Hi, friends and readers:
I’m not all that crazy about posed, studio photos, but I think the one I’ve posted here this morning is pretty hot. What do you think? Would you like to wake up next to him in the morning?
Speaking of waking up, I managed to drag my boyfriend out of bed at 7 AM this morning (no easy feat) to take a walk on the beach, followed by a swim in the Gulf. It was beautiful down there — lots of fluffy clouds the sun tinted pink and green and gold. Lots of seabirds and little waves rolling in. This island beautiful at the hour of sunrise.
I have a busy day ahead of me. I’m doing first-round edits on my book, Convict Ass. This afternoon, we’ll visit the YMCA for a workout and lap-swimming. Then tonight, we’re going out for a special dinner, since my boyfriend leaves for Minnesota tomorrow afternoon. (Sniffle …)
I’m getting plenty of comments about the first two installments of Closet Case. One person said, “You should be more sympathetic toward men who are afraid to ‘come out.’ It’s not as easy as you might think. The closet offers protection from job loss, loss of friends, and alienation of family.:
Well . . . .
First of all, Closet Case is fiction. I’m not Ian; that’s his voice you’re hearing, not mine. Secondly, I don’t think living in the closet is the answer for any gay man. I came out when I was in law school, way back in the 1970s. It was the best thing I ever did for myself. Listen, if someone’s going to fire you from a job, or end your friendship with them, because you are gay, you are better off without them in your life. Same with family: if they love you and value you, your sexuality should not be an issue. That’s Martin’s view, anyway.
Okay, here’s the third installment of Closet Case. As always, 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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“It’s okay. Go on.”
His cock was rigid as a broomstick. He kept shifting his weight as he spoke—it was almost like we were slow dancing. “She spanks my ass. She pinches my nuts and my cock, my nipples too.”
“And you like that?”
Go ahead, ask him.
I said, “Do you feel like doing that now?”
He didn’t answer.
I placed a hand at the small of his back, hooking a thumb inside the waistband of his jeans. “Giving up control can be sexy. You have to trust is all.”
Danny didn’t respond. He kept rocking, hips pressed against mine.
I said, “Surrendering your freedom is a first step.”
He froze, then. Lifting his chin from my shoulder, he took a step backward, looking at me with his forehead crinkled. “You want to tie me up?”
I shrugged. “Something like that.”
He rubbed the tip of his nose and stared at the floor. “I don’t know…”
I went to the footlocker and produced a pair of leather cuffs, the adjustable kind, fitted with spring-loaded clips. Handing one to Danny, I pointed to the metal frame. “I can hook you up and we’ll have some fun.”
Danny studied the frame, the mirrored wall, then the cuff, his jaw working from side to side. His erection was visible in his pants, jutting down one leg. He raised his chin and his gaze met mine. “You mentioned trust…”
“We hardly know each other. How do I know you’re not some sort of freak?”
“You know where I live; you saw the truck I drive. I’m a working stiff, yeah, but I’m not a drifter or an ex-con.” I looked into Danny’s face. “You’re safe with me.”
He swallowed, keeping his gaze level with mine. “If I say quit something, you’ve got to stop. Understand?”
“I’m not bullshitting.”
“Neither am I.” I’m such a liar.
Danny moistened his lips, staring at the cuff in his hand. Then he raised his chin and looked at me.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
I brought him bottled water and he drank a pint or so. At my request, he removed his shoes and socks. I sat on the padded bench and he stood before me, his chest rising and falling while I slipped the cuffs onto his wrists, adjusting the buckles till they fit tight. The black leather looked sexy on Danny, contrasting with his fair skin.
I took him by his forearm and led him to the frame. The spotlights on the ceiling cast intense beams, made his eyes sparkle. Standing between the frame’s vertical bars, he faced the mirrored wall, hands raised above his head, displaying sandy-colored hair in his armpits. I adjusted the crossbar, locking it into place at a height just under nine feet. Danny kept his gaze on the mirror before him, flexing his toes while I clipped each cuff to the bar, immobilizing him. His arms were fully extended and his hands were spread apart so they hung directly above his shoulders. He stood flat-footed, but barely, as I hadn’t left him much play. He could twist at the waist or hop up and down, but that was all.
From the closet I produced a digital movie camera and a tripod and as soon as Danny saw them he protested. “I didn’t agree to filming.”
I shrugged and set things up, focusing the lens on Danny. I stood on a chair and adjusted the ceiling fixtures so he was properly lit.
He said, “Did you hear me? Don’t turn that thing on.”
I ignored his remark and did exactly that. Then I stepped behind him, pressing my hips to his buttocks, wrapping my arms about his waist and squeezing. In the mirror, my face was visible over his shoulder and I rubbed his cheek with my stubble. I said, “You look good strung up.”
His chest rose and fell and his breath whistled in his nose. He said, “I don’t like this; turn me loose.”
I slapped the back of his head, making him flinch. I said, “You’re staying put, my friend.”
That shut him up.
I popped open the button at the waistband of his jeans, my thumb knuckle digging into his belly. I asked, “Has a man ever stripped you?”
He shook his head, wrenching his lips.
I lowered his zipper and parted his pant flaps, exposing charcoal-colored briefs. “It’s a bit freaky the first time, losing your britches to a guy you barely know.”
My cock had stiffened; it pressed against his behind and his buttocks clenched. I backed up a step and shucked his jeans down to his ankles. His thighs were smooth, his calves freckled and dusted with hair the same color as that in his armpits. I told him to step out of his pants and he did, but it took some effort—several kicks, in fact—before they finally came off. It was like his body didn’t want to surrender them.
Again, I pressed my hips to his buttocks and rested my chin on his shoulder. I wrapped my arms about his chest and squeezed, forcing air from his lungs. His cock was rigid and thick as a cucumber. It throbbed against the flimsy fabric of his briefs.
I slipped my index finger inside the waistband. “Let’s get rid of these.”
He drew a breath, shifting his weight and staring at his reflection while sweat trickled from his armpits.
I snatched the undershorts to midthigh, exposing his genitals. His cock bobbed before him and his testicles dangled in their shaved sac. His pubic hair was trimmed to a small patch, and just behind his cockhead, on the underside of the shaft, a gold post glistened. Teasing it with a fingernail, I said, “What’s this?”
“My wife’s idea. She likes the way it feels inside her.”
“Did it hurt when they installed it?”
“But you did as she asked?”
“I did as I was told.”
I chuckled. Good answer.
Copyright Martin Delacroix 2010
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Well, friends and readers, do you like the direction Closet Case is going? Is it getting you excited? Do you like Ian and Danny? There’s more to come tomorrow, so be sure to stop by. In the meantime, enjoy your Wednesday.