When I came to, I was in my bed. Pedro was curled protectively around me. I groaned, and could barely move. Pedro helped me to sit up and drink some water.
“I’m in charge of aftercare,” he said softly.
I tested my voice. It was ragged. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Physically you’re fine,” Pedro reassured me. “Mentally, you’ll need some time.”
“That shot—”
“Vitamin B12. To boost you, but obviously to freak you out.”
“And the water was laced—”
“With ecstasy, ketamine and a roofie. Very low doses. Just enough to incapacitate you and send you flying.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” I said.
“You get to feel how you want to feel. But you’re fine. Good as new.”
“Hardly.” My body ached, but the way it does after a long day skiing, or a particularly grueling run. “And Ernesto?”
“He’s also processing things. You’ll see him tomorrow, at the Sunday family dinner.”
“Fuck!” I exclaimed. “My date tonight with Finn—”
“Has been canceled. Postponed until next week. Lie back and rest.” Pedro curled around me again, drawing me securely into his chest, and I fell back asleep.
Sunday felt like a new day, and I felt like a new man. There were a few aches and sore spots, but I may have had those already, to be honest, from the wrestling practice. There were no bruises, no tears, nothing to show that Friday had been anything but a quiet night in or that I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing.
It was a beautiful, warm spring day and I was sitting out on the side porch. I heard someone come up the front steps and moments later, Ernesto popped around the corner. It was clear he’d been running, his shoulders arms glistening with sweat in the afternoon sunlight.
“Mind if I join you?”
I set the book I’d been reading on the floor and made some room on the wicker love seat, patting the cushion beside me. I could smell the fresh sweat along with his own woody smell as he dropped beside me.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Great, honestly. How ‘bout you?”
He hesitated, trying to pull his thoughts together. “It’s very strange. That place where we were. It wasn’t you there, it wasn’t me. It was none of us. Like it never happened. But at the same time, you gave me the most generous gift anyone has ever given me. You gave me your soul.”
I thought about what he was saying. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“I always wanted to know what it would be like to be a monster.” He looked at me, gauging my reaction. “I let myself be that monster. A monster who came for your soul, briefly. But you let it. You gave it up. I’m not sure I can explain it any better than that.”
I studied his beautiful brown eyes. “Where do you go from there?”
“Nowhere,” he stated, simply. “It was the thrill ride of a lifetime. Like jumping out of a plane. I conquered it.”
“Those urges—”
“Were an itch I scratched. I’m good. I can enjoy a rough fuck like anybody else, maybe, but I don’t need to repeat that feeling, I have it with me forever now. And the little piece of your soul that you offered up…”
He leaned forward and kissed me chastely on the lips, then sat back to look into my eyes.
“Okay?”
I nodded, and he gathered me into a tight hug, wrapping his strong arms around me and holding me close.
“Thank you,” he said, and then resumed his place beside me, dropping a beefy arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his chest. We sat like that in silence for a spell, enjoying the breeze and the musical chatter of birds in nearby trees.
An hour or so later, Ernesto had gone back to his house to shower before dinner and Pedro had helped me dig out the additional leaves for the dining room table. We were setting the table with a dozen place settings. We had to scrounge upstairs and down to recover the diaspora of chairs that had been coopted into desk service, laundry duty or breakfast nook auxiliary, but we wrangled a table fit to receive the whole gang.
Pedro decided to do beef short ribs in the slow cooker, and it smelled divine. I’d made cole slaw and cornbread. The trick was to put in whole kernels of corn, and chili flake.
Jax and Ethan were the first to show up. They gave a round of bro-hugs, although after pulling me in, Jax didn’t hesitate to smack my ass. Ethan placed a bottle of Oregon pinot noir on the table, and I offered a thumbs up of approval.
Luca and Ernesto were the next to arrive, depositing a six-pack of Sam Adams and a bottle of Spanish tempranillo that I knew for a fact came from Trader Joe, cost under $6 and was delicious.
Finn and Donovan arrived at the last minute and dropped off two bottles of Côtes de Nuits burgundies. To be fair, French reds were cheaper than most California reds, so it wasn’t quite as fancy as it seemed.
