Me? I will be going to bed at the usual time. I work New Year's Day, every year and can't remember the last time I stayed up. Someday, though . . . someday!
I'm sending everyone the warmest wishes for a safe, warm, happy evening spent with people you love and who adore you in return.
I wrote last night, into the wee hours of the morning. Some of the backstory of my rpg David at the_shag_pile. It was eating my brain, just as Crack!Trailer Dave did, in his time. What is it with these characters that makes them grow and expand? Makes them become more than just puppets for our pleasure, but gives them breath and life and history? Makes them three dimensional, at least to me . . .
I wanted to share, because, well, just because. *g* And I wanted to save it in my memories. It's unbeta'd, so go forth at your own risk and it's also first person. Eep! And very, very OC. And untitled. *flails*
But, hey! PrOn! Sports! Angst! and David! What could be wrong with that?
It is late afternoon, evening blushes the sun. Makes it glow as it tries to light the darkness in my room. I am in my chair again, my body sore, muscles stiff. If I shift my back against the leather just right, I can feel the fading welts from the flogger flare up, then pass like clouds overhead.
He took me there. Back there. Where I thought I didn’t want to go, where I thought I’d never want to leave. Being forced to submit. Asking for pain rather than pleasure. Wanting pain rather than respond to questions with answers better left unsaid. I close my eyes when I think of what he brought out of me. Half-truths, so much left unspoken. He asked for something about the dark. I gave it to him.
But he didn’t ask for anything about the love.
And there was so much of it. More than I could ever explain. I shudder to think what opinion Seth has of me now, with just that little given.
“I had a Dom . . .” I’d said. And he didn’t question that. Good thing. Because it was just a word I chose. Yes. I had a Dom, but I also had a friend, a lover, a teacher, a nightmare and a dream all rolled into one person.
I was in my first year of college when I met him. Actually hadn’t even started school at that time. Recruited out of high school, charmed and swayed and courted until I succumbed. They had just lost their starting quarterback to the pros and were willing to do whatever I wanted, willing to bend over for me and let me fuck them for everything we could fit under the table. Sex. Cars. Clothes. An expense account. I was riding high on the thrill of it. Living day to day and not giving a shit about anything but what I wanted and when I wanted it. Out on the practice field from dawn ‘til dusk, meeting my new teammates. Finding out quickly which ones I could use and which ones I could abuse and which ones wouldn’t play at all.
I was leading a charmed life. Indulging parents. Fans. Girls dropping their panties when I asked and throwing bras in my car when I didn’t. My teammates, my frat mates, and not one real friend in my small world. Not that I realized that at the time. Not that I cared.
Then I was introduced to Michael. Also first year. Recruited as a wide receiver. He was small, strong, could move faster than anyone I’d seen and he never dropped a ball. I could throw blindly, randomly and he would catch it. I lusted after him from the moment we met and he ignored everything I did to attract his attention. He respected me on the field, he listened when I called plays, but anywhere else? It was as if I didn’t exist.
I would find myself looking for him on the campus, searching for his café au lait skin. His clear emerald eyes. So exotic. So beautiful. He had an air of maturity about him that I could not match on my best day, even if I tried. Which I never did. Although we were the same age, we had grown up in different worlds. His had hardened him. Made him suspicious of everyone, trusting to very few. Mine had created a greedy, selfish monster.
And he knew I wanted him. He knew it and ignored me and it drove me fucking insane.
In the showers after practice, he’d stand and wash the sweat and dirt off and I’d stare. His chest was carved from marble, then soaked in coffee. Every muscle delineated by shadows of darker skin. And it wasn’t that we were not surrounded by other men, muscles and cocks and asses, hairy chests, smooth chests, tall and lanky, huge slabs of walking testosterone. I’d grown up with it. Locker rooms after hockey, football, basketball, I’d spent more time in them than I had in my parent’s home.
After two months of my frantic stalking, Michael finally spoke to me. Besides our time on the field, where communication was mandatory, he had never said my name. Never acknowledged my prescence.
“David.” His voice was liquid velvet. I was alone in the training room, wrapping my arm and I almost dropped the roll of tape. He walked to me, stood right in front of me, fearless and confident and I looked down, into his amazing eyes. “Back the fuck off.”
Kind of took me by surprise.
