Disclaimers: This work is a work of fiction and is my property.
The story and characters are fictitious and any resemblance to anyone or any actual event is coincidental. There are three distinctly different main characters that will appear as the story progresses.
You should be legally allowed to read this type of material before continuing.
As it is based on an actual book, I had published a few years ago -- free for your enjoyment -- the story will not contain explicit material in all the chapters BUT don't fret, as it is more the exception than the rule.
Note that in one chapter to come, there will be a sexually violent scenario. If this will trigger any trauma for you, please be aware of it before you start reading.
Please direct any comments or feedback to my email address at davidrolsynauthor2019@gmail.com.
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CHAPTER NINE
Stephen Jordan
I came another three times after that first session and I was in pain all over. At least they started using condoms on me after I pleaded with the bald guy that I didn't want to catch AIDS. He assured me that the guys were all clean, that it was a requirement of the club that everyone be tested and healthy. Since I was obviously a virgin, they didn't worry about catching anything from me. Everyone was asked to comply to these rules.
I eventually started developing a splitting headache. My balls and butt ached, and my penis felt like it was on fire. My wrists and ankles were in agony.
Someone finally came up to me and placed that same rag from earlier over my mouth and nose. I blacked out.
When I woke up this morning, I was back in my apartment, neatly tucked into my bed, with the residue of some sort of cream on my penis, butt, wrists, and ankles. I think it was meant to help me heal after all the chafing and tearing. A tub of the ointment sat on my bedside table. They must have left it there for me. I'm still confused by all that had happened. The fact that I enjoyed most of it, is now as clear as day to me. This experience stands in complete opposition to the morality with which I was raised. Shame and guilt engulfs me, as it dawns on me what my family would think if they ever knew what I had done.
They can never find out.
I look at the clock on the nightstand. It's 9:51a.m. It's time to get ready and go to work. Getting up, I groan. My muscles are killing me and the chafe marks on my limbs are clearly visible. I also notice teeth marks near my nipples, and I'm sure my back is full of scratches. Fortunately, my uniform will cover it all.
I arrive just in time at the restaurant to unlock and let the staff in. They're still their usual offish selves with me but I ignore them. It doesn't matter anymore.
I had sent a text to Mike and Georgia asking them to come see me today and they replied that it would be after the lunch service. Lunch turns out to be busy and eventually they walk in. They beckon me to join them at one of the tables and I sit down.
"So, you wanted to speak to us. Is everything ok? Georgia asks while nibbling on the back of a pen.
"I've decided to go back home." I say out right.
"What! Why?" Mike looks at me intently.
It's obvious they're both surprised and Georgia has put the pen down.
"I have had an eventful week and let's just say that I'm being stalked and harassed and don't feel safe living here anymore. Samantha can take my place."
"Surely the Police can help you with this?" Georgia asks.
"No! I don't want them involved." I shake my head and look down.
They don't push me further for any details and just sit there staring at me.
"Are you sure, Stephen?" Mike asks.
I look up with fake confidence. "Yes. I need to go back home. I have to reassess my future and spend some time with my family. I know I can do that anywhere, even in the city. I mean, I guess they can come visit me in the city too, but I just don't feel like I'm going to ever feel safe here. I also need to work out some personal stuff on my own."
"Well, if you've made up your mind, there's nothing we can do to change it. We can only wish you the best and thank you for at least giving us a month's notice. Do you honestly think Samantha will be ok with replacing you?"
"Yes. She's been here like forever and has worked with two different managers over time. In fact, we actually rely on her more than any of us realize. I think you should give her a chance. I'll work a month's notice of course."
Mike nods. "Ok. Done. We'll inform her and take it from there. We just ask that you don't tell the staff yet, not until everything's finalized.
"Will do and thanks again for giving me the opportunity."
They mention a few more things about the restaurant and leave. I walk back to my office and along the way, ask a runner to clear the cups and glasses from our table. The servers look at me nervously.
The day goes by quickly and eventually I lock up and head back to my apartment.
I strip and hurry to the bathroom to add more of that salve my kidnappers kindly left for me. My penis is still burning and every now and then at work today, I winced whenever it rubbed against my trousers.
I go to the kitchen and only now spot the big bunch of flowers lying on the counter. They are lilac roses with delicate green leaves. There must be about twenty roses in all. There's a note attached with a piece of string.
Who brought them in here?
It says: "Thanks for a great night, cupcake. You were phenomenal, and we all agree that you would make an excellent addition to our club. If you're interested, give me a call." It's simply signed "G," with a phone number.
They are definitely a cocky bunch. Who is to say I won't simply go and report them to the cops? Maybe they know I won't because of my own embarrassment and my fear of anyone finding out what happened. As I remember the details of the previous night, my penis begins to harden.
