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ZEKE'S COME UNDONE
(A Slice of the Author's Life Story)
by Ron Dalanor
Sexuality can put a major strain on a person's coping mechanisms. I have always been amazed at the methods that people will use to make the sex that they want and need palatable to them. Some people drown the taste of sex with alcohol to make it acceptable, and others cover the flavor with drugs. Still others water down their sexual stew with rationalization, the most potent of the additives. There was this guy who lived in my apartment building when I was in still living in Tennessee who rationalizes like nobody's business.
Zeke Chambers was not my idea of an ideal neighbor. His personality was far too yankee oriented and brash for my tastes. We mountain folk of the Tennessee hills were pretty private, and Zeke's brashness just naturally exceeded the acceptable bounds. Zeke had bummed around for a while after getting out of the navy. Why he had chosen to settle down in East Tennessee was never clear. He worked in the shipping department of one of the local factories in nearby Kingston.
I am not saying Zeke was a bad guy; he seemed pretty good hearted. Heck, despite the fact that I often had early morning classes to teach at the college, I wasn't even bothered by the fuck noises that he and his girlfriend made during the first few months after he had moved into the apartment above mine. She was a fine moaner and screamer, and Zeke could certainly pound the springs on his bed. When they left the bedroom sliding glass door open that one time, the sound of them going at it could be heard for a good half mile.
What bugged me about Zeke was that he developed a curious fixation with aspects of my personal life. Guys like Zeke usually become uncomfortable with anyone that they think is gay. Zeke was anything but typical on this front. He suspected, he asked, and I confirmed. The question was not a surprise. After all, if I could hear he and his girlfriend, he could hear that guys I had moaning and screaming in my bedroom. I expected that his curiosity would pretty much end with my confirmation. It did not. Whenever Zeke dropped by, whether it was to watch a basketball game or to borrow tools for some minor project, he always managed to work in some question about my lifestyle.
Initially, the questions seemed quite general and standard: "When did I know?", "How did I know?", and "Why wasn't I like other gay guys?" These were easy enough questions to field. In fact, I liked watching the expression on his face when I explained that the idea of a gay man having to be some limp wristed, effeminate fop was a great American myth.
Over a period of time, the questions changed both in content and delivery. I got the feeling that Zeke was trying to bait me into making a pass at him. However, Zeke had nothing to worry about. The chances of my making a pass at him were about the same as the chance of a snowflake surviving on the surface of the sun. Now, some guys would have jumped up and down at the idea of a "straight guy" being interested in sexual specifics. Many would find it a golden opportunity to seduce a "straight guy". I was not one of those. I firmly believed that any guy who could be seduced by another guy, regardless of the circumstances, wasn't totally straight to begin with.
After nearly two Zeke free weeks, I figured that he had lost his curiosity or had become ego bruised due to my lack of interest. It wasn't that I had no physical attraction to Zeke. He was an above average looking specimen. At a little over six feet in height, with thick dark hair, a near fu manchu moustache, a tattooed hairy chest, tattooed hairy arms, and a firm butt, Zeke looked just rough enough around the edges to interest me. Although the coke bottle glasses he sported when not wearing his contacts, always made me amusingly and mentally flash the phrase "nerd hustler" over his head. And, it wasn't the fact that Zeke was likely just a potential experimenter that bothered me about him. It was the idea that Zeke subtly presented that since I was gay and he was male that I would automatically be interested. That idea always repulsed me.
The banging on the door late one Saturday night ended my Zeke free period. A totally sloshed Zeke stumbled in as I opened the door.
"Zeke, it's fuckin' 3 A.M.! What the hell do you want?"
"Did I wake you up?" he slurred.
Zeke stumbled over to the bookcase and kind of leaned against it. He started unfastening and unzipping his pants. I thought the idiot was going to piss on the carpet, but I was wrong.
"You wanna suck my dick?"
"No. I don't suck dick, but I might kick your ass for waking me up to ask?"
"Come on...come on, man, I need it."