The table was soon piled up with plates of good food, and everyone was tucking in heartily.
Finn looked at me. “Missed you last night.”
“I’ll make it up to you next week, I promise.”
“You better,” Donovan seconded.
“Didn’t know you were going on our date,” I said.
“The night is young,” he replied.
“So is our love,” I retorted.
“Down girl,” Nick warned.
“Someone wishes,” I shot back.
Riley gave me a puzzled look. He seemed lost, perplexed by the various powerful gravities orbiting around me. I figured I should throw him a bone. I knew he was struggling with English lit, and I could sincerely use a little help with Spanish, which Riley (who grew up with Spanish-speaking domestic help, I’m pretty certain) actually thrived at.
“Hey Riley, do you think you could help me with a Spanish essay I have to write? I’ll help you with any lit paper you want.”
He looked at me, then looked down at his plate. “Yeah, no worries. Tomorrow. I have to do something on James/Forster/Maugham and I could use your help with figuring out an approach.”
Rico shot me a pitying look. “Why you want to learn Spanish, cachorro. You should be studying Português, cara.”
“Oh. Like I’m not getting a crash course in it right now. ‘Foda,’ ‘Chupe,’ I mimicked.”
Rico had the decency to redden a tiny bit.
Pedro chuckled. “Engula meu pau, vadia.” I knew what that meant now: ‘Suck my cock, bitch.’ Rico adjusted his junk in his shorts.
Donovan pressed his point. “I feel at a distinct disadvantage.”
“Maybe you are,” Pedro observed, drily.
“Who made these ribs?” asked Finn, changing the topic.
“My man Pedro,” I responded.
“Perfection,” said Luca.
“Yeah. They rock,” said Jax. “It’s all good. Not sure why we waited so long to do a group dinner.”
Riley of all people spelled it out. “We just needed a diplomatic channel between Finn and Justin.”
Donovan chimed in, “Finn and the Faggot. Sounds like a TV show.”
“Dude,” said Luca. “Check yourself.”
“A show you’d like and subscribe to,” Nick said, pointedly, to Donovan.
“Guys!!” I called out. “I’m psyched about this dinner. It was high time. Don’t prove me wrong. Donovan, you’re welcome here. Chill, dude.”
He stared at me, levelly, for a second. “I apologize, little dude. I was being a dick. Not sure why. Sometimes you feel like you were invited late to the party.”
“You weren’t,” I confirmed. “We just needed time to open lines of communication.”
Donovan raised his glass of red wine. “Cheers. To our hosts.”
“To our hosts,” echoed Ernesto.
“You guys aren’t clowning around, that’s for sure,” said Luca.
“Too soon!” Ernesto and I shouted, in tandem.
It broke the ice. Nick, Pedro, Finn, a few others, all burst out laughing.
We planned out further group meals and theme parties. Figured out who could help whom with tutoring, difficult classes and papers, and so on. Ernesto came to me discreetly to say he could help me with Spanish far better than Riley could, but understood my bridge-building. I made a plan to get some one-on-one tutoring with him next week.
I spent time with Donovan, letting him flirt with me, and sending him back positive feedback that I didn’t entirely consider him to be a creep. Luca, meanwhile, now seemed oddly protective, maybe even possessive of me. He’d check in with me periodically, to refill my wine, or drape a graceful, muscular arm over my shoulder to let me know he had my back.
I was struck how these guys, after dominating me in the bedroom, or the ring, as the case may be, were such teddy bears in their downtime.
But one thing shone through over the course of the evening. Pedro and Nick owned me. They were Alpha and Omega, the first and last word about everything relating to my life, my free time and my sexual availability. While Nick had said very little about my impending date with Finn, I couldn’t help notice that he took him aside at some point to discuss something in earnest.
Later after everyone had cleared and cleaned and retired to their respective houses, Nick came into my bedroom without knocking.
“Want company?”