"Oh, no you don't!" I tell myself and start thinking of what to make for dinner and making lists in my head to prepare for the imminent move.
The next day, I go and see the superintendent and he's not too thrilled about me leaving. He tries telling me that my lease requires three months' notice but I correct him. My dad signed the lease after getting our family lawyer to look it over, so I know he's grasping at straws. Probably too lazy to look for a new tenant.
It's unsettling that he's looking at me differently than he did before. There is a slight smirk on his face, as if he knows something... Is he the one who allowed G to enter my apartment? I am gripped by paranoia.
Time seems to move slowly these days and every day it becomes harder to drag myself to work, finish my shift and then get back home to organise my stuff for the move. Samantha was thrilled when she heard about her promotion and about two weeks before I was to leave, Mike and Georgia addressed and informed the staff. They were jubilant, to say the least.
I was still having serious issues about what happened that fateful Saturday and wanted to pray for forgiveness, but felt too embarrassed and devastated to even attempt to speak with the Lord. I'm sure there's no redemption for what happened, especially because I enjoyed it so much. For the first time in my life, I'm depressed as hell, which makes just getting up and doing anything a huge effort.
Today is Monday, the day of my departure, and I'm sitting at the airport, waiting to board. I never phoned G and also didn't hear from them again. They probably found someone else for their enjoyment after having had their way with me. My penis goes stiff again.
This nonsense has to stop. I'm not gay!
I keep waiting for the announcement to board, but nothing happens. Eventually I'm told that the flight's been cancelled due to bad weather back home and to speak to the staff at Information to book a new flight for tomorrow.
Heck! What am I going to do now? I'll have to check into a motel close by, because I've got nowhere else to go.
I get my luggage back from Baggage Claim and also my new booking details at the help desk--it's for 8:45 a.m. tomorrow morning.
Well, better get a cab and go look for somewhere to stay. This is such an inconvenience and I feel vulnerable.
"Stop being a sissy-boy!" I scold myself.
The cab drops me at a motel just outside the airport. Next door's a liquor store and on the other side an old-fashioned 1950's diner.
After entering my room, I discover that the TV isn't working. Oh bummer!
When I try and open my suitcase, the combination on the lock doesn't work, it won't budge! After numerous attempts to open it and inspecting the luggage tag, I discover it's not even mine! For crying out loud!!
I'm really irritated, but also relieved that I still have my carry-on with my personal things, some cold and flu meds and electronic devices.
I lie down to get some shut-eye so that I can get up early tomorrow morning, but I can't take my mind off what happened to me over the last two weeks. I'm starting to relive that Saturday night. My penis stirs and stiffens for the umpteenth time and my stomach cramps from shame and regret.
Why did it happen to me? I wasn't looking for trouble. It's like God or the devil is playing some sick joke on me. I can't believe that someone like me, who always follows the rules and behaves appropriately, should be exposed to this kind of nonsense. Yes, I admit my body liked it, but it doesn't necessarily mean that I wanted it! I didn't and don't want it. It's revolting to even contemplate! I can't allow myself to think about it! I just wish my penis would accept that fact, too.
A voice in my head tells me to pull myself together, but I ignore it. How can I? Tomorrow I must face my family, knowing that I'm a sick, repulsive freak.
I need alcohol! All the people I know who drink always say that alcohol makes you forget, even if it's only for a short while. And that's what I need now! I can deal with the emotions and bull tomorrow. It will hopefully make me sleepy.
I get up and make my way to the liquor store.
I've got no idea what I'm looking for exactly and I walk up to the guy behind the register.
"Pardon me, sir, I need to get something to drink. What do you recommend?"
He glares at me. "Take a look around, pal, I got no idea what you like."
He goes back to reading his comic. In his mid-thirties, he should be too old for comics. At about five foot seven, with a pot belly and full beard, he doesn't look the type.
Idiot!
I walk between the isles and eventually find some whiskey. My grandfather likes to drink whiskey now and then. He says it's good for his heart. My mom says it's just an excuse because his flesh is weak. I take a bottle of Jack Daniel's, the only brand I've heard of before.
Inside my room, I open it and take a large swig straight from the bottle. I immediately start coughing and snorting, spitting out the whiskey! What a horrible and excruciating burn inside my mouth and throat.
Why on earth do people like this crap?
Very quickly though, I start to get dizzy and my tummy feels warm. I take another swig. Somehow it doesn't taste as bad this time round.
The last thing I remember is being about halfway through the bottle before coming around again.
My head hurts. It pounds and I can barely breathe. Every time I inhale, sharp pains stab in my brain from all sides.