"You got three seconds to get it back in your pants, dude!"
Fate blocked confrontation and nearly turned my rage into laughter. Zeke just about fully passed out. He literally slid to the floor. I picked him up and unceremoniously dumped him onto the sofa to sleep it off, and I went back to bed. My anger kept it a not so peaceful sleep.
The morning saw a humble and apologetic Zeke. After two cups of coffee, Zeke was treated to the remainder of my wrath.
"I want you to leave here knowing three things. One, not every gay man you meet or know has a burning desire to get in your pants. Two, if you want to have sex with a guy, for whatever reason, don't pull the getting drunk crap so that you'll have a convenient excuse for why it happened. Three, I'm into kink and I am not the one you want to experiment with unless you want to be handcuffed and forced to suck my dick and lick my balls to my satisfaction, unless you want to be tied up and fucked till I'm done with ya, unless you want your ass spanked, paddled, and whipped, unless you want your tits toyed with and tortured, unless you want to be finger and dildo fucked or anything else I might dream up. That pretty much clears the air for me and answers all your damn question at the same time."
Zeke sat there with his head lowered in silence. He didn't react the way I thought he would as I read him the riot act. His body did not tense up nor did he go into the hurt puppy routine. It was almost as if it was expected and being secretly enjoyed. I stormed out to the kitchen for more coffee. I figured he'd slink out never to be seen again, but Zeke was always a surprise. He came into the kitchen and asked for more coffee. He apologized again and said he still wanted to be friends if I'd forgive him. With my anger spent and everything out in the open, I told him he was forgiven. He smiled, put down his coffee cup, and hugged me. Other than a handshake, this was the first physical contact Zeke had made with me. It was more, in my opinion, than just a friendly hug. It was full body contact with his arms fully around me, squeezing tightly and his head resting on my shoulder. To top it off, it lasted far longer than I was comfortable with. So I broke it off. Zeke finished his coffee with minimal superficial conversation and went home.
I didn't see Zeke again until Thursday. He stopped in to tell me he had to go off with his reserve unit to play weekend warrior. I saw his duffel bag sitting on the sidewalk as he came in. He asked if I'd feed his fish. I said that I would. A horn sounded outside. He said he had to go and gave me his apartment key. He hugged me again like before and then was gone.
Since Monday was a holiday, I was still awake when Zeke got back late Sunday night. Zeke's mood seemed both mellow and mischievous. The mellow part, my olfactory senses gathered, came from the fact that he and his reserve buddies had gotten totally stoned on the way home. The mischievous part I could discern from the glint in his otherwise glazed eyes.
"I brought ya something."
As Zeke spoke, he reached inside his duffel bag. He held out a pair of handcuffs with a coy grin on his face. I took the handcuffs and key from him fully expecting some sort of bad joke to follow; no joke came. Instead he pulled off the sweat clingy tank he was wearing and held out his arms and hands as submissively as he could for me to cuff them. I almost still expected this to be a gag, but whatever party was going on in his head was a difficult one for him to deal with. I knew this because I saw his hands shake with a bad case of nervous insecurity as he presented them to me.
"All decisions from this point are yours." Zeke managed.
I was stunned by the suddenness of Zeke's offering, but, out of habit perhaps more than recognized desire, I fell into my normal dominant role and cuffed the outstretched wrists. I was also surprised to hear my own voice as I spoke in the role's emotionless tones.
"All decisions are yours what?"
It was apparent that Zeke didn't get it. So I repeated the statement even louder. His military training paid off, he got it, and he performed up to expectations.
"All decisions are yours, Sir!"
"Good boy." I responded.
The dam had broken on my repressed desire, and I was going to have him completely, totally and my way. I pushed him down to his knees and his face into my crotch. He wallowed there like a dog trying to transfer its scent. The wallowing became licking, and the licking was desperate in nature. Since it was throbbing and straining against the fabric of my jeans, it would have been easy to haul my cock out and let him feast, but I intended to make Zeke work for everything. He was going to get much of what I had in my repertoire, but he was going to have to labor hard to get it and even harder to handle it.
