Tall, blond and athletic, Max Fennister had always been a creature of habit. He’d grown up the son of a very strict, wealthy, family with older parents who’d more or less left him to nannies and then boarding schools. He’d first been sent to an expensive preparatory school and then to the same ‘public’ boarding school his father had endured as a child. Having been circumcised at the insistence of his mother, he’d been a target of teasing and ‘interest’ among his fellow pupils from the start. As a result Max was a seething mass of contradictions and inhibitions. He’d realised early that he had a distinct preference for other males, and equally early discovered that this was considered ‘dirty’ and unmanly. Except the same men who’d caned that into him and others publicly, had shown a decidedly different side when they had the opportunity to get him, and others, alone.
Coming from a wealthy, if dysfunctional family, holidays were seldom spent ‘at home’ — his parents lived fairly separate lives, their official home being a fairly large house in extensive grounds near Windsor, but Lord Justice Fennister kept a luxurious flat on Cheyenne Walk which his wife occasionally graced with her presence. Her spinster sister lived in a large house in Bavaria, overlooking the Walchensee. It was here that Max had discovered the exciting pleasure of wearing leather as a preteen when Aunt Berengaria had presented him with a pair of lederhosen to wear when outdoors. They had become his ‘secret’ pleasure — something to fantasise over when he returned to school and the demands of ‘conforming’ to the school’s and his father’s strictures to be a ‘man’…
So he’d spent his adolescence and much of twenties and now thirties doing his utmost to be ‘a man’ and not admit that, while he liked female company, he had no desire to share his life or his bed with one. At his expensive boarding school he’d experimented with sex, and soon found it better to simply avoid it in order to not become the target of contempt and bullies. Subjected to the ‘fagging’ routine by senior boys, he’d not enjoyed their rough and crude sexual demands at all. And in his final days at his school, he’d been subjected to a sexual assault be three fellow seniors; ‘so you’ll know you’re a fag — a homo.’ They’d made him suck their cocks and swallow their cum, though one had violated his anus while another deliberately shot his load into Max’s face and then rubbed it into his hair. So it was a side of his life he worked hard to suppress and deny …
At University, again, a very prestigious and ancient establishment, it had been easier to stay out of anyone’s notice and become, through strictly disciplining himself, a loner. He’d focussed on his studies with an intensity that impressed his tutors and lecturers, finally graduating with a double first, and his father had arranged his first pupilage. While he couldn’t suppress all sexual desires, he found he could survive be finding simple ways to relieve his urges, among them a taste for leather satisfied by trawling internet sites …
A ‘late life’ child and an only one, he’d not had a great deal of parental contact, even when ‘home’ from school or university. The trips to Bavaria were always something to look forward to, even though it meant he was left to his own devices while his mother painted or relaxed with a woman, Harriet Winchcombe, who always accompanied them.
His father, a High Court Judge tended to be autocratic, and his mother, very wrapped up in her social activities and engagements, or her painting left him to his own devices once he was too old for a Nanny. Neither of them ever deigned to bestow much affection on their only son, even when he was small. He’d had a series of Nanny’s as a child, but once he’d reached the senior school age, these had departed. In his teens he’d quickly learned his father didn’t approve of ‘men who preferred men’, failing completely to see the irony of belonging to an all male ‘Gentlemen’s Club’ where quite a number of the members preferred ‘boys’ to ‘the gals’ …
Not long after he’d become a Queen’s Council, now a King’s Council, his father had died, his aunt, a successful authoress, had died a year or so earlier, and left her property in Bavaria to Max. When his mother died a few years after his father he came into a very comfortable fortune, leased the house, to which had no attachment, on a long lease to a football ‘star’ and bought the lease on a newly built flat on the Isle of Dogs, right on the Thames, overlooking the site on which Brunel’s Great Eastern had been built.
His flat, in a modern and very expensive block in the former Docklands on the Isle of Dogs, faced the river and offered him absolute privacy. Bought with a small inheritance from a maiden aunt, he enjoyed a very comfortable life with everything he needed — except a life partner who shared his preferences — and enjoyed an ‘independent’ income since his parents deaths. With both his parents now ‘in eternal rest’, he was also possessed of a substantial portfolio of shares and ‘interests’ in a number of companies, the flat he lived in, a rather smart German ‘Sportwagen’ from the BMW stable, a small ‘pension’ in France and the chalet in Bavaria. He loved the arts, especially watching the ballet, and enjoyed swimming for exercise.