Then he turned and walked out of the room. I couldn’t finish the wrap. I was instantly furious. No one told me what to do. No one even tried. My hands shook as I moved through our team’s private areas. The coach’s offices, the medical staff’s rooms. The meeting rooms and locker rooms and showers and there was no one. The place was empty. I finally found him in a dressing room, changing out of his track pants and t-shirt.
He turned to me as I stood in the doorway, standing in a pair of stark white sports briefs that left nothing to the imagination, not that I hadn’t already seen him naked many times, but somehow, just that little amount of clothing threw my pulse into overdrive. He was even sexier. I closed the distance between us, stood just an arms length away.
“I want you.” I said, never one to hide my desires.
“You’re not my type.” Michael answered, shaking his head at me. “You don’t know me. You don’t give a rat’s ass about me. You just see this,” He waved his arm, indicating himself, “and all you can think is want. Take. Have. Possess. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. I could twist your world upside down.” He started to turn away, dismissing me.
“Prove it.” I growled at him, angrier than I think I’d ever been. How dare he assume that he knew me? How dare he reject me?
Michael laughed, facing me once more. “Don’t challenge me, boy.” He said as if we were not the same age, and I watched as his eyes turned a slightly darker shade of green, still startling against his naturally tanned face. “I wouldn’t waste my time. You have nothing to offer me.”
I never thought about it until later, much later. Years later, about that moment and I will always wonder if he was playing me. Because either I had maneuvered myself into his hands, or he had put me there with his deliberate teasing and his lack of interest. But whatever it was, and however it happened? I was there. Ripe for the taking.
“I have so much to offer you.” I remember that my voice was different. Smaller, less me.
Michael looked at me then. Really looked at me. I could actually feel his eyes cruise over my body, tell the places he lingered with his stare. My eyes, my mouth, my wrists, my groin and my cock, which had already began to harden.
He suddenly walked around me, shut the door to the small room and locked it, standing, leaning against it. I had turned as he moved and remember tilting my head, raising an eyebrow.
“You want me?” He asked and I nodded. “Then show me.”
I started to move toward him, but he raised a hand, palm out, shaking his head, “No. Show me.”
He must’ve realized I had no idea what he meant, besides touching him, which was not what he wanted. Michael pointed to a bench that lined the wall, “Go sit there. Slide down those shorts. Show me how much you want me, show me what you would have to offer me.”
Okay. Now I understood. He wanted me to jerk off for him. I had no problem doing that. I moved over to the bench, slid my shorts over my hips, my cock springing free, growing harder by the moment.
“Stop.” He said before I could touch myself. And surprisingly enough, I did. Looking at him, looking at me. I hadn’t sat down yet, so he still stood shorter than me, but had already grown in my mind, become something more. Something powerful. I just didn’t know it yet. He walked over to me, reached out one finger and ran the tip of it along the length of my cock. From base to end. “Not bad.” He glanced up at my face and my cock bobbed as if in agreement. He put his hands behind his back and smiled, nodded, “Go ahead. But slow. No quick jerks. Touch yourself, as if you were touching me.”
I started, leaning back against the wall, one foot up behind me, Michael standing in front of me and his eyes never left my hand on my cock once. And the most surprising thing began to happen, Michael started to direct me. Slower, He’d say, if I got to caught up in the feeling, Now twist the end, his voice would growl at me. And I would. I fucking would. Every time he told me to pull or stop or reach down and roll my balls in my fingers I.did.every.single.thing.he.said. Over and over and over, until by the end I was panting, sweating, my balls drawn up so tight I was convinced that they were heading for my tonsils. My arm ached, my wrist hurt, my cock was so raw and sensitive to my own touch I was practically weeping with the need to come.
“Stop.” He said again, just as the orgasm had tripped my switches. I gasped for air, biting my bottom lip, gritting my teeth and groaning from the effort. But I did not come.
And I think that’s when he first fell in love with me. I was already gone all the way down that path. If he’d told me to go out and lay down in front of a truck on the highway at that moment. I would have run out of the room without getting dressed and done it. Without thought, because I had none of my own any more.
He bent over, his face just inches away from my dripping, red cock. I almost grabbed his head, pulled his mouth on to me. Fucked his face, it would have only taken mere moments to come. Probably at his first touch. I was that close. And in the years that followed, I learned just how long I could stay there, just how far that swirling, drowning need could be drawn out and that this moment had been nothing. Nothing at all.
