This is my first story of this genre and context. Please tell me what you think by sending me your comments, views and general feedback to wheels-on-fire@hotmail.co.uk. The general disclaimer applies; any connections to names are purely coincidental. This story is for an adult audience, so please do not read if you are under the age of 18, or it is illegal to do so in your county. This story is purely fictional, none of these events have actually happened.
Superior Connections
Chapter 1
Nothing much ever seems to happen in villages. A post man delivers mail and a milk man delivers milk. Excitement generally reaches the dizzying heights when the weekly paper is current with the rest of the country. It's isolated. Lonely.
The local communities are tight knit. Families clearly marked apart by the varying jumper patterns as a result of the grandmothers unique take on the latest pattern to come to the WI, their own family crest. Fashions change with the crop rotations and everyone works in the primary or secondary sectors, continuing the family business. Ambition is not a quality valued in the country. Wanting anything more then getting the cows home before six would get you nothing more then the label of a dreamer. The villagers don't want much; they don't ask for much. Every day is a no-news day. Ten years ago, real news came to the village. They were connected to the internet.
Christian was a dreamer. He wanted more then a life on the farm. He had no wish to work in the greengrocer or become an apprentice to a blacksmith. Manual labour was not for him. He had left school; he was cut off from the world. The real word. His world. His only main connection was through the glass monitor on his desk. He would wait, in anticipation for the computer to boot up. Patience. There is lots of time for that in the county. The donkey turning the millstone would eventually start up the monitor. 'Dunk' the monitor would turn on. Light would fall over his chiselled face. After a few minuets of a whirling noise followed by the familiar tone of dial up, he was online. A few letters into a search engine and the bridge of connection to his world was built.
Christian was a fantasist. His profile was over the desktop. He was here, he was queer... however Christian was no queen. No, Christian had no high throne in which to perch, he was however a boi. Christian was a boi with out a Man. He was on the hunt, looking for the right man to claim him. Christian described himself honestly, hoping that these Masterful men would do the same. 5' 9", slim, white male, dark hair with contrasting eyes. Toned but not built -- almost weak. Next to his description held a photo. He feared that his identity would fall into the wrong hands. If this sort of information was held by someone in the village... His eyes were down cast, showing the majority of his shaggy, wavy hair. His hands, clasped respectably behind his back, legs a shoulder width apart. He appeared to be very much the sub.
A message arrived in his inbox. A man, twice his age had contacted him. He had sent him a photo. He did not have a beard, he could see past his own navel, he was not dressed head to toe in leather, he did not have an implement of pain crossing his body. He stood firmly, eyeing the camera, his strong arms crossing his toned pecks. A message accompanied his portrait. "I can offer you true freedom. Under the hands of a real man I can make sure that you are well cared for and in a society that respects and values you. In return you must give yourself to me, mind body and soul. If this excites you, then reply and we can get talking."
This was what Christian had dreamed of. He has spent the last few months, trawling through the internet, looking for what he wanted. At last, he had found the prize catch and he was not willing to allow this one to slip through the net. He immediately replied, offering both email and instant messenger. He knew he may look a little desperate -- he was. He wanted this man and this man appeared to really want him. This was a chance Christian could not give up. Christian waited, an hour past and no reply was to be found, either on this site or in his emails. He checked both junk and spam mail boxes. He feared that he had put this fine man off. When the doubt had really set into christians mind, when he was about to log off, lie on his bed and stare at the patterns in the plaster, the man logged in. The exchange of emotions, from doubt to happiness was instant, like a drugged effect. Conversation erupted between the two of them. The exchanged views, political and social, they spoke about likes, dislikes and fantasies and desires. The conversation was not dominated by either party. Each had equal say, but the man steered the conversation to where he wanted it to go.
Christian discovered that the man was named Jacque. He lived in central London. He was self employed and a successful businessman. This man, for all his wealth and success lacked one thing; a boy.
Two weeks later, a date was agreed and Christian was going to meet Jacque. The time and the place was set. With a leap of faith in Jacque, he left the village and went on into the big city.
Standing, lost in Kings Cross station, a tall hulk of a man approached him. A dominating air surrounded him. His pace was fast, his target clear. Christian was about to meet his Master, he just did not know it yet.
Part two will be published next. Christian will be formally introduced to Jacque. If you would like to see what happens next, then send me an email to give me your feedback. A foreword however. I am a writer, I write for my own pleasure and hopefully your enjoyment. This story is not going to be a quick climax novel, it will have depth and a story line. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Many Thanks.