Author's Note: This is a work of fiction and is wholly the property of the author. Any resemblance to any individual living or dead is purely and completely coincidental, and is in no way reflective of reality. The occurrences described herein are, to the best of the author's knowledge, completely within the realm of fantasy, and should be taken as such. If you are offended by homosexual sex and/or kink, or either is illegal within the jurisdiction where you hold residence, this is your only warning to leave now. Otherwise, take this for the fantasy it is, and enjoy.
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I usually consider myself to be fairly normal, as gay men go. I'm average sized Irish-American immigrant, weighing just over 200 pounds (I'm using the Imperial system, in order to get used to it, though I much prefer the metric system), an even six feet tall, and ginger-haired over a good portion of my body, which is moderately muscled. I try to keep my body healthy through semi-regular exercise. Three times a week, at minimum, I spend about an hour working my ass off trying to keep the pizza, burger, and steak diet I tend to eat from going right to my belly. So far, it's working.
But, even though I don't look too bad, until recently, I found that my looks, at my current age of 37, were leaving me loveless. It seemed that being an average hairy gay man wasn't doing anything for my love life. I did the usual things a gay man might do, the occasional bar-hop with a cadre of friends, the weekly brunch at the local hot-spot, chatting with all the other gays about what had happened that week, always a bit embarrassed that as usual, I had come empty-handed as it regarded lovers.
My love life being as stagnant as is was, it did not seem to harm my work life any. Back when I had turned twenty, I had been named the sole beneficiary of a particularly wealthy uncle who I had never met. This put me in control of a small but wealthy chain of department stores, if thirty branches can be considered a "small chain". I had good income, and while I kept much of it for savings, I did treat myself fairly well, and gave a good deal to charity, usually to LGBT projects that needed support, with the sole requirement being that my name only would get put into the tax documents, and that all other credits would go to someone else.
So, you'd think that a moderately wealthy man in his early-middle ages could find someone to love quite easily. This was far from the truth, I found, and it hurt far deeper than I imagined it did. Looking back on it now, I can certainly see the truth.
Never being the kind to yield to the temptation of one-night stands or escort services, my only recourse was a combination of my right hand and (to my eye) beautifully filmed pornographic content via the Internet. I certainly was developing a "type", it seemed. My eyes always went to the twink-like boys, those who seemed to love getting reamed out by a bigger man. My "type" developed into a younger man, no taller than five feet, five inches, one that could easily fit in my lap. My imaginative mind (or rather, cock) decided that I liked a slightly darker complexion, with an ambiguously Asian look. I will not lie. I was an Asiaphile, I realized, much to my consternation.
Here I am, a stereotypical white man of Irish heritage, wanting to have an Asian twink to call my own, to love, and take care of. I felt like such an utter fool. Here I was, yielding, I thought, to stereotypes of Asian men, when I myself hated stereotypes of those of us with red hair, Irish brogues, and a tendency to love the occasional drink. Once I realized this, I did my absolute best to squelch that desire, and continued to fail miserably in doing so, yet again harming my chances of finding love.
It was on one morning, I had decided to take a week off, just to relax and get away from the office for some time. On this morning, I had just awakened, showered, and was currently seated in only a pair of black trousers at the kitchen's island, drinking my morning hot tea with milk and sugar, just enjoying not having to go to work. As I sat drinking, the doorbell rang, which was something I had not expected. I wondered who in the hell should be ringing me up at eight in the morning.
I stood, put my tea on the table, then headed to answer the door. At the door stood a man in a brown uniform, obviously from the shipping company. He held in his hand two things, a package and a small computer. "Sign here, sir," he said. I signed his little computer, and took the package.
I had not been expecting a package at all, and that fact had me confused. "Who would send me a package?" I inspected the small package, and noticed no name or return address. There was an envelope fastened to the top of the small package, and I removed it, and opened it, expecting a packing list, as was usual for shipments, if they came from some company.
Contained within the envelope was not a packing list, but a letter.
"Hello, Michael! Buddy, I know you are lonely, and frankly, I see you every week at the brunch, and the way you hurt is evident, even if you do so well at hiding it. Now, I have taken certain measures to hide my identity, and if you wish to find out who I am, you'll have to find that out on your own. However, know that what I am doing I do with care, wanting to end the hurt I see in your eyes every time I see you. Included in this package is a special device that comes from my family's history. It has one purpose. It is designed to be worn by a person who seeks love.
The properties of the necklace are as follows: If you wear it, and you meet the person who is your destined, you will notice two things, the first being that your words are irresistible to your destined, and the second being that when you meet that person, until you stake your claim, that person will fill your mind, and that fact will mean that any work you do will not be done well. I recommend that if you find that person you stake your claim immediately. Another property of the device is that it takes into account your sexuality and your kinks, which means that if you are a natural dominant, your destined will likely be a natural submissive or switch, and thus a match. There are other properties that it has, that I am sure you will find useful and fun.
I could not use this, as a member of the family who created it can never use it. You can, however, and I wish you love and luck.
Ta!
A friend"
I will not lie. I was certain that this was a trick. There was no way that this... device had such powers, that it would essentially give my what I wanted. But, I was also intrigued. After all, as it regarded my love-life, I had little to lose, and everything to gain. I was aware that it likely would do nothing, but I was done with being alone forever.
So, I opened the package, and removed the contents. I shook the package out, and an amulet slid out onto the table. It was a strange amulet, with two gems at the center, one red and the other green, cut and reassembled in such a way as to make a modified yin-yang symbol. This all was set in a black and silver metal frame, and hung from a black thread of a leather-like material.
I carefully picked up the amulet to inspect it closer, and as I did, I felt a power wash through me, as if the amulet were scanning me. It was a strange and unexpected rush. It even seemed to analyze my pleasure centers and brought up memory and even the heart of my sexuality, and scrutinized it with agonizing detail, but did so with such utter speed and efficiency, it was clear that the power here was not even close to something I could fathom.
That power surge had me realizing that whoever sent this knew what the hell they were yammering about, so I put the blasted thing on. Somehow I knew that it would assume a form that would be completely unnoticeable to anyone. I also knew it would not come off unless I consciously took it off. I grinned, because if what I had learned from the amulet was true, it gave me a form of mind-control, such that I could give a direct command, and my order would be followed, if the one commanded was male. Females too would respond, but I would have to couch the command in the form of a request. Upon receiving the command, the person so commanded would
want
to obey. I imagined that this power would come in handy.
And then, I remembered that today was the brunch, and I NEVER missed that. I took my time getting ready, dressing in a nice button-down and black pants over black boots, with a similarly black fedora. I was a few moments early, and so sat at a corner of the table so that I could see the denizens of the brunch sect swing in fashionably late. The usual drag-queens, twinks, chasers, and social butterflies were there, as were some, like myself, who genuinely liked the company of like-minded individuals.
I was about to dig into a dish of eggs Benedict, when suddenly, my mind seemed to hone in on one particular person. There, among the regulars, was a man who I had seen often, and even talked to, and considered a friend. His name was Kenshi, and he was everything that matched my fetish, half-Japanese, half-Korean, black hair, expressive eyes that had the stereotypical almond shape, and a beautiful smile and body. And he had a look of utter and complete horror on his face, as if he had done something utterly wrong.