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Even The First - PART TWENTYTHREE
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Even The First - PART TWENTYTHREE
Later on we went to bed and I fell asleep with his arms around me. We fucked in the middle of the night. In the morning, when I woke, he had already left. I don't know why I overslept.
Perhaps I was tired.
I didn't want to spend another day alone, aimlessly creeping around his flat, so I found his spare keys and went out.
It was a wet day. Mist in the trees made me feel more isolated. When I got to the edge of the estate I turned into town and found a library. I knew it would be warm inside. From behind his desk, a librarian, a short, skinny guy with a shaven head, looked at me with a bewildered stare as I wandered in. There was a soft chair next to a radiator, directly opposite his desk; I flopped into it, spreading my legs comfortably and smoothing my hands over the soft fabric upholstery. The librarian busied himself but continually looked at me so that, occasionally, we caught each other's eye. I picked up a paper; it was about three days old but I never took an interest in the news so it was all strange, and as irrelevant as it was fascinating. I became quite absorbed in an article about China. I had no idea what had been going on. Apparently China was doing well.
When I looked up again, I noticed that the librarian had been joined by another, a stocky short-haired woman who also kept looking at me.
I noticed them exchanging meaningful glances.
My paranoia increasing, I got up and started walking through the bookcases; the tall channels between them felt more private. I touched the spines of the books, reading the titles to distract me from my feelings of insecurity, but they were meaningless and uninteresting. Nevertheless, I gradually drifted into a dreamscape populated by their strange characters and situations.
I picked out one book: The cover had a picture of a well-developed guy in a tight short-sleeved khaki shirt. He was reclining on his backpack. Some way behind him a light aeroplane waited on a makeshift airstrip. The scene was evidently set in a desert. The blurb described an adventurer who operated in a semi-military role flying into and out of various dodgy regimes in North Africa. He shipped weapons and drugs, trafficked people and did anything else he could to earn a living. He was always looking for the big break that would pay him handsomely and allow him to retire, or at least go legit. Then one day he thought he'd found it. That's when the trouble starts. That's the opening.
I liked the sound of it - and the sexy picture of the guy on the cover. I opened it and started reading the first page.
I can't remember the last time I read a book ... Hold on! Yes I can: It was Paul's book "Foundations of Enslavement". That was the only book I'd looked at in years, and I wish ... well what's to wish? If I hadn't found it and read it I probably never would have realised what ... a fuck-up my life had become. I'd never have started thinking about it all. Or would I? Who can tell what would have been different, but at least reading it meant that when Nigel told me how my future was going to be, I was understood I needed to make a change. So when I met Vince I was ready to make that change. I think. Or was I kidding myself? Was this just an interlude in a life of continuous slavery? Was it more than I could hope for? Was it more than I was good for?
I guess my mind had drifted! I'd been reading the same page over and over, when I realised the bald-headed librarian was standing right next to me and staring at me.
His face was serious. One hand was forced into the left hip pocket of his tight black jeans. The other hand was tucked under the armpit of his tight black t-shirt. His arm folded across his chest, displaying a small firm white bicep, covered a pair of evidently hard worked disco pecs. He was wearing a pair of shiny black lace-up boots that he planted about a foot apart on the parquet floor.
"Can I help you?" he said, though his eyes drifted as he spoke, looking me over.
I didn't immediately respond.
"Aren't you cold?" he said. I shook my head. "Only, you aren't wearing much."
So that's it: It was the way I was dressed - which I was now conscious of for the first time: I was wearing the same clothes I'd been wearing when Vince picked me up in the cruising ground. They were ok, but tight, and made of a very thin, ribbed, silvery-grey nylon. A sharp deep crease marked the line of my arsecrack, and the cling to my large muscular buttocks made them completely visible like I wasn't wearing anything over them. In front, where the librarian was now staring, my gear pressed into a triangular pouch that showed up precisely what I was packing. Naturally I was commando. The shirt was no more ambiguous, clearly allowing my nipples to point out; the rise-and-fall undulations of my development showed though completely undisguised. As he dragged his eyes up this is what the librarian was now staring at, focusing on my pectorals like a cat watching a piece of wool.
He swallowed. "Are you looking for a book?" he asked stupidly, totally not meeting my eyes. "Nothing in particular." "D'you want to borrow that book?" "I'm ... not sure." "Cs if you need any help ... Aren't you cold?" "I'm fine. Thanks." I said. He laughed, still not making eye contact. "Oh. Ok. Well, I'll just leave you to it. If you need any help ..." "Thanks." Actually, I really wanted to read my book. I was interested in it, but now the librarian had planted the idea that I couldn't finish it in one sitting. "Perhaps I would like to get it out," I said. The guy blurted a laugh, glancing again at my crotch. "Ok!" Then he looked me in the face. I could see in his eyes a kind of sexual greed I recognised from all the men who had ever used me. "Come to the desk, and I'll set you up." "Yeah I will," I replied. "I'm not quite ready yet." "No. Do it now," he said, firmly. "Christ, no," I thought, "not another one," but I closed my book nevertheless and followed him obediently back to the desk. I knew he wanted it.