"Wanna suck my dick, boy? You wanna be my cocksucking bitch?"
"Please, Sir!"
His answer might have been good enough for some, but I was not leaving any corners for him to hide in now or later.
"Say it, boy! I wanna hear you say it!"
I saw his mouth move, but I heard no words. Inside I knew he was struggling, and I was going to determine which side won. Grabbing a handful of his thick, dark hair, I snatched his head back so that he was looking up at my face.
"Say it, cocksucker! Now!"
"I... I wanna suck your cock, Sir. I wanna be your... cocksucking whore, Sir." Zeke struggled but sputtered it out as ordered.
I rewarded Zeke's compliance by unfastening my jeans and hauling out my rigid rod. I waved it at him to tempt his desire, and I stepped back from him quite intentionally.
"If you want this cock, boy, come here and get it!"
Handcuffed and on his knees with his jeans still on, it was not an easy task for Zeke to walk on his knees to get to me. He was caught up in the fantasy and determined to see it through.
When Zeke got to me, I held him back from my dick by pushing at his forehead with the palm of my left hand while stroking my cock with my right hand.
"Stick that tongue out, boy. I wanna see how you're gonna lick the head of my dick."
Zeke complied with the command. As his tongue begged the air, my desire grew. I toyed with the idea of shoving my dick down his throat and holding him down on to enjoy the pure joy of his gag reflex and struggle to free himself. Still, I had control and knew he was a first timer. I was going to make this experience one he thought about every time he was alone and stroking his own cock. I let him begin sucking my cock his way which to to take the head and them work only part of the way down. Little by little, I applied the necessary force to get him down to the base of my dick, and I made sure he knew that sliding all the way up and down on my dick was what I wanted from him.
Zeke's desire made him a quick study and being stoned had seemingly taken away the inhibitions that most men have when being forced into full sexual slave service for the first time. He was working my dick like a seasoned cocksucker in a very brief period of time. He worked it with his mouth, he worked it with his tongue, and, on command, he swallow tugging it down into his throat. He was driving me crazy. It started to feel so good that I knew it was time to move on to the next phase of this boy's training.
"Lick my fuckin' balls, boy; get 'em nice and sloppy wet!"
Without hesitation, he licked and slobbered on my balls till his mouth juices dripped from them. I maneuvered Zeke onto his back and stood over him. He lay there motionless except for the throbbing in his jeans. His cuffed hands, which rested still on his stomach, could not offer him any relief from that. Zeke kept his eyes closed. It wasn't because he was ordered to do so, and I don't think he knew enough to do so. He probably kept them closed in a last ditch attempt to somehow avoid the reality of what he wanted to happen and what was going to happen to him.
I pulled my jeans down enough so that I could place my knees outside his shoulders and poised my ass above his face. I undid his jeans and pulled them down enough to free his rod which was leaking precum; it leaked even more at my touch. I lowered my ass onto his face and ordered him to rim me. As I expected that he might, Zeke hesitated and uttered a weak protest.
"Please, no."
"Get that fuckin' tongue up in there, boy; eat my fuckin' ass!" I yelled as I gave his cock and balls a good hard squeeze.
Zeke cried out but obeyed. He was tentative and slow, so I kept a bit of pressure on his equipment to remind him that he had no choice. Gradually, Zeke got into tonguing my ass. Like most beginners, being "forced" freed him from guilt and let desire take its natural reign. Zeke was almost as good at rimming as he has proven to be at cocksucking. The only thing I want in or near my ass is a hot tongue, and this guy, though not proficient at ass eating, was performing with great enthusiasm. Damn, it felt good, but it was time to move on.
I got up, I pulled my jeans up leaving them unfastened so my cock could hang out, and I studied my prize for a bit. He still has those eyes clinched shut, but his dick was nearly fully hard and still dripping from the excitement he was feeling. I drug Zeke over to the sofa and pulled him up onto it. I then quickly pulled off the rest of his clothes and got them out of my way.
