I was bitter, I was angry. But I suppose I should be grateful. When I first met Drang I was a confused screwed-up twenty-year-old. You know how it is at that age, socially dysfunctional, messed in the head, moody and petulantly self-centred. But after a year with Drang I knew exactly what it's all about. Infatuated, I even dropped out of college because he was all I could think about. The dirty-sweet things we did together. He taught me that if I lack confidence that's because I have submissive tendencies, a deep-seated need to be controlled. He taught me that.
So when he dumps me for a good-looking younger guy, I confess I was pretty torn-up. I was hurt. There was no more room in me for envy, anger, fear and self-loathing, no room for bile, spleen or downright abhorrence for the entire male sex, its devious unreliable nature. It was a forced withdrawal from a powerful addiction, leaving a cellular ache of separation. Yes, I was wounded and vulnerable. Which is why I acted on that small-ad. Chances are, otherwise I'd never have even noticed it. Or been amused by it, and moved on to the next. 'Interesting proposition for obedient boy.' With a number. I was intrigued. I've got nowhere else to go, no future. Nothing better to do. And I was seeking some kind of gesture of revenge.
After we make contact we meet at a coffee house in the village. Muted cool jazz plays in the background. He wears a red AIDS charity-ribbon which I think is pretty neat. Appraising him kind-of sideways, without making it too obvious, he's got to be some fifteen years older than me, and smartly-dressed in that kind of uptown professional way. As though he works the stock market, or a solicitors, or maybe an advertising agency. I feel down-at-heel by comparison, a scruffy boho. But he's courteous and considerate. Chooses an alcove and gets me a cappuccino. It's oddly formal, like a job interview. I should be nervous and uneasy, but he puts me at my ease.
"Firstly, you understand that the agreement we are about to propose is of a sexual nature?" he enquires tactfully. "You're happy with that?"
"Yes sir, that's how I read the ad. I'm prepared to consider whatever is involved." I smile at him in what I hope is an appealing way.
"Good. I'll explain. There are three of us. After a great deal of thought and preparation, we've formed a unit for legal purposes, a syndicate if you like."
He allows himself one moment of playful humour by adding "or Sin-dicate if you prefer, with contractual obligations and guarantees. We're all married, but you know the score. We love and desire the female sex, but they're unpredictable, capricious creatures. They get moods that you must respect. And there are occasions when we have urgent needs that don't necessarily involve all that romance, hearts and flowers stuff. Individually we couldn't afford the solution we've devised. Together, we can. Hopefully, with your participation, we'll all benefit. You're happy with this so far?"
I sit forward attentively. "Sure, tell me more. I'm intrigued." And strangely, it's the truth.
"We have an apartment leased in our names. Not a top-class apartment, you know what property prices are like. But it's a good apartment, well situated with all regular facilities. Should things work out to our mutual satisfaction you'll take up residence there. The apartment is yours in every sense of the word, for whatever period of time we all agree to. Although this can be terminated should any party default. Your time is your own. You're free to do whatever you choose. Your only obligation is that you make yourself available to us at any time of our choosing for sexual purposes. Don't say anything yet. We can go around and view the apartment if you have no objections."
I swallow the last foamy mouthful of cappuccino, and shrug. "Lead on."
It is autumn. There's a chill in the air as we hit the street. He turns his collar up against the cold as we cross the neighbourhood. There are gentrified old brownstones overlooking the east river. A thin mist rolling in from its mud-dark water. We climb the stairs. There are elevators, but it's only the third floor so we walk. The loft-apartment is empty, although there's bed, wardrobe and furniture covered by drapes. It's better than anywhere I've stayed before. Certainly better than the dump I'm crashing over at now. I act deliberately casual. As though it's no big deal.
He pulls the sheet back off a chair, and sits down facing me. Opens up his laptop and silently keys in the wifi connection. When he's done he speaks softly.
"For our purposes, I am Mr Hickory. My partners in this venture are Mr Dickory and Mr Dock. That's how you will know us. You approve of the apartment?"
"Yes sir, I do."
"You understand the full meaning of what we're offering, and wish to proceed?"
"I guess so. Yes."
"Well maybe it's appropriate we should see you naked before making an offer."
"Yes, of course." I look around me. He means here, now? Suddenly it's no longer a hypothetical game. I'm alone with a guy whose real name I'm never likely to know, a stranger I met less than an hour ago, and he wants me naked. That makes it even crazier. Weirdly exciting in an oddly disturbing way. He watches me as I shrug my worn leather jacket off, his half-smile as brittle as broken glass. He watches me haul my T-shirt up and off. I'm all thumbs now. On the point of quitting. Walking out before the situation gets past the point of control. But he's got expectations, I'm incapable of backing down.
Determinedly I unclasp my belt, shoot the zip. I'd taken the precaution of wearing no undershorts, so when my jeans fall to my knees my cock tumbles free, half-aroused by the air of weird eroticism, swaying in a down-angled curve. I'm grateful for that. Makes it seem bigger. Not that I lack inches, but guys are sensitive about these things. There's a small tattoo in my groin. My balls hung in a tight nest of dark pubic hair.
Drang had always said he liked my cock -- Drang, the guy who deflowered me, as he tweaked and teased it as I squirmed. But no, that's not strictly true, I'd not been entirely a virgin before I met him, there had been fumbling sweaty-fingered flirtations before him. And messy oral stuff with guys my own age. Nothing serious. And Drang hadn't so much taken my anal cherry, as I'd eagerly gifted it to him. But he'd zeroed in on my potential, and guided me to a realisation of my true inclination. I don't want guys my own age. I don't want mutual. I need to be down there on my knees with a dominant cock in my mouth. I need to the told what to do. And now he's out there somewhere tweaking the perky new pretty-cock of my replacement. Feeding his delicious cock into some new bottom. Well, two can play the betrayal game.
