GWM - 9. Chapter 9 of 18

Art

It would have been funny if Harry had actually liked Art. But after Carl, Ryan, and Matthew, Harry felt a bit drained, and he was simply cleaning house.
Art was older than Harry, in his mid-forties. Like Gordon, he’d been married for a long time. And he not only had kids but also grandchildren. He laughed, telling Harry, “My wife and I started way too young. Then our kids followed our lousy example.”
Art knew he’d always liked guys, but he’d mainly ignored it. “Every once in a while, in those couple of minutes I happened to be alone in the house, I’d jerk off to an ad of a guy with no shirt on. But that was about it.” Then he’d fallen for a twenty-one-year-old, straight out of Harvard.
The guy had been hired as an entry-level salesman for the company Art had worked for half his life. The boy came from a rich family and was trying to make it on his own. But he was “pathetic,” as Art put it.
He was telling Harry this over lunch. He’d written Harry, Harry had written back, then Art had called. It was a sunny, Sunday afternoon, and Harry had said, “Come on over,” mostly because he had nothing else to do.
“You could have lunch with me,” Gordon had offered. But lately Gordon had been pushing too hard to get Harry into bed. “You keep seeing guys who are bad for you. And I’m right here.”
“I like you too much to encourage you that often,” Harry had allowed.
Gordon had sighed. “That’s so fucked.”
So Harry was having lunch with a slightly overweight, slightly balding, somewhat obsessed advertising salesman. They were eating on Harry’s back balcony because it was the first warm Sunday of spring.
“I began helping the boy,” Art was saying. “First, ‘cause he seemed like a nice guy. Then, ‘cause I liked having him around.”
The boy was so lost, and so lonely, and living in a place he called “West Hell” -- West Springfield -- that he quickly started depending on Art.
“I practically gave up my life,” Art said. “I’d go from work, to Glen’s apartment, to home, just in time to sleep. My wife thought I was having an affair. We even joked about it. But at that point, all I was doing with Glen was drinking and playing cards.”
Art was silent for a moment, then as if he needed to explain, he said, “I’ve got three daughters. I’ve always wanted a boy. At first, I kept telling myself that’s all it was.”
Smarter people have told themselves dumber lies, Harry thought. But he said nothing.
“Finally,” Art went on, “one night I got too drunk to drive. I practically passed out just sitting there. So I flopped on his couch. Went straight to sleep. Well, he must’ve gotten up in the middle of the night. To piss or something. That woke me, and when I looked around, I realized he was standing in the hallway, watching me sleep. With his shorts down around his knees.”
Art took a moment to adjust his own pants. Without looking, Harry would have bet the guy was getting hard.
“That was the first time I’d seen his dick,” Art said, grinning. “Hell, it was the first time I saw him without a shirt. And I can’t tell you how good he looked.”
He paused and looked out at the trees
“I had all my clothes on,” he continued. “And I didn’t even know if he could tell I was awake. There was almost no light on me. Finally, I said -- and I don’t know how I found my voice -- ‘Just get over here.’”
Harry laughed. He could see it all.
“Well, we got my clothes off pretty quick. And soon we were doing things I didn’t even know I knew about. I mean, I’ve hardly seen any porn. I wouldn’t dare bring it into the house, and I don’t trust computers. You never know what’s gonna pop up after you’ve left. The last time I saw a naked guy was probably in high school.”
Harry knew what Art meant. Most of the guys he saw were fully dressed.
“After the first time,” Art went on, “well, cards just bit it. Whenever I came over -- which was almost every night -- we hopped into bed. We were just a couple of teenagers. I mean, neither of us really knew what we were doing. Glen had only fucked girls, though he started when he was fifteen. I’d fucked a couple of girls before I got married. A couple of real whore-types. But once that ring was on, I never cheated.”
“Must’ve been hard,” Harry said.
“Nah, I loved my wife. And my daughters were the best thing going.”
Art grinned.
“Still,” he went on, “sex with my wife was nothing like with Glen. I could really give it to that boy. And call him all kinds of names. And he’d just laugh. Or suck me. Or fuck me. And I mean, when he had his tongue up my ass, I would’ve given him the world.”
He stopped there and again adjusted his pants. “I’m sorry,” he said, laughing. “You know how it goes.”
Harry laughed and went to get more coffee, though the pot was halfway full. When he got back, Art went on.
“Even when my wife found out -- and I had to tell her. Even when I told my daughters -- and that was really hard. Well, Glen and I just carried on. The divorce papers came, and I signed ‘em and sent ‘em back. And I moved in with Glen, taking nothing but some family photos and my clothes. It looked like I’d comfortably switched from one marriage to the next. Then one afternoon I came home, and he was gone.”
Art stopped to bite his sandwich. He’d been eating earlier, but once he started telling his story, he’d stopped.
