Jason
By berlindad
1
To be honest, he could not make head or tail of the art in front of him. He had dutifully started by studying each piece diligently, a glass of cheap white wine in his hand. But he could not find a way in to this world of abstraction, of blobs and swirls. There seemed to be no technique, no controlling hand, just a series of arbitrary daubs and random slashes of colour. And soon boredom had set in and within twenty minutes his eyes were glazing over... and still Dan had not appeared.
This was the idea - to meet Dan at the exhibition, to get tanked up on free wine, and then to go for dinner, as cheaply as possible. And then... Jason's mouth turned dry at the thought of what he hoped might happen. Because he had a crush on Dan, he fancied his best friend and when he felt good about it, he felt that maybe, just maybe, Dan felt the same way about him. When he did not feel so optimistic it was due to the 'fact' that Dan went on and on about some girl he fancied, or would elbow Jason and make a remark about some girl's knockers.
And yet... there were times when they had both been drinking and Dan would throw an arm around Jason's shoulders and look him in the eye and tell him that no man ever, EVER, had a better friend... then Jason felt that this was more than friendship and that maybe all the things he dreamed of doing with Dan, could just conceivably come true. And though Dan was handsome and was the object of many girls' lusts, he had not ever had a girlfriend in the eight months or so that Jason had known him.
Jason often looked at himself in the mirror and wondered if Dan could possibly be attracted to him. Yet Jason was undeniably good looking, his face having a strong bone structure, with deep brown eyes set, and thick brown hair, kept short and controlled; but sometimes he thought that maybe, just maybe, he should style it somehow differently - he did not know how - just... less conventionally. It was like a yearning for an alternative being - to be transformed, to be someone different. His soul seemed full of vague, ill-defined yearnings, desires that were not, had not been fulfilled; all this adding up to a diffidence which was quite at odds with the powers of his physical attractiveness. It was a strong, even face on top of a good athletic body... he certainly had nothing to be ashamed of in his appearance. Yet he felt as if he did not measure up to Dan's standards, somehow. Dan was dark with unruly black hair, coal-black eyes so that Jason felt almost blond beside him, an angel to Dan's Satan, an innocent desiring corruption. It was this Prince of darkness look about Dan that most excited him, though he would not admit to himself the reasons why he was attracted to this sense of casual cruelty that Dan evinced.
He looked around the room, no longer interested in making an effort to understand the art. No one else seemed to be having trouble with it. Everyone seemed to be coupled or in a group of friends, all energetically debating the work, pointing out details that eluded him. Only he was alone in this gathering. Where the fuck was Dan? His eyes swept the room. Wait a minute; he was not the only person on his own. A middle-aged man was perched against the side of the drinks table. He was dressed in a very well cut suit, immaculately turned out; a crisp white shirt, cufflinks, an obviously expensive silk tie. And he was striking in a way, even good-looking - not so very tall but somehow with a commanding presence. What was it that made him stand out? The carefully though casually groomed white hair above a face that was somehow too young for it? The cut of the suit, obviously expensive? The highly polished black leather shoes? Certainly the way he was dressed made Jason seem scruffy even though he had made an effort to blend in with a sophisticated set of people. But they were not sophisticated at all and most - even those men who were wearing suits - looked uncomfortable in them. But this solitary man looked like he was at ease in the suit, that preparing for this event had been no effort for him, was something that came naturally to him.
But no, it was not just his evident ease with what he wore, or the society he found himself in, it was more than that. The thing that made him stand out from all the others was something eccentric and to Jason's eyes, something so outrageously different that his heart jumped when he saw it. The man was wearing tight black leather gloves. Indoors. On a mild spring evening. Tight black leather gloves, with a suit. Who dressed like that? A chauffeur, perhaps. But this was not a man in service - this was a man in command, of himself and of anyone with whom he came into contact. It was no more than a detail but Jason felt instantly that this was a man who did as he pleased and not as the world expected of him.
There were other examples of eccentric dress around him - a Goth couple, so self-consciously turned out, a few tuxedos among the men. No one paid a blind bit of attention to this man - except Jason. He was staring across the room at him, transfixed, his mouth hanging open when he became aware that the man was looking at him with a cool, ironic gaze. And Jason saw the other thing that made this man stand out - his eyes. Deep set, blue eyes that challenged and mocked and hypnotised all at the same time.
Embarrassed, Jason looked away - as if the man had seen inside him and seen the stirrings of lust, which Jason was so keen to repress. He turned back to a picture and examined it. But he felt as if the eyes were boring into his back - and, daring himself, to turn around, he saw that indeed he was still being watched, quizzically, and with a certain amusement.
Jason's heart was thumping. Where was Dan? He was now thirty-five minutes late. Again his eyes swept the room, willing Dan to be there so that he could just go, get out of here, away from that gaze which pierced him. Still no sign of him. But Jason could wait no longer, he had to get away. His pulse was racing, the wine had gone to his head and he felt himself flushing red. He turned and moved to a table, setting down the half empty wine glass. Turning again, he stumbled, bumping into a woman. He spun round and dropped the catalogue he had been carrying. He stopped to pick it up and bumped into an elderly man who glared at him. Spinning round to apologise he found himself directly in front of the gloved man who caught hold of him and just said, 'Steady on!'
The hands that held him were strong in their grip. He felt as if he were being arrested. Those eyes were fixed on him, holding him, imprisoning him. They were friendly - but Jason sensed that they could also be cold if this man wanted them to be so. He was caught like a rabbit in a headlight's glare.
'Let me get you another drink, ' said the man and released his hold on him. Jason's first thought was to make a bolt for the door but... he could not. It was if he had been mesmerised by this man. Instead he found himself accepting the wine and glugging it quickly to wet his mouth for he felt that he was incapable of speaking.