He liked to keep his life organised with every aspect meticulously planned. He found it helped to hide his interest in males, and his taste for leather. Living alone, this was easy to achieve, but it flowed over into his working life as well. Having specialised in copyright law, he was well respected professionally and steadfastly single at thirty-five. Spontaneity was something he seldom allowed himself. While not enjoying being known as a ‘stick in the mud’, a reluctant socialiser, he preferred to keep his private life private. Only on his annual visits to Bavaria did he allow himself the guilty pleasure of wearing his lederhosen. Reserving his quick-witted repartee and humour for the company and occasions where he felt safe, he limited his social contact lest he betray himself.
His career as a lawyer demanded discipline, and he applied it to himself as rigidly as to his work. It left little room for spontaneity in his personal life, and less for personal exploration. That suited him, as he was Gay, attracted to men and very privately, to wearing leather. He’d learned early to hide it, fearing the ridicule and bullying as a teenager, and later the damage it might do to his professional career. Instead he allowed himself a few platonic friendships, and applied himself to his enjoyment of art, theatre, classical music and his favourite sport — swimming.
That was until he met Leo.
Their paths crossed at an art gallery opening in the heart of the city. Max had attended out of obligation, a client’s invitation he couldn't refuse. Photographic art was not his forte, but as he wandered through the exhibits, he found himself drawn to a series of photographs capturing the raw, unfiltered essence of the human form. The same artist had a number of paintings on display, as well, beautifully executed land and seascapes, very different and striking. It was in front of the athletic photographs that he first saw Leo.
“Like the set? I’ve worked for a while to get the lighting effects in shots like this. It still needed a little work on the computer, but I think I got it. I wanted the light to really create a sense of movement and effort in the subject and these black and white prints show the play of light on his musculature perfectly. It needed a bit of manipulation to get them just right.”
The comment broke into Max’s thoughts as he admired a black and white image of an athlete frozen in the performance of a gymnastic routine on the rings, a glass of warming champagne in hand. One of a series, they were remarkable, capturing the naked subject perfectly as he performed. The eye ‘saw’ the naked figure’s muscles ripple in the images as he performed. He turned to see who had addressed him.
“Er. Yes, yes, a beautiful shot.” Momentarily he struggled with his thoughts. The photo portrait of gymnast was as close to erotic as it could be without being so, and now he faced an attractive man in tight leather trousers, expensive shirt and silk tie with a casual leather jacket over it. He swallowed and pushed his unwanted thoughts aside. “Not much of a photographer myself, I’m afraid. Dabbled a bit a while back, but never seemed to be able to get anything as good as these.” In truth he owned a very expensive camera and did take photos with it, but they were definitely not in this league. “My father used a Zeiss lensed Leica. Thirty-five mil. Very into bird photography. There must be cases of his negatives somewhere.”
“Having the right equipment helps, and sometimes a lot of patience both for the photographer and the subject!” Laughing the newcomer gestured with his champagne. “Mind you, Marius, the model in these, is an absolute artist and loves to show off his skill — but even he was exhausted by the time I managed to get these done.” Holding out his hand, he smiled. “I’m Leo, short for Leonides, Turner. And, no, I’m not Greek, my mother was a classicist. Particularly the Spartans for some reason …”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Max. Maximillian Fennister, a lawyer. I specialise in copyright law …” Something about his companion — other than the leather — attracted Max, and he wanted to get to know this attractive stranger. “And I must say these photographs are really superb.”
“Thanks. As I said, I’m rather proud of these. Copyright law? Nice to know! I’m a photographic artist, so they say, and hoping to get some of my stuff sold actually.” Sipping his champagne, Leo asked, “Is that what brought you here? A client showing something?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Ginny Webley. You know her work?”
“Ginny? Of course I know her work. You represent her? I thought her partner was her agent.”
“He is.” Max hesitated. “I’ve just handled a small copyright infringement for her.”
