Hi, friends and readers:
What do you think of this morning’s photo post? The young man’s sexy, of course. But what makes the photo, in my opinion, is the expression on his face. He looks distressed, doesn’t he? I wonder why? Maybe his boyfriend broke up with him?
I was on the road early this morning, taking care of medical matters relating to my upcoming arthroscopic knee surgery. I had a check-up, got blood drawn, got an EKG, too. Everything looks good, so I’ll get scoped at the end of the month.
This afternoon, I’ll visit the YMCA for a workout and lap-swimming. It’ll feel strange, going by myself, since my boyfriend’s been going with me for the past two weeks. I sure miss having him here. Living alone’s okay, I guess. But I prefer sharing a home with my boyfriend.
Okay, here’s the final installment of my story, Closet Case. I hope everyone’s enjoyed it. Remember, it comes with a caveat:
This story is not for the squeamish, nor for those under eighteen years of age. It contains graphic descriptions of a sexual encounter between two males. It also contains elements of BDSM. If this sort of material offends you, don’t read Closet Case.
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Okay, Ian, that’s enough. End this.
Exhaling, I removed the cock ring from Danny’s genitals. Then, stepping behind him, I released his cuffs from the crossbar, one at a time, opening the clips. His arms fell to his sides and he sank to his knees, into a puddle of his own piss. He looked up at me with his eyebrows arched and his forehead furrowed.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Letting you loose,” I said.
I pointed to his clothes. “Go ahead, get dressed and leave.”
A vertical crease appeared between his eyebrows, then he dropped his gaze and he did not move.
I said, “Hold up your hands and I’ll remove the cuffs.”
He did so and I took them off and then I placed them in the footlocker. When I turned back toward Danny, he still had not budged. He looked up at me and said, “I don’t understand.”
“We’re done here. Go home to your wife.”
He moistened his lips. “I don’t have a wife,” he said.
“I was lying. It’s a thing I do sometimes, when I’m in a strange town. I pretend to be someone I’m not.”
I sat on the bench and rubbed my face with my hands. Then I looked at Danny. “So, who are you, really?”
He blew air out his nose and shook his head. “Just another faggot—in this case a queer with a whipped ass.” He glanced over his shoulder and looked at his reflection in the mirrored wall. “You tore me up.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve got this thing about closeted guys; I was angry and—”
He held up a hand. “It’s okay, I deserved it.”
”Plus,” he said, looking at me and crinkling the corners of his eyes, “it was awfully sexy.”
I started at his remark. Then I chuckled and shook my head. I said, “Here I thought I was in control…”
He smiled. After raising a shoulder, he lowered it and looked away.
I said, “You want to clean yourself up?”
He rose to his feet. “Maybe later. Right now I was hoping we’d, you know…”
“Finish what we started.”
Go ahead, Ian. After the thrashing he took, he’s earned it.
I took him on his back, on the bed, my hips slapping his whipped buttocks each time I thrust. His hole was tight; it flexed against the shaft of my cock and felt delicious. Danny allowed me to kiss him now. He sucked my tongue while we fucked, while I pinched his tortured nipples and ran my hands over the welts on his thighs and ass. When I came inside him he shot his load right away, scattering sticky pearls across his chest and belly.
“That was nice,” he whispered.
Thirty minutes later, after a shower, he was gone. I never even found out his real name.
But here’s the funny part: after he left in his pickup truck I stood on my front porch, watching his taillights fade, and, I swear, I felt as though a weight had lifted from my shoulders. For the first time in a year, I didn’t feel bad about getting dumped by Kenneth. In fact, I was glad he wasn’t in my life any longer, the creep.
I went back inside and found a bucket and a mop and a bottle of sudsy ammonia, then I cleaned up the puddle of piss my guest had left me. He’d offered to do it himself, of course, but I told him no, I’d take care of things.
It was the least I could do to thank him.
Copyright Martin Delacroix 2010
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Okay, folks: that’s it. You have the whole story. Feel free to share it with your friends, and feel free to send me comments.
I didn’t have a chance to write this morning, so I’ll try to get some things done this afternoon, when I get home from the YMCA. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing this evening. But, wherever you are, I hope you’re having a good Friday.