I left him slumped on the sofa while I went to the playroom to retrieve a few things that I would need and to put the handcuff key where it would later be needed. It took me a few minutes to locate the tools of my trade that I wanted to use at this particular juncture, but, when I returned, Zeke had not moved and had not opened his eyes as far as I was able to discern. I worked him into a kneeling position on the sofa with his ass facing me and his head braced against the back of the sofa. I put on a latex glove and dripped lube down his ass. Zeke flinched at the liquid running down his ass, and his hole puckered and clenched. Not knowing whether his man cunt was truly virgin or not led me to work my index finger in more slowly and more carefully than I might with a more experienced partner. I got a groan and not a moan from Zeke which told me the hole had, at best, been used very little. I kept up the effort of sliding my finger all the way in and nearly all the way out until Zeke's breathing became raspy and near panting. The moans started weakly as if he were trying to keep the shame of them to himself; that I could not abide. I worked a second finger into his hole which was now much more receptive to visitors. Now, the moans and gasps were flowing freely. Whether Zeke realized it or not he was using his assring to try to hold my finger in when it was inside him and to pull it in when it was nearly out. He was also leaning into each fuck stroke of my finger.
"You're enjoyin' the hell of this, aren't ya, boy?" I said suddenly intending to catch him off guard.
"Yes, Sir."
His answer came slowly, meekly, and in a breathy pant. Though I was seriously tempted to insert the third finger, I knew that I had to gradually stretch his hole as well as build his desire for the fucking that was yet to come. I withdrew the source of his pleasure, and his sad sigh let me know how much it would be missed. I lathered up a butt plug with lube, and before he could react it was half way inside him. He screamed "Oh, God!", and, after writhing and moaning some, he took it without too much effort on either of our parts.
I pushed Zeke onto his back on the sofa, and I covered his body with my own. That act sent a shiver down his body that even I felt. I pinned his arms because I knew the resistance I was about to encounter. I moved quickly placing my lips on his and forcing my tongue as far inside his hot mouth as it would go. Zeke's eyes popped open for this, and he tried to escape the spit swapping I was putting him through. It is sometimes amazing what some men do to rationalize their sexuality. However, I was not going to give Zeke the "as long as I don't kiss a guy" excuse. I enjoyed the minor struggle, and I quashed the rebellion by slipping my hand beneath his head and gripping him at the base of the skull. I forced our mouths tighter together and my ever probing tongue even deeper. Ever so gradually, Zeke relaxed into it. I wanted him to openly enjoy it, but that would have to come with time.
I had a surprise in store for my naked little man-cunt. I darted from his mouth to his neck, and I gave him the sensuous bite. He gave himself away with a moan, and, thus, I began to work the flesh of his neck till his moans became intertwined with cries for divine intervention. Before he could settle into this joyous interlude, I had latched on to his left tit and was chewing on this fleshy, sweaty delicacy producing both the intended pain and pleasure response from my trainee. I was really getting into his tits as I noticed when I realized I was grinding my crotch into his. I placed a small but biting tit clamp on his left nipple after I was through with it, and I moved on to the right nipple for more of the same treatment. In addition to Zeke's squirming and moaning, I could feel the slimy hot leakage from his dick. Abruptly, I stopped everything, got up, walked across the room, and sat in the large overstuffed green chair.
Once again, Zeke's eyes popped open. He was confused, raised his head and started to speak.
"Don't say a word or even fuckin' move, boy, until I tell you to!"
Zeke's body slumped from the impact of the words as if I had backhanded him. The only movement which could be seen from Zeke was the occasional jerking of his semihard cock. I surmised that his mind was attempting to assess the flood of sensory input I had provided while his libido was gleefully wallowing in the same. I sat back in the chair and relaxed. I wanted Zeke to feel the emptiness of sudden inaction; so I simply sat there silently. It did give me time to plot my next move. I had always disliked impromptu sessions with new partners. I preferred mapping out a full "battle strategy" for new trainees where nothing was left to chance.