“Ah, so it’s you she’s singing the praises for!” Leo laughed. “She’s very impressed I must say.”
“It wasn’t really that difficult a case,” Max allowed himself a laugh. He was uncomfortably aware that something about his companion was arousing feelings he seldom allowed himself in company. “They settled out of court pretty quickly. I’m glad she’s satisfied.”
Unconsciously they fell into conversation as they walked on admiring, criticising and appraising the images and artwork on display. Max quickly learned that his interlocutor was more than ‘just’ a photographer.
Leo spoke passionately about his craft, explaining how he sought to capture not just the body, but the spirit within. Max found himself enthralled, his usual composure and cold analytical approach melting away in the warmth of Leo’s presence. He learned that Leo had several paintings on display, two seascapes and a couple of landscapes. Leo was everything Max was not. He was vibrant, unrestrained, and exuded a magnetic energy that drew people in. His curly hair framed a face that seemed to be perpetually caught in a mischievous smile, and his eyes sparkled with a light that spoke of untold stories and boundless adventures. Max couldn't help but be intrigued.
Deep in conversation, they reached a new display and a painting caught Max’s attention. A tree lined stream tumbling over a rocky bed through a narrow valley with a mountain backdrop. A rocky cliff face, glimpsed through the overhanging branches, provided a focus of different colour and drew the attention.
“Oh, that’s superb — it would be absolutely right for my living room,” he exclaimed, uncharacteristically giving way to his feelings as soon as he saw it. “Oh hell! It’s sold! Just my luck.”
“You like it?” Leo smiled. “Actually, it’s one of my favourites as well. I painted it about a year ago. A little scene I photographed hiking in the mountains in Southern Africa.”
“I love it,” Max replied stepping closer to the painting. The small price ticket caught his eye. “Good grief, Leo — it’s way below what it’s worth! You could command a far better price than that for work like this.”
“You think so?” Leo smiled, his expression thoughtful. “You’re probably right, but I priced it to sell.” Shrugging, he smiled. “I’m open to commissions however — for the right person and the right price.”
His expression, mischievous, seemed to challenge Max as he studied his companion, his eyebrow raised.
“Would I qualify?” Max risked a challenge.
“Would you like to?” Leo responded, laughing. Looking round, he took a different approach. “Looks like the guests are departing. Care to join me for a cup of solace? There’s a nice little place just round the corner. I need something to wind down and cancel this champagne.” He made a face. “I know it’s supposed to be this elixir and all that … Gives me a headache.”
“Same here,” Max couldn’t help laughing. He seldom drank, not out of any conviction about it, just that he didn’t enjoy the feeling of not being in full control of himself. Now, despite his dislike of unplanned activity or socialising, he found he wanted to accept Leo’s invitation. “Shall we find our hostess and make our obeisance? Don’t you have to pack up your work?”
“Not necessary. There’s a public showing tomorrow and Saturday, and I’ll collect and pack everything that’s unsold on Sunday when the whole thing is being packed up.”
The small wine bar was, as described, ‘just round the corner’. It had a very ‘arty’ feel to it as Max settled into a chair with a glass of his favourite red wine and took time to look at the photos almost covering the walls. Raising his own glass, Leo smiled. “Here’s to a fortunate meeting.”
“Bon chance,” Max raised his own. “Thanks for introducing yourself. I enjoy these exhibitions, but generally don’t have company when I do.”
Their conversation, hesitant and general at first, gradually becoming more personal, their mutual curiosity bridging the gap between their contrasting worlds. Leo talked about his art recounting some witty anecdotes. Max, for his part, spoke of his training as a lawyer, of some of the more interesting cases he’d been a party to and some of the intricacies of his specialisation.
Leo’s openness was infectious. Openly ‘Gay’ he joked about the fact his career as an artist made this somehow ‘respectable’. As he listened Max found himself struggling with thoughts and desires he had long kept buried. While not repulsed by Leo’s open gayness and frank admission of it, Max found himself struggling with the memory of his father’s distaste for anyone ‘of that persuasion’ — and his own revulsion of his schoolboy experiences. He found the first part stupid, since both his parents were now deceased, he knew their reaction to his being Gay was no longer even academic, but the second part was different — his having hidden this side of himself for so long, made him hold back.