"What you need to do," he started, but he was interrupted by his female librarian colleague with the short hair, who said, "Do you have a library card, Sir?" That sounded strange. I didn't know how to reply. "Sir?" she continued, but the first librarian stopped her. "It's ok Sheila." "He needs to be a member," she continued. "I'll make sure he is." He looked at me and said, "Are you a member?"
He knew I understood.
"Yes," I said, automatically. "Yes." He repeated. "See, Sheila, it's ok." "Where's his card?" said Sheila. "Did you forget your card?" He asked. "Yes." I said. "You'll need your card, Sir," said Sheila. "Or ..." interrupted the guy, "I can look it up on the system." Sheila looked exasperated. "Ok. Look it up," she said, and with that she walked away.
He slid his mouse about, clicking, and then positioned his fingers over the keyboard. "Name," he said, but he didn't look at me, he just started typing, "Paul," he said, and then Paul's surname. Then he looked up, fixed me with a stare and said, "That's right isn't it?"
I didn't answer.
"He's been looking for you," he said, "and Nigel's been frantic."
I didn't answer.
"You don't know me do you?" "No," I said. "No Sir! you mean." "Sorry Sir. No Sir." "You've gone awol, haven't you boy?" My heart was beating. "Yes, Sir." "Paul's been looking for you."
He was staring at me.
Then he lifted his eyes and looked over my shoulder, then he looked back at me. "I phoned him earlier," he said - at which a voice behind my back quietly said, "Right, let's get back."
I turned. It was Paul, standing directly behind me.
Paul looked at the librarian and said, "Thanks Kevin. I owe you one." "No problem," said Kevin, the librarian, "glad to help."
Paul looked at me. "Right. Move." I was still holding my book. Paul took it from me, looked at the cover and smirked. "Thought you'd fly the nest?" He put it on the counter.
I was about to leave. My heart was in my throat.
"You're dressed like a slut," said Paul in my ear, pushing me towards the door. "You're not fit to be seen out. Look at youself, skin-tight, dressed like a sex worker."
I turned and stopped him. "That's what I am!" I said. "That's what you made me!"
Paul turned red. "Right! That's enough! We're going back and I'm going to give you the punishment of your fucking life. Who the fuck do you think are? I don't keep you to make an exhibition of yourself. And where the fuck've you been? Hey? Right, you're going to give me a full explanation and then I'm going to make sure you never forget it. Right?"
That was when that other librarian, Sheila, had her say. "You can't behave like that," she said from her desk. "Disgusting. You two need to leave."
Kevin laughed.
Paul poked me with the book before dropping it onto the counter. "Won't be needing this."
I left. Paul was right behind me. I heard Kevin say, "See ya, Paul." "I owe you," Paul repeated. "Pop by when your finished here, right?" "Yeah? Wow, you bet! Can't wait!" "Right."
It was quite a way from the library to Paul's house. We didn't speak the whole time. I walked ahead. I could feel Paul's eyes on me. I could feel him inspecting the back of my head, my neck, the sorry slope of my shoulders, the long decent of my spine to my behind and the twist of my buttocks rubbing the arsecrack of material between themselves as I walked. I knew he was planning his punishment for every part of me. I had crossed a line; I knew it and I knew he'd make sure I suffered for it. I knew he'd have nothing but pain and humiliation in store for me, and my whole body started to shake at the prospect of it. Even my teeth started chattering - not because of the cold but because of the sheer panic in my soul at what I was about to have to endure for Paul to regain his satisfaction and sense of unquestioned ownership and revenge.
Aware also of my appearance, my candidly sexualised physique and the tight clothes that emphasised it, I looked down on the pavement in shame. I literally hung my head like it was a weight I could not bear. Each step belittled me further, grinding into me the fact of my pathetic status. Jesus, I thought I had escaped all that when I met Vince. "Vince!" I found myself praying to him like he was Jesus. "Vince, if you can hear this, please save me. Please come to my rescue. Please save me. Please come to my rescue. Please. Save me."
It was no use. Vince was not god. He wasn't even aware of what was happening. I'd have to endure what was coming and accept it until it was over, when ever that was, even if it took the rest of my life.
I would endure.
I lifted my head, and became aware of the bright sky - bright despite the fact that it was clouded.
"Right keep your eyes on the road!" Paul ordered, immediately spotting my change of posture. "What do you say?"
"Sorry Sir."
"Right that! Say it again!"
"I'm sorry Sir! I'm sorry Sir!"
"Right. You have no idea how sorry."
We turned into his street and came at last to his door. The glow of light from within terrified me with its warmth.
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END OF Even The First - PART TWENTYTHREE