I groan.
"Oh. Hello there, buddy."
I open my eyes and the sunlight pierces my corneas. I quickly shut them again.
Groaning loudly, I hold my right arm in front of my eyes.
"Oh sorry. Let me close the drapes," the voice says.
Through thin slits, I see the room is darkening and I risk opening my eyes again.
Who is this? "Who are you? Where am I? What time is it?"
"Hold on, buddy. One question at a time."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Rex."
"Where am I?"
"You're in a motel room." He says the name of the place, and I vaguely remember checking in.
"What time is it?"
"It's around 1:30 p.m."
I sit up too fast and my head wants to explode. I groan louder.
"Take it easy, man! You obviously don't drink often or...do you?"
"No. I'm, I'm late for my flight." I try to get up slowly but my head's a deadweight and still pounding. This is agony and I wince.
"Here, take this." He hands me some effervescent mixture in a glass. For a moment, I'm suspicious, but if he wanted to harm me, he probably would have done it already. I down it.
"You'll feel better in about twenty minutes."
"What day is it?"
"It's Wednesday."
What!?
"...How?"
He narrows his eyes and looks at me seriously.
"I think the tablets you took knocked you out cold. Luckily when I found you on Monday, you were still breathing, so I had a doctor come and check you out. He said that you are lucky you're still so young and fit and that that's the reason you survived."
"Survive what?" A cold shiver runs though me.
"You tried to off yourself, buddy. Did you forget? I don't know why you did it, because man, you look like you've got everything going for you... Anyway, I had to scratch through your carry-on and found some pictures of your family. I found your social security card and driver's license in your wallet. I wanted to notify your next of kin but, when I heard you were gonna be fine, I decided not to. They um, they seem like the kind of folk who would get really stressed out by something like this."
"Why'd you do it?" He looks straight into my eyes.
"I have no idea what you're taking about." I walk over to my bag to look for some pain killers and all the medication's gone.
"Where are my pills?" I glare at him.
"You swallowed most of them and when the doctor came, he took what was left. He didn't trust you with it." He shrugs.
"But it was just some headache tablets and flu capsules."
"Well, I believe that shit can be dangerous if you OD on them, especially with all that alcohol in your system." His tone is accusatory.
I really tried to commit suicide? That's impossible.
"I can promise you I wouldn't want to kill myself. It was the first time I ever had a drink and I probably just forgot that you can't mix meds with alcohol."
"That thought did cross my mind but then, why take so much of it?"
That's the million-dollar question.
I sit down on the bed with my head in my hands and wait for the stuff he gave me to kick in. After a while, I start breathing normally again and the headache fades into a mild throbbing.
I look up and he's still sitting there, watching me.
He smiles faintly. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, thanks. That stuff really worked. What was it?"
He gives me the name and though I'm sure I'll never drink again; I decide to make a mental note of it.
"Where's my cell phone?" I ask as I look around.
"That thing died ages ago. I charged it but couldn't switch it on because it's asking for a pin number."
I spot it on the table behind him, switch it on and key in my pin.
As soon as it gets a signal, I start receiving message notifications from everywhere, all from my family. They're freaking out in my WhatsApp inbox and sent hundreds of text messages. I'm sure my dad is already in the city looking for me!
Before I can dial his number...
"Wait first, Stephen. You look like shit and you haven't eaten in two days. We need to get you showered and fed first. Otherwise you'll scare the living daylights out of your family."
I nod. Then I remember. "This isn't my suitcase. I've got no other clothes to wear. I must've taken the wrong suitcase at the airport when the flight was cancelled."
"No worries. I'll get something from my place. My roommate is about your size."
A thought suddenly strikes me. "How'd you find me? You work here?"
"No, I'm friends with the proprietor. I'm also a paramedic. When the housekeeper found you Monday morning, cold as ice, she freaked out, and he called me to come have a look. He's worried about anything drawing negative attention to this place. He's trying his best to keep its name clear. It's already difficult running a successful motel with all the stereotypical ideas people have about them."
"And then you just stayed? Why?" I study him closely.
"No, no." He chuckles. "I've done a shift in-between and took a couple days off to make sure you have someone to wake up to." He smiles and it puts me at ease.
He's cute. But I decide to ignore my inner, subversive thoughts and to be grateful for this Good Samaritan. "Oh. Ok. Thanks."
"You're welcome, buddy. Now lemme go grab you some fresh clothes and toiletries. I'll be back in a flash. I'll get my buddy to organise you something to eat from next door. Are you going to be ok?"
"If you mean am I going to try and kill myself again, not likely."
He accepts that as my word and leaves.
I fall back onto the bed. What the heck now?