Then he straightened back up, looked me right in the eye and said one word.
“Now.” He never looked back down at my cock, didn’t watch the come spurt out, that covered my hand, dripped on my tight, sweating thigh and ran down my leg to the floor. Michael held my stare, and I couldn’t close my eyes, couldn’t look away from him as the orgasm ripped through me. More intense than anything I’d ever felt and I couldn’t believe something that felt like this could come from my own hand. How little did I know at that time? It hadn’t been my hand at all. Nothing I’d done since I offered myself to him had ever been on my own. I didn’t have a clue.
I sagged down the wall, until I was sitting on the bench, dizzy and drained and Michael sat down beside me. Put his arm around my head had pulled me to his shoulder, his fingers petting my hair, digging into my scalp.
“That was very good, David. Very nice.” He pulled my face up to his, his hand holding my chin and kissed me so very softly I could barely feel it. “If you want more? You know where I live. Come by when you have a free night.”
Then he stood up, finished dressing and left the room without looking back at me once.
Yeah. I was royally fucked.
We were together for three and a half years. Inseperable. Michael taught me everything he knew and some shit I was sure he made up. He was the perfect Dom for me. Driven by his need to control, his desire to please, his anger at the poverty he’d grown up in and his love for me. And yes, he loved me.
It was a powerful mixture that drove us into trying scenes, doing things we shouldn’t have. We broke the rules but I never once lost my trust in him. Even when he let his anger take over and he would hit me too hard, would whip me and not care if I was bleeding I knew that he loved me and all I wanted, all I lived for was to take away his pain. I was obsessed with him and I was in love with him and I would have happily died for him. And I believe that he felt the same. I always will.
I have to.
He taught me. I will never be as good as he was, because I can’t let myself go like he did. I could never take someone so far that they were physically hurt, but I accepted him doing that. Because he was my first, my love and he owned me, my body and soul. He stirred that anger that I didn’t know I had, the dark places I kept deep inside.
Perhaps, the only part of our relationship I regret, because once that was awoken, it will never slumber for long. There will always be days when I can do nothing but fight for control. Days like the one that Seth gave of himself, to help me. There will always be days when I want nothing more than to be tied and flogged and have that control denied. Because I lived it for so long, it has become, and will be, a part of me forever.
It was bliss, it was hell, it was sheer, intoxicating madness and we were insane. Drunk on our power, our positions at the university, our popularity. Our parties were legendary, our conquests were extraordinary. There was no one, that once we decided we needed to fuck, that could resist us. One or the other or both.
We created subs then let them go, trained some and kept them, then set them free. It was play, it was joy, but no matter how beautiful they were, how well they behaved and performed and pleased us no one came between us. Nothing would stop us.
Six months from graduation. We were both signed to the same professional team. We were a killer combination of strength and skill and silent communication. Our futures were set.
Then I was hit. Sacked. Not anything new, I’d been tackled so many times, I could see it coming before the defense knew what they were planning. But this was one of those fateful moments. Where time crawls and everything moves in slow motion and before I hit the turf, I knew I was not getting up from this one. There was no shaking this off.
There was only blinding, searing pain in my right knee that traveled up to my gut and I wouldn’t have been surprised if I could open my eyes, to see that a sword had pierced me. That I had been eviscerated. That I was dying.
I blacked out a couple of times when I was carried off the field but I remember him running beside the stretcher, holding on to my arm, my hand and the coaches screaming at him to get back. But he refused. I found out later that he had been fined for that. But by then it didn’t matter.
I would never play professional football. My career was over before it began.
Michael left that spring for training camp. At my urging, he was gone. At my command. Our situation had reversed itself, our relationship was turned upside down. He was the one on his knees. Begging me, crying. Pleading with me to stay. But I pushed him away. He had everything to live for, he had doors opening wide, with powerful people asking him to come in, to join them and I?
I had nothing to offer him.
And now I sit in the deepening shadows of my room, smoking and thinking. Dwelling on the past that Seth brought from me today. By force. By words. And even with the honest offer that Seth and Brody made me, to join with them. To be a part of their lives, of their relationship, I wonder, what I have to offer them in return.
Happy, Happy to all. Be careful, be safe, be loved.