I reached for a cigarette but was struck by another idea. I felt an evil grin surface. I let my hand search the second shelf of the bookcase until my stretch touched the cigar box. I pulled it out, opened it, and chose a nice fat stogie.
"Get up you fuckin' faggot!"
Zeke jumped. I am not sure whether the volume of the command or the fact that I assaulted his ego with the term faggot startled him more. He moved to comply with the shouted command and nearly tripped over the coffee table. He stood unsteadily looking at me unsure of what to do. As he watched, I lit the cigar, puffed on it a bit, and then began to stroke my dick.
"Get over here and get on your fuckin' knees, cocksucker!"
Zeke hesitated for a second longer than I could permit.
"I said get that fuckin' queer butt of yours over here and get on your fuckin' knees where you belong!"
The verbal abuse escalated his level of mental confusion, and he mindlessly and mechanically did as he was told. I used my foot to make sure he didn't get too close. I blew a cloud of smoke in his face and continued stoking my cock. Zeke simply watched, and, until he made an overt indication that he wanted my dick, he would sit on his haunches and watch. I tugged my own balls, and played with my semi-cut foreskin pulling it as far over the head of my dick as I could get it to go. I even braced my self on one arm and humped up at the air as I stroked. When Zeke leaned slightly forward and licked his lips, I chalked up another victory for libido over ego.
"You want some of this dick, boy? You want some of my black dick?"
"Yes, Sir."
Zeke's response was odd sounding. That yankee punk attitude was gone. He sounded weak, soft and breathy. Of course, I had to press my advantage.
"You gonna show me what a good little faggot cocksucker you are, boy?"
"Yes, Sir." Zeke said meekly but without hesitation.
I took a good draw on the cigar and blew smoke all across my crotch. I grabbed Zeke's head and immediately forced him onto my dick. However, it didn't take much forcing this time. He had learned his lesson well. He worked his mouth up and down my dick eagerly, and he used both his tongue and throat to provided that extra pleasure the head of my dick always enjoyed. I sat back and let him have it his way for a while. I just puffed away.
Though Zeke's cocksucking was good, it was by no stretch of the imagination good enough to get me off. Besides, I planned on dicking his ass real good. After a good ten to fifteen minutes of letting Zeke play cockslave his way, I stood up and began making him take it my way. A good face fucking always pumped up the stimulation level of a trainee. Zeke had no control over the situation. He could only take my ramming cock down his throat and gag occasionally. And, I liked nothing better than to periodically force him all the way down on my cock and hold him there till his gag reflex rebelled.
When I finished, Zeke's curly mop of hair was in full disarray and slobber dripped down his chin and chest. I pulled him to his feet, removed the tit clamps and shoved him down to hall to my playroom.
The playroom was really kind of a den, workout room, guest room, and playroom rolled into one. I used the second bedroom of the apartment for all of those things. The desk, which I kept cleared off, along with the weight bench and guest bed were great fuck and torture surfaces when needed. I kept my "toys" on a peg board that I had put in the closet. I also kept a few things in the desk and the night stand for convenience sake. The trick was to choose the proper surface and the proper positions for the intended.
I was extremely good at calculating both the right surface and the right position. Before high school, I remembered taking that battery of standardized test that most of my generation took. One of those tests was the space perception test where you had to mentally fold boxes and shit. I was in the very top percentile for that test; I was also a geometry whiz. Now, all that crap turned out to be useful after all. Instead of boxes, I position men in my mind, and I can calculate the hell out of angles of penetration.
Since Zeke was over six feet, bending him over wasn't the best answer for memorable fuck positions. It might have been had he been shorter or had I been taller than 5'10". I chose to put him on the edge of the foot of the bed facing the railing at the head of the bed. That would be great for an initial entry, and it would allow me to work in some good prerequisite assplay.
With Zeke properly positioned, I took a final drag on the cigar before dumping it in an ashtray. I took a deep breath, swung, and made a great imprint of my hand on his pale ass. He lunged slightly forward, groaned and dripped a thick stream of precum from his piss slit. I repeated the action until I got matching patterns on both ass cheeks.