“And it gives me the cover for indulging in my little kink — I love wearing leather.” Saying this he gave Max a long look, his smile conveying a challenge. When Max didn’t respond, he continued, “Gives me a buzz anyway.” Leaning back in his seat, his legs open, the leather of his tight trousers forming a prominent bulge at his crotch, he asked, “Compensation, I guess, for not having a partner. Can’t seem to find the right guy … How about you?”
“No, I’ve no partner. No serious relationships either.” He paused, fiddling with his glass. “One problem I guess, I’m not attracted to, um, women … and my professional position makes it complicated … very, um, ‘traditional’ in their outlook. Frown on anything … out of the ordinary.” He shrugged. “So I pretty much live alone …”
“I know what that’s like.” Leo grinned. “I’ve had a few disasters in the love department.” Laughing, he reached out and touched Max’s hand. “I’ve told you my kink — and I’m guessing you’d love to kick over the traces occasionally …”
“Am I that obvious?” Despite himself, Max laughed. “I wish I had the courage to wear an outfit like yours, but I’d get kicked out of my Chambers if I did. The senior Partner in the firm is so strait-laced …” Shaking his head, he admitted, “Gives me the ‘pep talk’ from time to time about finding a ‘suitable wife’ … Never seems to register with him that I’ve no interest in sex with a woman on any terms.” He stopped, colouring as he realised how much he was revealing, and shrugged. “There, I’ve said it. Come to that, I hated every bloody minute sharing a dormitory at Richmond St Chrimthann College and all the bullying because I wasn’t into all the damned silly pranks in the showers and so on. Especially not into the ‘thugby’ and other contact sports.”
“I knew I liked you!” Leo’s laugh was warm. “You were at St Chrims? Sympathies! It was bad enough at my Grammar. And why shouldn’t you wear the odd bit of leather? I think you’d look incredibly sexy in it.”
“Maybe.” Max stopped. After draining his glass he took the plunge, after all he’d already revealed more to this new friend in a couple of hours than he’d ever admitted even to himself. “I do have a few bits I wear, but not where they can be seen …” He grinned suddenly. “And I wear lederhosen whenever I’m in the Bavaria hiking.
“Want to change that?” The question was softly said and Max felt a stab of fear. “The closet is a very lonely place … and a depressing one.”
He hardly knew this guy, yet it felt as if he’d always known him, and yet … He felt himself hardening in his briefs, an uncomfortable feeling. He wanted to continue this conversation. Yes, he did want to change his life, and allow himself the indulgence of his love for leather, but was afraid of the impact it would have on his professional career.
“I don’t think I’m really ready to do that …”
The conversation shifted into other topics for a while as the bar slowly emptied. They talked about art, theatre and hobbies until Max saw the time.
“Oh shit! I better get a taxi pronto. I’ve a case conference early tomorrow and can’t afford to be late!”
“You’re right.” Leo wore the expression of a disappointed puppy as he stood. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of the time either.” His smile flashed. “As an artist no one expects me to keep regular hours. Can we share a taxi? Your address on your card is not that far off the route to my place — I’m a bit further out than you.”
“Sure.” Max had his phone out and called one of the predials. Ordering the taxi, he killed the call, and smiled, “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an evening this much. I don’t socialise much — not much on small talk as you’ve noticed … Thanks so much for approaching me and spending the evening with me.”
“Don’t be daft, Max. It’s been an absolute pleasure.” Leo’s smile lit up his face. “Look, why don’t we do this regularly — just meet up and chat over a drink or something? I’ve really enjoyed your company and I’d like to stay in contact — if you would.”
It was a good start, and Max found himself feeling much more positive himself. At his insistence he’d paid for Leo’s onward trip, adding a generous tip for the cabby. He thought of the painting he’d liked, and tried to visualise it on his living room wall. One day, perhaps … It made a pleasant daydream as he gave himself a prolonged hand job trying to imagine what it would like having Leo in his bed … and liked the idea. His inner conflict surfaced again, but, in the glow of a very satisfying cum, he drifted off to sleep.
