GWM - 12. Chapter 12 of 18

Ron

Definite clown three, a joker.
Ron should have been a match for Harry. They had so much in common. He was Harry’s age, his height, and he shared much of his enthusiasm.
“Me? Opinionated? Me? Elitist? No way,” Ron told him, laughing, on the phone.
If you backed a few yards away from them, and squinted, you’d mainly see one difference: Ron was black.
Ron’s field was Art, Contemporary and Modern.
“There are parts of it I loathe,” he admitted. “But other parts crack me up. And I love art that makes me laugh.”
He’d recently finished his Ph.D., after the required self-disemboweling, and preferred working in museums.
“I could teach,” he said, “on the college level. But I’d expect way too much from kids. I’d murder them.”
He’d just ended a fourteen-year relationship that had started when he was in college and his lover was in his thirties.
“He was my mentor, of course -- the first guy to tell me it was okay to love art without seeming weak. And, not incidently,” he laughed again, “he was dying to suck me off.”
They’d split when Ron’s lover hit fifty. “Huge mid-life crisis. He forgot everything he was. What he valued. Every time I came home, it was an adventure.”
They still owned a house together, in the old part of Charleston, and a small art collection.
“We’ve been written up, in national magazines. They didn’t even hide our being gay. Of course, cocksuckers in the art world ain’t exactly a phenomenon.”
“You couldn’t work things out?” Harry asked.
“Maybe I didn’t want to,” Ron said. “Maybe it was time to move on. I’d pretty well gone straight from my folks’ house into Neal’s. My poor parents paid for three-and-a-half years of a dorm room I never used. Guys used to beg to be my ‘roommate.’”
“Sweet deal.”
“Yeah. And I didn’t really leave Neal so much as I finally started growing up. And even though my furniture’s no longer antiques, and the paintings are only prints, I’m fine. I’ll have real stuff again someday.”
That was all on the phone. Harry knew you could have a great time on the phone, and an evening could go very fast. But you couldn’t learn everything. Like the first time they met, Ron kept touching Harry. Not sexually. More hands on hands. Hands on arms. Or hands gently rubbing shoulders.
“Just something I’m used to,” Ron told him. “It bother you?”
“No,” Harry said. Though he couldn’t touch Ron as easily.
They went out several times, to the usual small dinners and odd movies. “God, I’m predictable,” Harry said, laughing.
“Nice predictable,” Ron corrected, leaning across a restaurant table to kiss him.
It was over in a second, but it was the first time Harry had kissed a guy, that openly, in public.
The first time they were in bed was as smooth. Ron caressed Harry. With his tongue. With the inside of his wrists. With the tips of his toes. Even Eric had never been that agile.
“God! Fucking! Christ!” Ron shouted, when Harry came. “Let me feel that hot juice against my balls!”
Harry almost laughed, but stopped himself. As luckily, they were in Ron’s apartment. Even Harry’s aging neighbors would have woken from the dead.
Ron’s body was amazing. He really worked out. “No, I don’t,” Ron insisted. “Only three or four times a week.”
By contrast, Harry road his bike. Occasionally. In good weather. His main exercise was walking.
Like Ollie’s, Ron’s balls were also shaved. Though he didn’t stop there: His chest was waxed smooth. But his pubic hair was a wiry tangle.
“Neal liked it that way, and it’s something I’ve never changed.”
Ron’s apartment was equally amazing -- a tiny studio jammed with art, shelves, sculpture, and books. Posters overlapped posters on the walls -- and on the ceiling. “Nothing wrong with using every inch you’ve got.”
Things piled on piles. Newspapers, mail, and magazines rose, perched, and leaned.
“There’s too much coming into this place,” Ron confessed. “I barely glance at things, then I toss ‘em somewhere. And I won’t throw them out. Never know what you’re gonna need.”
“You could use another room,” Harry joked.
“Who has the money? You try living on an assistantship.”
“I haven’t done that since I was twenty-six.”
“It’s not fun.”
Neal had offered to support Ron. But Ron refused. “I wasn’t living on a trust fund. Not from someone I didn’t trust.”
He laughed again.
“You’re definitely not going back?” Harry asked.
“Just for my share of the house. Which he won’t sell till he’s dead. And I hope that’s a long time from now.”
Neal had put in the money, but Ron had done most of the work. So it was an equal investment.
Ron and Harry were flopped on the floor of Ron’s apartment. He had no chairs or couch, only bookcases and a narrow futon. He’d written his dissertation on a laptop balanced on his knees.
“Neal was compulsively neat,” he explained. “I liked that, and I can’t live this way forever. But for now, it’s a tremendous release.”