“Always,” was my reply. He was wearing sleeping shorts, and his exposed limbs and torso were distracting, to say the least. I closed my laptop and set it onto the nightstand beside me. Nick slipped under the covers and flipped me over effortlessly so his body covered mine. His arms circled around my torso and squeezed gently. He then released me and rolled onto his side, pulling me with him, one strong arm cradling my neck on the pillow, the other draped over my waist.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine. Good. Just, uh, taking things as they come. Are you and Riley better?”
“Not really. I think he just needs time. Or I’ll need to figure out a way to restore the Bro Code.”
I rolled my eyes. “What is it about boys—”
Nick cut me off. “That you can’t live without.”
“Hah! As if I have a choice at the moment.”
“I would argue the point, but it’s not in my best interests,” Nick admitted. “You okay after Friday?”
“Apart from my dissociative personality episode? Surprisingly, yes. Given that I was abducted by unknown psychopaths. I literally didn’t recognize Ernesto. Or the other two. Couldn’t pick them out of a lineup…”
“What other two?” Nick asked, sharply.
“I turned to look into his eyes. He maintained a deadpan expression, then smiled.
I turned to look into his eyes. He maintained a deadpan expression, then smiled.
“Fuck off. No gaslighting tonight,” I declared. “Do you know where they took me?”
“Coach has a cabin-cum-playroom in the woods.”
“Of course he does. Emphasis on cum.”
Nick reached over me and switched off the lamp. He rubbed my chest and belly soothingly. “Such a good boy for me.” I drifted off to sleep in no time.
After a week of writing papers, helping people write papers, Spanish tutoring from Riley, which involved a lot of pawing at me, more Spanish tutoring from Ernesto which also involved a lot of pawing at me, Saturday rolled around sooner than I expected.
I headed over to the other house, as we now called it, with a bottle of Côtes du Rhone. Finn said he had made a huge batch of chili (to feed the crew next door as well). I tapped on the left side door. It was Luca who opened.
“Hey, stud.”
“Hey yourself,” I said, hugging him.
“You’re expected. I’ll be next door if you need me,” he said, winking.
I entered the great room, as Finn was coming down the stairs. He sized me up. I was wearing twill pants that loosely hugged my butt and legs, and a lavender polo.
“Nice,” he said, softly. “No overnight bag?”
“Not making assumptions. But also, I don’t wear much when I sleep. I figure you may have a pair of shorts and a t-shirt if I need them,” I teased.
“What can I serve you? A kir? A beer?”
“A kir? How parisien!” I admit I was a bit floored. Nothing but surprises with these guys.
“Mais oui,” Finn asserted.
“S’il te plait,” I confirmed.
“Follow me,” he said, leading the way to the kitchen island. He patted the seat of a stool.
“Assieds-toi.”
There were two stools on both sides of the island. I plopped myself down on one that faced the kitchen area as Finn pulled out a bottle of white wine. He poured a little bit of black current liqueur in two wine glasses, then topped it off with wine until it was a blushing cherry color.
He was wearing a lightweight linen shirt in a robin’s egg blue, over a pair of khaki linen beach pants. They both draped perfectly over his tight, muscular body.
I’d already noticed that he was built more solidly than the average laxman (though Riley was also pretty swole). The linen wasn’t transparent, but had a “there-not-there” effect of seeming to reveal the contours of his musculature.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get into lacrosse?”
“You mean because I’m Black?”
“Sorry, yeah. I suppose that’s what I’m asking.”
“It’s a fair question. Actually, my mother is part Yakama, her people came from the reservation north of the Columbia Valley in Washington State. I used to visit my grandparents there in the summers. You’re probably vaguely aware that lacrosse was originally a Native American sport, although mainly from the Great Lakes area. But it’s a big deal in Yakima Valley where I played with my cousins. I got hooked.”
“Not the answer I was expecting,” I allowed.
“Have you watched any lacrosse matches?”
“No,” I confessed. “But I haven’t been to any wrestling meets either. I have seen a few of Pedro and Rico’s games.”
“You’d be surprised. If you can get over your image of laxmen, the games are quick, intense and very strategic. A stickball version of hockey.”
“What’s my image of laxmen?”
“Puh-lease. We’re all douches.”