He searched desperately for something commonplace to say, something banal but intelligent about the exhibition but nothing would come. So he drank again, shifting from foot to foot with embarrassment. Then the man took the glass out of his hand, set it down on the table, grabbed Jason by the elbow and almost marched him to the door.
Jason wanted to resist, wanted to push the man away but instead he found himself being frogmarched to the door and out into the street. People stared but parted to let them through. Jason felt that it must look as if he was a criminal, caught fingering the family jewels. Outside, there was a very expensive looking cabriolet parked at the kerb. The man opened the passenger seat in the front and said, 'Get in.'
It was not brusque - but it sounded like an order for all that.
And Jason found himself obeying. Obeying even though a rational part of his brain was telling him to stop, to run away, to get out of such a dangerous and mad situation.
But he could not. He felt that he was in this man's power. He fastened his seat belt as the man went round to the driver's seat and got in. And then, just after he had started the engine, he reached to release the handbrake - and his gloved hand lightly brushed the inside of Jason's thigh.
There was no mistaking this for a casual or accidental touch - it was meant, it was erotic, it suggested sex and the fulfilment of desire. And Jason, for all that his heart was in his mouth and for all that he felt terrified, responded instinctively. His cock hardened. The man saw it, rested a gloved hand on it that made it harden more, looked at Jason and said, 'I think we shall get on very well' - and the car shot off.
2
'I am being kidnapped,' thought Jason.
He should have felt panic but he did not. He felt strangely calm, as if there was an inevitability and rightness about what was happening to him.
'I have no idea where I am going, I have no idea who this man is, I should be terrified.'
And in a way he was terrified - but excitement and sheer lust was taking him over, blotting out all rational thinking. He was discovering himself. He was running on adrenaline. And he was totally turned on. So many ideas and notions and fantasies he had repressed for so many years were now taking place. They were actually happening.
From time to time, he looked almost wildly around him, as if looking for escape - but then the gloved hand would rest on his leg, firmly pressing him. He felt as if he were being pressed into place, pressed into acceptance. He felt wholly powerless to resist. And with that thought a new sense of peace came over him. He could not resist, but he did not need to resist. Decisions were being made for him, he no longer had control; all he had to do was go along with what this man wanted. He had to obey. Somehow, obscurely, he felt that if he just went along with everything, if he just did exactly what this man wanted, then he would be safe.
The journey became a dream. He could not have said how long it took. Had the car stopped and he had been thrown out, he could not have said in what direction he had come, what areas of the city they had passed through. None of this reality was real to him. And now the car was pulling up outside a large, tall terraced house, and he was getting out and following the man up the steps to a Georgian front door, being ushered inside, into a long dark hall; he heard the door close behind him, heard a bolt being shot home, as he stood there uncertainly, trying to adjust to the darkness. And he sensed the man coming up behind and felt his nearness and then a gloved hand was over his mouth as he felt his head being pulled back onto the man's shoulder.
And he did not panic. Or fight. Or try to pull free. His head came back in a slow, steady, relaxed way as if what was happening to him was the most natural thing in the world. The gloved hand covered his mouth; it was held firmly; there was no way he could break free from the strength of this hold; but he did not want to. The soft but tough touch of the leather, the potent smell of the leather acted on him. Tentatively he forced his tongue through his slightly parted lips. He wanted to taste the leather in addition to feeling it and smelling it. And this made him completely hard, his cock bulging against his suit trousers, tenting them as the man's other hand slipped round to feel it and grasp it and hold him there with as much casual power as the hand over his mouth.
His body folded into this position of helplessness and powerlessness. He felt the man's cock pressed against his buttocks and his hands moved to caress the suited body that held him. But as he did so, as if any gesture from him was a sign of independent thinking, the man broke the static nature of the scene by turning him around to face him. A gloved hand grasped him by the chin and held him in his gaze. Jason was forced to look at him - but in this darkness he could not see the expression on the man's face. Was there cruelty there? Or lust? Or, even possibly, love?
Jason knew instinctively what he must do, what he had to do to please this man; and at this moment he wanted so much, more than anything in the world, to please the man. And so his face moved towards this stranger, his tongue tentatively parted his lips and moved slowly towards the man's face. Delicately, he tongued the lips of the man, savouring their shape, their feel, their taste. There was no response - except, did the man's lips part just a little? Jason's tongue dived for that tiny space, that opening and the lips parted to let him in. A kiss, a passionate kiss, such as Jason had longed to experience with Dan.
The man relaxed his hold on him and drew himself up. There was a strange stillness, as if each was watching the other. In a sudden movement of total surrender Jason kissed him again but with more fervour and a fierce concentration, his whole being focussed on this act of devotion and emotional engagement. The response from the stranger was equally strong. Again, time stood still, even disappeared in the intensity of this moment.
An arm went round his shoulders, the other arm crossing his waist as he was gently led upstairs. In a dream-like state he mounted the stairs, still not seeing the face but knowing that the eyes were fixed on him, on his slightest response.
To a bedroom. An undressing, both of them, sliding between cool sheets, all happening so slowly, so intensely, so beautifully as if choreographed; the bodies coming together, hands exploring, touching, caressing; tongues moving and sliding and kissing and coinciding.
Jason felt the man lubing his ass and pushing one finger, two, three up his ass but so gently as he expanded it He was fully relaxed and was not now going to fall at the final hurdle but rise to meet it and soar over it, with joy and ecstasy which is all he felt - the physical feelings now metamorphosed into a spiritual feeling of being taken, of giving himself, of surrendering totally as this man entered him and fucked him, slowly, gently, forcefully, wildly, to the point where he could no longer distinguish between feelings and emotions other than the knowledge that the stranger was making them one, him and the man, until he did not know who was the man and who was Jason.