As was having your balls gently sucked. For what seemed like weeks.
“You should shave them,” Ron said. “We should.”
So they did.
“Much better.”
And he went back to sucking.
“Want to know a secret?” Ron eventually asked.
“Unnh,” was all Harry could get out.
“I’ve got a small tattoo.”
“Where?” Harry might have asked, had he use of his tongue.
“Deep in my pubic hair,” Ron went on. “Another reason it’s never shaved. The tiniest letters say ‘Neal.’”
“Nice,” Harry managed.
“Nah, totally sentimental. But we did it on my twenty-first birthday -- so I’d always remember.”
For a guy who wanted to forget Neal, Ron spent a lot of time talking about him.
“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done?” Ron asked next.
“Shaved my balls,” Harry said, laughing.
Ron laughed, too, then said, “Want to take off the rest?”
“Not especially.”
“That’s cool. I like hair. At least on other guys.”
Ron’s hair was particularly soft on his legs and arms, and Harry told him so.
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
And for a while, Harry sucked.
“What’s really the weirdest thing?” Ron eventually prompted.
“Weirdest?”
“Yeah.”
Harry had to think.
“I jerked someone off in a car once.”
Ron waited. “That’s it?”
“I think he was married. Does that make it better?”
“Dirt! I want dirt!”
“He was very good-looking. Great looking, actually. A bit older than we are. Sexy white teeth.”
“Caps, probably.”
“I don’t think he’d done a lot of this,” Harry said, laughing. “Not that I’m the expert.”
“That nice. Two fumbling fools.” And Ron grinned.
“We couldn’t go to his place,” Harry went on. “For the obvious reason. And he was too nervous to come to mine. So we drove. I drove. Then we parked. Kind of. He must’ve made me move fifteen times. If another car passed. Or a horn honked. Bird flapped. The guy was so sure there were cops everywhere, it’s amazing he could even stay hard.”
“Was he hard?”
“Better believe it!”
Ron laughed.
“Finally, I found a dark side street. Got the guy’s shirt open. He had a great chest. Dense with curls. You like that?”
“Don’t mind me,” Ron said, stroking himself.
“When I got his pants open... when I finally touched his cock... he just wanted to shoot. I think all that car moving was a ploy.”
Ron stroked on.
“When I realized how close he was, I just stopped. That was rude, but he was so much fun to watch.”
Ron moaned. He was fun to watch, too.
“The more I didn’t touch him, the more he began to sweat. And he wouldn’t touch himself. He just sort of slouched down, kind of jammed between the window and the seat. I’d worked his pants down to his knees, so he was nicely exposed. You’d be surprised how much you can see in a little light.”
“Don’t stop now.”
“When I finally did touch him, he began to bang his head back and forth. I was afraid he’d hurt himself. Or crack his head through the window.”
Ron banged his head gently on the wall.
“I cupped his cock, then, Wham! It went off. Hit the dash board. Splattered his suit. I would have laughed, but it was my car to clean.”
Harry thought Ron might shoot then, but he didn’t. Which impressed Harry.
“After that, he kept wiping himself with his handkerchief. He’d lick it, then wipe. Lick, then wipe. Like he’d have to pass inspection when he got home.”
That almost set Ron off. But he caught himself. “Damn,” he said. Then he smiled, and absently tasted his pre-come. He offered some to Harry.
“Nah,” Harry said. But he also smiled.
“The weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” Ron began. “I mean weirder than multiple piercings -- we all had those for a while.”
Harry hadn’t.
“The weirdest thing I’ve ever done was maybe six months ago.”
Harry listened, while stroking his own cock.
“There was another ad,” Ron said. “Maybe you saw it: ‘Public man wants private show.’”
Harry remembered it, though had passed it by.
“I answered. There was no phone message, just a beep. But I left my number anyway. Couple days later, this guy calls.”
“What did he sound like?” Harry asked.
“Good voice. Normal voice. The kind you’d believe in.”
“What did he say?”
“He started asking questions. All kinds of questions. Detailed. You could tell he had them written out. It was like a national phone survey.”
Ron laughed, then resumed stroking.
“You could also tell the guy was conservative. Just from the language he used. ‘Prefer’ and ‘one,’ rather than ‘like’ and ‘you.’ And you could guess how he wanted the questions answered. He was that transparent. So I played along, telling him just what he wanted to hear.”
“Why?”
“I was curious.”
Harry slightly shifted. They were still on the floor, leaning back against pillows. Staring at Harry, from a bookcase, was something that might have been a tin elephant, balanced on an orb.
“Not that I had to lie,” Ron continued. “As he finally told me, ‘You’re just my type.’”