“I only ever said Riley was a douche. And I’ve come around. Also, I would never have guessed you played lacrosse.”
I’d finished my drink.
“Another?” Finn offered.
“I’m good,” I said.
“Shall we stick with white?” he proposed.
“Sure.” Finn poured us both glasses of pinot gris. He then proceeded to ladle out a steaming portion of chili over rice for each of us. He expertly topped it with a sprinkling of grated cheddar, cilantro and green scallions, as well as a dollop of sour cream. The smells were making my mouth water.
“The secret is to use black beans in addition to the red. And a little coffee. I just add a couple of espressos. Cowboys who used to cook over an open fire out on the range used the morning’s leftover coffee to regulate the temperature and the liquid. The other secret is to use brisket.”
“I’m a convert,” I praised him and his chili.
“There’s more if you want, although I left the main batch next door for the rest of the gang.”
“No this is great, more than enough,” I said, between appreciative mouthfuls. “It’s really good. For all the reasons you said. I’m amazed that our little hot jock bubble boasts such decent cooks,” I said, unguardedly. I heard myself half a beat later.
Finn choked, laughing. “So you think we’re a hot jock bubble?”
I blushed. “The wine is going to my head, but yeah, you can’t have failed to notice…”
“What I’ve noticed is that there’s a lot of competition for your attention. Or at the very least, a lot of activity revolving in your orbit…”
“I’m finding a certain amount of, what word would I use… purpose.”
Finn topped up our wine glasses. “I was kind of hoping tonight, there’d be no purpose. We just chill and see what happens.”
I held his gaze. His eyes were a greenish topaz. He came around the island and sidled up to my stool. His lips were plump, a knowing smirk barely perceptible, appealing. He reached one hand around my neck and took firm hold of the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss.
His lips found mine and took control, his tongue probing my mouth and taming my own tongue. I gently placed my hand onto the crotch of his linen pants to feel the magnitude of his desire – it was substantial, and giving off considerable heat.
I pulled back from the kiss. He held my gaze, not breaking.
“Wanna take this to my room?”
I nodded. For the first time in a very long time, it seemed like I was just ‘hooking up’ in relatively commonplace fashion, the way couples since time immemorial seem to have done. Finn took my hand and led me off the stool. He then placed his hands on my waist behind me and steered me forward. It was insistent, not forceful. He led me up the stairs which rose along the far wall, before bending to the right above the powder room door.
At the top of the stairs was a long hallway with a bathroom and three bedrooms heading down on the right. Across from the bathroom was a doorway I couldn’t help peeking through, to an identical hallway in the other duplex, a staircase leading below in the opposite direction to my left, with a mirror image of bathroom and bedrooms giving off down the hallway across from the common wall. I heard laughter, shouting and the vague clatter of forks and bowls of chili drifting up from somewhere below.
Finn grabbed my waist and pulled me back, leading us down the hall to the furthest door in his hallway. The bedrooms were roomy – Finn’s room was neat, minimal, a bit like him. Stylish, understated. He’d covered the floor with a kind of interlocking gym/office matting, a little softer than what we had in the basement gym. A well-ordered workstation at a desk that looked over a window to one side of the house.
He fiddled with his phone, sent some sultry mood music to a portable speaker while I wheeled around on his ergonomic workstation chair, which glided over the padded floor.
“This is cool. I wouldn’t have thought of it.” I remarked.
Finn finished sending a couple of texts before setting the phone down. “What’s that? Oh, the mats?” He smiled devilishly. “It’s good for yoga and cleans easily.” He lifted me from the desk and led me to the bed.
“So,” I grinned. “This is your famous game?”
“I don’t know if it’s famous. But I probably implied I wouldn’t have to resort to bells and whistles. Or whips and chains.”
“I have come into zero contact with whips and chains since the beginning of lockdown,” I asserted.
“Sounds like it’s been pretty intense, though.”
“I mean, I’ve been open to, and experiencing, a lot of specific interests and, let’s say, predilections among the guys.”
“Do you ever top?”
“I haven’t so far. But I’m up for anything.”
“Dream on,” he chuckled. “You won’t be topping me.”