"You want some dick in that little pussy of yours, don't ya, bitch?"
"Do me, Sir."
"Do me? No, boy, that won't fuckin' do! I want to hear you say you want some dick in your ass! I want to hear you beg to get fucked, cocksucker!"
"Please, Sir."
"Please what, bitch?"
"Please...please fuck me, Sir."
"Say it again, boy!"
"Please fuck me, Sir."
"Say it louder, boy!"
"Please fuck me, Sir!"
"You want my dick in that asspussy of yours, whore?"
"I want your dick in my pussy, Sir! Use me, Sir! I want it bad, Sir!"
Even I was surprised by his outburst. I was also quite stimulated by it. The more a submissive admitted he wanted it and enjoyed it meant the more turned on I got. It also meant the more he would get as well.
I pulled out the butt plug; it came out with the typical tight ass fart fanfare. The plug had loosen him up a bit, but I would have to do more. I worked in more lube and was three finger fucking his hole by the time I was done. Zeke kept up the chorus of wanting to get dicked which just made me want in that tight hole even more desperately.
I kept rubbing my dick up and down his asscrack. He kept humping back toward it. I pushed the head of my dick in, but his assring snapped shut like a miser's purse. I pushed harder; he clenched harder.
"I can't do it, Sir! Please, Sir, no."
"Too fuckin' late, queerboy!"
I rammed my cock deep into him and pulled him by the hips toward me so that he was fully impaled. It had to be done. If anyone in the apartment complex missed his scream, it was because they were visiting relatives in Canada. While working to loosen his hole, I had moved down a pillow from the head of the bed to help support him. Now, I was shoving his head into it to try and muffle the screaming; it only somewhat helped. I noticed that despite the verbal protest Zeke had done very little to physically struggle. This meant that the problem was in his mind and not in his body. He still needed to be forced.
"Yeah, I'm gonna rape me some faggot pussy!"
"Oh, God, please. I'll do anything! Let me suck you off."
"Shut up, fucker! I had mouth pussy already, now I need some asspussy."
All during the pleading, I am sliding some of my dick out and right back into his hole. I felt the resistance give way a bit, so I started stirring my cock in his ass like in was a spoon in a hot cup of coffee. All Zeke's muscle spasms had stopped, and he was starting to rock back on my rod ever so slightly. As time passed with snail-like precision, I got bolder with my thrusting. I finally was pulling all the way out of Zeke's hot box and shoving my dick back inside. Zeke was now moaning and not screaming. His assring also took a totally different attitude. It was trying to prevent the exits, but it always welcomed me back. I kept playing the "in and out" waltz slowly, methodically, and roughly.
"Shit, fuck! I'm cummin', Sir!"
That he was. He clamped down on my dick and rode the orgasm train. I felt his spunk splatter as it sprayed out in twitches, and I heard him gasp for air and sound simultaneously. I let him begin to drift down to earth before I let him know the trip was by no means over quite yet.
"You're not done yet, pussyboy. We're gonna see how long you can handle this dick and how many times I can make that clit of yours shoot!"
Without fanfare, I pulled out, rolled him over onto his back, grabbed his legs pulled him toward me, shoved my dick back in, got a handful of his dick and balls to yank on while I screwed him. This was a speed fuck session. Sometimes, I liked the feeling of plugging a hole as fast as I could. It wasn't fast as in "hump, hump, squirt". It was fast in that I tried to ram it in and out, hump his hole as fast as I could. It was the out of control pile driver approach to fucking.
"Take that dick, boy! Fuckin' take it, take it, take it!"
Zeke did his best to take it like a man. He sucked in air, groaned, and pleaded for me to cum. With each plea, I'd tighten the death grip I had on his family jewels. He cry out and get harder.
When I neared muscle cramps in my buttocks and thighs, I rolled Zeke onto his stomach. I climbed aboard and launched my probe for a depth analysis of his hole. I fucked him much slower, but I ground into to him. Zeke enjoyed the hell out of being poled that way.