“Did he say what that was?” Harry asked.
“Me, obviously. Tall. Masculine. Handsome.”
They both laughed.
“So at the end of all these questions... and there must have been seventy-five...”
“‘How big are you?’”
“Strangely, he never asked that. Honest. Underneath, you could tell the guy had class.”
“I’ll bet.”
“He did. I met him.”
“You what!” It made Harry harder.
“You know I did. Hell, I had to.”
It was true. Harry shouldn’t have been surprised.
“And this is where it gets weird.”
“Can you wait? Just a minute?” Harry asked. “I need more lube.”
They laughed together.
“Now when I say, ‘He had class,’ that was just something I felt. I was with him. I met him. We spent half a night together. But I never really saw him.”
“You were blindfolded?” Harry joked.
“Hooded.”
Oops, not funny.
“It was hot,” Ron confessed.
Harry could believe it. And he had the proof in his hand.
“The guy must be a senator or something. State senator. Congressman. He told me where to meet him -- in the statehouse, in Springfield. I got there around midnight. He’d FedExed a key to me. It was brand new and stamped ‘DO NOT DUPLICATE.’”
“You’re sure the Secret Service wasn’t involved?”
“Nah, this was state level.”
The tip of Harry’s cock was wet.
“I went in through a service door. Followed a map he’d drawn to a small conference room. Took off my clothes, all according to his note. There was a hood on the table. Black. Leather. No eye or ear holes, just places to breathe. I put it on. Zipped it up. It tightly covered my head. Then I lay on the conference table, legs and arms wide. Finally, I heard the door.”
“It squeaked?”
“No, but you might,” Ron said, laughing. And he kissed Harry. “Want me to do that for you?” he asked.
“Just keep talking.”
“It’s not all funny,” he warned. “There was a moment there when I wasn’t sure I’d get out alive. Though there was no way I could leave.”
“Go on.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Ron hesitated, then went on -- talking and stroking. “Anyway, this voice... the same one on the phone... ordered me to get off the table and stand. It was still a nice voice. As I said, the kind you trust.”
“Politicians.”
“Standing up was a little tough ‘cause I couldn’t see. But the guy guided me. Held my shoulder. Then he led me from the room. When we stopped, he tied me, standing, spread-eagle, between two columns.”
“Columns?”
“Probably. I could feel the fluting.”
“This guy’s in Congress?”
“He wasn’t a janitor, I can tell you that. Not with his imagination.”
“You really are an elitist.”
“Yeah, ain’t it great?” And Ron laughed.
“What happened next?” Harry wanted to know.
“He asked me questions. Ordinary things. What I did. What I liked. More personal than on the phone.”
“How’d you answer? I mean with the hood.”
“Oh. He’d popped the mouth open. I forgot about that. And even though my ears were covered, I could hear.”
“Were you still scared?”
“I wasn’t scared yet, though all the time we talked, he was covering me with something. I didn’t know what. It felt smooth, like some kind of cream. Then he started shaving.”
“Everywhere?”
“Neck to ankles. Not that I have much to lose. Though he spared my bush.”
“Safety razor?”
“Who knows? I just felt the cream coming off. When he stopped to wipe the blade, it came back warm.”
“What were you thinking?”
“I was way past thinking. I was too hard.”
“I would’ve been shouting.”
“In an empty building? What good would it do?”
“You think he’s done this before?”
“He had to. He knew just what he wanted.”
“And you weren’t scared?”
Ron didn’t answer immediately. Then he grinned. “Tell you the truth, I was completely into it.”
“The ropes didn’t hurt?”
“They were padded. There were cuffs around my wrists and ankles. Didn’t even leave a mark. Anyway, when he finished shaving, he cleaned me with a cloth. Warm water, then he patted me dry. Then he began covering me again, with some kind of lube. It smelled like jasmine. He slowly massaged every inch of me... except my cock. If he’d touched me there, I swear, I would’ve shot through a wall.”
“Nice guy.”
“It was just cool. I couldn’t have been more relaxed. Then came the ice.”
“Ice?”
“Cubes. First on my neck. I snapped forward, it was such a surprise. Then on my balls. He held each cube till it melted. He did that all over me. My nipples. Armpits. Behind my knees. It was crazy. I was flying. And I just wanted him to touch my cock.”
Harry said nothing. He was somewhat busy.
“I need direct pressure,” Ron went on. “Can’t come without it.”
“Did he know that?”
“I told him. I was begging him to touch me. Mumbling through the mask. By that time, he’d plugged the mouth again. But he could hear me. He only said, ‘There’s more.’”
