead and then departed.
In the following days in my solitude I had to wrestle with the past which tried to come and bite me on the bum quite frequently at first. I developed a mantra about the relevance of the past to my future and slowly the frequency with which the past came to the fore of my mind diminished. Mentally I got into a position where I could discard such thoughts quite readily and focus on planning what should come next. Returning to University seemed a good step forward but I knew that when I left Joel's one-man prison I needed somewhere to go and some means of earning an income. I asked Joel for some paper and a pen one night and started to write about the past removing any elements of self-pity as I did so. I showed it to Joel one night and he suggested that I might have a natural talent, not the fantasy but for the narration of my reality. I argued that no one would be interested but Joel was insistent that I might be surprised because they were lessons that I had learned that others might profit from and he encouraged me to continue.
Periodically I lapsed into my past behaviour being disobedient or swearing in a manner which would make a sailor blush and Joel would take to me with what he considered the appropriate punishment. He asked me frequently why I did so and after several nights of great discomfort and days of contemplation I was able to be forthright with him and tell him that I had this nexus between pain and pleasure. I even told him that I had used some of his "toys" when I masturbated after being punished. I almost expected him to reject the notion out of hand, but he didn't. For a cop he was remarkably prescient and talked me through the process of accepting my nature. He used his own struggle to accept that he was gay as a metaphor with great effect.
The issue of where I would go and how I would and the living, even if I got back into University was the next great hurdle I had to clear. I started to discuss the issue with Joel and he said he would leave the door to my cell open so that I could use the telephone if I wanted to explore options. I was quite surprised at the trust that he was developing in me for at the beginning I had threatened to call the cops and tell him all about his behaviour. I rang several people during the next few days. In the main my former friends rebuffed me. I don't think they could get their heads around the idea of renewing the acquaintance of somebody who had been sent to prison.
Richard, who was now well ensconced in the banking industry, was the only one of my former friends who was prepared to set aside time for me. He even suggested early on that we should meet but I explained that I was in the process of rehabilitation and that that was not be possible for a while. Richard actually encouraged me and offered me support and protection when I was ready to leave rehab. Because of his work he couldn't talk for all that long during the day but at night I would sit beside Joel in the sitting room and talk quite frankly and openly to Richard about what I had been doing and how I had attempted to be self-destructive. That he was accepting and supportive came as a shock initially but I gradually understood that he, like Joel, was actually concerned about my welfare.
Months had passed and I felt more confident about leaving the protective environment that Joel had provided. I certainly shocked him one night when I propositioned him by asking him to take the strap to my backside and then to mount me with force and passion. He rejected the proposition initially but when I told him that I was now able to stand on my own two feet and that Richard had offered me accommodation and work he finally relented. As an aficionado of such matters I can say with the benefit of hindsight and more experience that he performed that night with incredible ability and passion. Up to that point it was most certainly the highlight of my sex life.
I departed Joel's house a few days later after giving him a long and appreciative hug. Had it not been for this remarkable human being I knew that I would be rotting in some anonymous grave. My tears, which I had difficulty in stanching, were those of my most heartfelt and genuine gratitude.
What transpired in the weeks that followed is a separate matter. I have never seen Joel since I left his home. The closest I have come to renewing the acquaintance was hearing Lucas describe the wonderful night with one of his clients who had a special room at an address that I knew very well. I never did explained to Lucas how I understood just how great his experience had been but I recall going to bed that night full of envy for Lucas with my senses recalling the wonderful scent and touch of Joel.
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