"Yeah, fuck me, man. Fuck me good!"
He was fully into this fuck now. There weren't any inhibitions. He wanted it, I knew he wanted it, he knew I knew he wanted it, and he felt no shame.
There was a growing need building inside me, but there was a final position I planned on using on this guy. I literally jumped off him in an effort to make the transition quick. I drug Zeke up to the top of the bed. I took the key to the cuffs from the night stand and I uncuffed his right hand. I used the free cuff to restraint his left hand to the headboard railing. I snagged two pair of shackles or leg cuffs from the same night stand. I cuffed each ankles and pulled them up and attached them to the headboard railing as well. After stroking my cock back to its full erection, I plunged it into him hard from a position where I used the wall behind the bed to brace myself and the power of my thighs to throttle into him. His verbalized pleasure just got me more into the fuck. Slowly and steadily, I kept increasing the rhythm and force of each thrust.
"Ya like being my fuckin' whore?"
"Fuck me, please fuck me hard!"
"Jac that dick, boy I wanna see ya cum!"
Zeke was building right along with me. He was stroking his dick and moaning like a dicked bitch in heat. It all became surreal. I was pumping him, then I was floating. I heard him beg, then the sound faded. I felt the sweat drip down my body, then it seemed to just disappear. I was panting, then there seemed to be no air.
"Your gonna make me cum again. Oh, God, I'm gonna shoot! Harder!
Oh, fuck me harder!"
Zeke made a nice little cascade of jism into the air. I grabbed his dick to feel the hot juice. I rubbed it into his cock and smeared it around his stomach. The flood gates opened and I felt my body go into near seizure. I humped and bucked trying to get every last drop of my load out of me and into him. I must have astral projected to another space and time for a while. Somewhere in the middle of Zeke's pleading to be free from the cuffs, I drifted back.
Zeke was overflowing with questions, but I could not immediately cope. So, I shoved his head down to my crotch and ordered him to clean everything up. With great enthusiasm, he did just that.
Zeke's questions eventually got answered, but in subsequent training session with him I managed to prompt more. It got to a point that Zeke was in training about once a week. He never got comfortable enough to just ask, but I'd know when he needed it. He'd show up stoned and constantly call me "Sir" in conversation.
Over the four years that I lived in Rockwood, I had a lot of fun with Zeke, but I never thought of him as more than a "fuck buddy". I developed no more emotional attachment with him than I would with any of my friends, and that was wise.
Zeke's coping mechanisms were thoroughly taxed by his sexual needs and desires. Despite the fact that he admitted he didn't like sex with women as much and often had performance problems, Zeke determined he was bisexual. Zeke moved out of the apartment complex after a year or so. He moved to a nearby town, but he still showed up weekly, almost without fail, to be worked over thoroughly. Eventually, he confessed that he had married his girlfriend, the moaner. As casual as our arrangement was, I gave him the option of breaking it off permanently, but he firmly declined the offer. I was curious about how this would work for him. When I asked him about how he coped with the guilt of cheating on her, he explained he wasn't really cheating because he was having sex with a man. The marriage lasted a year. I lost track with Zeke during the third year for about six months. It turned out that he moved out west to live with a woman he went to high school with. While there, he made a couple of trips back just "to see his old friend". After nearly half a year though, he moved back to the area and back into our old routine. There were other men according to Zeke's own words, but, from what I gathered, it was only vanilla fucking and sucking. It always puzzled me why I was the only one Zeke claimed he could "really cut loose with".
If the phrase "excellent fuck buddy" ever made the encyclopedia, Zeke's picture should be there. The denial and pent up desire made him a great KINK fuck. The rougher you were on him meant the freer he became from his guilt and the more he could enjoy it.
I changed jobs and moved away in the early 1980s, and I have had no contact with Zeke in well over a decade. I wonder if he ever got things together, and I wonder who's "training" him now?
***** COPYRIGHT 1995 *****