“You’re kidding?”
“Then he started easing the cubes... one-by-one... up into me.”
“Christ.”
“The whole tray. He’d count them. Say, ‘This is number six. Eight more to go.’ He’d round the edges on my butt. Or in the small of my back. Then he’d slowly push them in.”
“And you didn’t...”
“What?”
“I don’t know... Scream?”
“Nah, the first few were fun. Neal’s used vibrators in me, so that wasn’t new. And I’ve been tied up before, in front of more than one guy. I was in a bar in Charleston once, in a sling. Guys’ hands all over me. I think there are still pictures going ‘round the Internet. So the first few ice cubes made me laugh. Then, when he got to nine or ten, my body began to fight. When he reached a dozen, I couldn’t stand still. And when he started the second tray... Well, I was freezing. Sweating. Tugging at the ropes. Making all these noises...”
“He didn’t worry?”
“ He just kept feeding the cubes. And, man, I was vibrating! He filled my mouth. Completely frosted my balls.”
“And?” Harry asked. “And?”
“Then he stopped. He just untied me. Ankles first, then wrists. I couldn’t even stand. I dropped to the floor. He took off the hood.”
“You saw him?”
“No. It was dark. There was light in the next room -- a john -- but he stayed in the shadows. Then he sat me on the toilet.”
“And?”
“I just let go. Just spewed everywhere. It was like coming out my ass.”
Harry laughed. It was all he could do.
“But it wasn’t enough,” Ron went on. “I had to jerk off. My cock was huge. Harder than it’s ever been. I’d been throbbing for hours. After I finished... and it didn’t take long, believe me... he was gone.”
Harry said nothing. Ron didn’t move.
“When I looked around again, everything seemed fine. My clothes were outside the door. My car keys. Wallet. I cleaned myself up in the bathroom. There were towels and soap. I got dressed. I stayed in the room for a while, wondering if he’d come back... kind of hoping he would. Then I wandered outside. But even in my car -- it was daylight then -- I knew I was in shock. The ice just did me in. I’d come, but I was still hard. I was dressed, but I was still freezing. It took over an hour, at home, in a hot tub, to warm me up again.”
Harry had stopped stroking.
“And it was so weird,” Ron went on. “If the guy had made me come, any time during the night, it would’ve been great. But after he untied me... there was no pleasure. Not even a release.”
“Could he know that?”
“He had to. I’ll bet, for him, that was the whole point.”
“And he watched?”
“Oh, yeah. I know he was there till I shot.”
And Harry started stroking again. “What did you do next?” he asked.
“Slept for maybe fourteen hours. Woke up. Jerked off. Slept. Woke up. Jerked off again. Tried to make it feel good .”
“Did you?”
“Not that day. Not for two or three more. It might have taken a week. I felt absolutely raped.
“Did you see the guy again?”
“You mean, did he call? No. Hell, no. Why should he? He got what he wanted.”
“He could’ve want more.”
“This was a one-time thing.”
Harry was at the edge. “What would you do? What would you have done?” he asked. “If he’d called?”
“There’s no way... I’ve really thought about this... I think this guy has a collection. I’ll bet anything he was taking pictures when I was tied to those columns. I’ll bet he has this whole hard drive full of naked guys. And I’m just one of them.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said. “I meant, if he called, would you go?”
Ron grinned. He only needed a second to think. Then he grinned wider. “Oh, yeah. ‘Fraid so.”
And Harry laughed. He was right at the edge.
“But he’ll never call,” Ron said. “He meant to leave me fucked. He needed to watch me fuck myself. All those questions. Saying I was ‘just his type.’ It was a warning.”
And Ron reached over and only touched one of Harry’s nipples. And Harry came. He couldn’t stop himself. Seeing that, Ron shot. Bellowing.
“Man, that was fun! Fun! FUN!” Ron said, minutes later. “Man!”
And Harry was grinning. And Ron was grinning.
“Nice story, no?” Ron finally asked.
Harry was slouched comfortably against Ron. Totally relaxed. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t.
“How much of that story is true?” he slowly questioned.
“All of it,” Ron said, laughing. “Like yours... about the guy in the car.”
“But that was true,” Harry insisted.
Ron shrugged. “So was this.”
Which left Harry nowhere. Ron was great, and the sex was terrific, but Harry didn’t need to be part of a collection, either.
Still, Harry didn’t stop seeing Ron. The guy would call, suddenly, at midnight, or show up, unexpected, at two in the morning. And he and Harry would go at it till they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Ron wasn’t the kind of guy Harry wanted to marry. The man was too dangerous to love. But there were no expectations. No pressure. And they were always equals.