The Confessions of Slave Elliot by Robert Halstead
TO THE READER: I'm experimenting with a new format in this story. This chapter will give you an idea of what will be happening. I'm not posting any more chapters until I hear from readers who think I should continue. Please contact me at gordongary946@gmail.com
And remember to make a donation to Nifty: donate.nifty.org Thanks. So, here goes:
ONE
2024: Master Angus, my bright-dark angel, said:
"Write, child, write. I know it's late. I know you're tired, but get your words down before they poison your guts and make your tummy hurt all the time like when you were in that awful school. Remember when you would try to raise your voice but no sound would comes out and they laugh at you when the Bully spits on the floor, yelling, `Get down there, faggot, and lick it up!' Those jerks didn't even dare being nice to a queer like you; their dads would probably whoop their asses for treating you like a normal kid.
"It'll get better, kid. Down the road a bit there will be lots of folks in your life who will get it and they will get you and---now get this---they will love you. They will read your words and weep for all your brothers and sisters who fight like the dickens to get free of the barbed-wire chains that the phobes wrap around you trying to drag you off to Uganda to be slaughtered the way they think you deserve and all this, Goddammit, in the name of a Christ they've made up out of fear and hatred who isn't anything like the Christ who snuggles you in His arms while you try to sleep so you won't have any more of those awful nightmares."
"Write it all, Elliot. Don't put it off any longer. Get it down before you lose your memory and it all fades away. Don't be selfish. Give it away. Tell it, one piece at a time, whatever you're ready to tell. Get it down in any order. Disconnected fragments are fine. Those who read it will piece it together because they'll want to hear your view of things and maybe make some of it their own."
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The Master nods, giving me permission to respond to His command. After all, He knows I will obey Him and do as He has commanded; there is never any doubt of that. He is my muse. He is the source and the spirit of my Craven Creativity. The Master wants me to speak my truth in a way that most of the people who know the "real me" could neither accept nor tolerate. The Master is ordering me to show myself every bit as mentally and emotionally naked as I am when He displays naked and in chains in the dungeons we inhabit. This is what I dare to say to Him:
"Master, I am almost eighty years old. I don't have anything solved or put together and I know I'm never going to get anything solved or put together. In obeying Your demand that I write, I will be `writing out of my brokenness, as James Alison once said. This is all I can do because this is all I am. Some will call me a hypocrite, because what I will write is at odds with the image I present to the world. As You know, Master, I've been called far worse than that. And yet, my imaginative life, my creative life is far more vivid and real than anything most people think I stand for. I will continue to hide behind an identity You've invented for me which is often far more real than the identity shown on my driver's license when I walk among innocent men who would never suspect what lurks hidden within me because they could never imagine anything of what I might disclose in these pages."
The Master replies: "You have begun well, dear slave. I am ordering you to write because I know there are many who need to hear from a conflicted kinky masochistic faggot like you. Those who read your words will benefit because they, like you, have aspired to the type of life you have invented but have never been able to find for yourself so instead you make up dark tales. Consider this to be just another fiction if you need to. I have faith that you will produce something that will stand above anything else you have ever done. I am ordering you to write because you need to write this. As always, I expect you to trust Me. I expect you to obey Me. I expect you to make Me proud of you the way a Master can be proud of a slave He has taken beyond all its known limits. Enough: Introduce yourself, boy, to those who will benefit from your work. You know your task as a slave is to benefit others, so it is time: proceed."
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Elliot's Diary, 1990: I finally get it: Master channels God to me. Or is the other way around? Or is it both?
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Elliot's Reading List: The Tao of Pooh
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Oh! Sorry. I got distracted. So anyway, Hello! I'm Elliot, and here are some snapshots of my life.
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Elliot's Diary, 2020: I found out what my spirit animal is and it make so much sense! All of a sudden, there it was. My spirit animal: THE PHOENIX burning to the ground then rising again from the ashes. Reborn. Born again, Jesus would say.
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How many times did the mother burn me to the ground? How many times did I just pick myself up again?
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Three years old, on the floor, playing with my favorite toy, taking it apart and putting it back together. Suddenly the mother comes raging at me, shouting and hitting me. I learned two lessons that day. 1) Never trust the mother. 2) I can get punished just because I'm having fun.
Auntie Mary comes to my rescue and scolds the mother for losing her shit at me. Again.
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The mother hates queers. HER father was queer and got murdered by a jealous lover when SHE was just an infant, stabbed on a train between cars. I inherited his genes and HER animosity.
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I get jealous when a Dom gets interested with another sub and I don't matter any longer. Master Angus never does that. Master Agnus always tells me that when He pays attention to other subs, they are nothing but subs. I am His only slave. I am the only one would has ever sobbed for Him. I am the only one who will ever drink Him. I alone will wear His iron collar and sometimes one made of gold.
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I shudder to imagine what the mother would have said if SHE had known this is how I'd end up, how SHE would have berated me. But then again, could anything SHE would say be any worse than the things SHE did say to me when SHE raged at me because I did not pay fulfill HER plans for me, when I unwittingly failed to feed HER narcissism?
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Elliot's Reading List: The Drama of the Gifted Child. Alice Miller
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SHE thought SHE could shame the queer out of me. "Don't cross your legs; it makes you look a queer." "You hold a cigarette like a goddamn queer." She called all the friends I ever had my "boyfriends." All except for Nick. She liked Nick. That was ironic. Nick was the first one to queer me for real, plunging himself into me while kissing the back of my neck.
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Nick and Tommy and me were best friends from third grade. We were like the three Musketeers, or like the Trinity. Oh yeah, it was a private Catholic school. A place of learning. A place of torment . Brother Johnson would tease me all the time and call me a "baby." I never reacted when he did that. I'd just go numb while they laughed at me.
You know how cruel kids could be. The rest of the class picked up on him calling me "baby" and chanted that after me as I tried to get away from them. Afterwards, Nick would put his hand on the small of my back and Tommy would put his on the back of my neck. I loved it when they did that. Nick and Tommy were the ones who put me back together whenever the beasts tore me apart.
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Elliot's Reading List: Dibs in Search of Self. Virginia M. Axline
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