“That was some shock,” Art said. “I can tell you. I got back after work, and my key wouldn’t open the door. Well, I figured he’d lost his keys or something. Broke the lock. Had to replace it. He was always doing dumb things like that. I don’t know how his parents brought him up. He was so sheltered – just not ready for this world. Still, I knew he’d be back pretty soon, so I hung out.”
Art hesitated, then went on.
“See, we worked different parts of the state. There was no saying, once we left in the morning, when we’d see each other again. And that morning, we’d left his place together...”
He stopped again. It seemed this part of the story was harder to tell. “You don’t have to explain,” Harry said.
“Nah. Nah. It’s good just talking to someone. Someone who won’t disapprove.”
Harry could hardly do that.
“Well, by six, Glen hadn’t shown up -- and he was usually home by five.” Art suddenly smiled. “As I said, he really wasn’t much good at what he did. So he hardly did any overtime. Hell, at his age, I was working eighty-hour weeks. I could do twice as much business in a morning...”
“I guess you weren’t blind to everything,” Harry tried to joke.
“No. Bottom line, the boy was terrific in bed. But he sucked at doing much else.” Art laughed, though it didn’t seem comfortably.
“Anyway, at six, I was still standing in the hall. Kind of getting pissed off. Especially when other people started coming home. That’s sort of embarrassing. And our neighbor across the way was really surprised to see me. She thought we’d moved out that afternoon. That’s when Glen took his bags.”
Art paused again.
“Well, hearing that, I went bonkers. I mean, I gave up everything for this guy. My wife. My family. Our house. I walked away from our savings. I knew how much I’d hurt my wife, so I wanted her to have everything. And then Glen fucking walks.”
Harry wanted to say something, but Art didn’t give him time.
“That night, I slept in the office. I couldn’t stay in the apartment. Even after the locksmith got it open, I could barely look at the place. And I wouldn’t go near a motel. I knew where Glen lived. He was on the outs with his parents, so I didn’t have their number. But I found it fast enough. When I called, they were real frosty. Said they hadn’t heard from him since graduation. Said he’d know how to apologize when he was ready. I gave them my number -- the one from work. I made it sound totally official. His parents didn’t need to know he was sucking cock.”
And that was it. Art never heard from Glen again. The boy simply disappeared, leaving Art’s life a wreck. The only thing keeping him going was his job. Which is when he started answering ads.
“I wasn’t even looking for sex,” he admitted. “Just something to distract me from Glen. And you seem like the right kind of guy. I go through the ads looking for the kind of guy who could understand.”
Harry smiled. “Well, I’ll always listen...”
“I need more than that.”
Harry was afraid where this was going. He’d already thought about what it would be like having sex with Art. The guy had a good face, and God knows he was honest. But there wasn’t much else that attracted Harry.
Art went on. “It’s not the sex I care about. Glen beat the fun out of that. I need to be punished.”
Harry didn’t understand. “I think you’ve been punished enough...”
“And it can’t come from one of those tough guys,” Art continued. “Those dudes in leather who look like they’ll crack your head open. You know... tattoos... piercings. Then most of ‘em just want to be reamed.”
Harry laughed. “Yep, the gay conundrum.”
“What?”
“Nothing. But you haven’t really tried?” Harry asked. He was a little stunned that Art was serious.
“You bet. I found one of those bikers and let him tear off my clothes. He kind of cut them off with an Army knife. Then, as I waited to be smacked, the guy just dropped to his knees and started sucking.”
Harry laughed again, and Art laughed along.
“He was the wrong kind of guy anyway,” Art said. “I need to be beaten by someone nice. The best would be a priest.”
“I’m hardly a priest,” Harry offered.
“But the point is, you wouldn’t get off on hurting me. You’d do it ‘cause you knew I was wrong.”
“I couldn’t do it at all. It’s way beyond me.”
“Even if I gave you money? Like maybe a thousand bucks?”
“It’s not the money...”
“Think what a thousand bucks could buy. Or two thousand. Just for smacking my ass for ten minutes. Or punching me around.”
“I couldn’t.”
“I deserve it. You can’t deny that...”
“I don’t think you deserve it,” Harry insisted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, yeah, you hurt your wife. And, yeah, you hurt your daughters. But you didn’t do it purposely. There’s nothing wrong with trying to be happy.”
While Art seemed to think about that, Harry glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even two, and he wanted Art to leave.
“Maybe I don’t deserve it,” Art admitted. “But I want it. What would it take to convince you?”
Harry wouldn’t even consider it, though Art quickly explained his plans. “I just want to strip in front of you. Show you my terrible body. And I have some things you can use on me. Easy things. Things from the office. You can put them on my nipples, and they really hurt.”
It seemed Art had already tried this, and Harry started to say, “If you can punish yourself...”
Art cut him off. “Yeah, I can do it. And you know I have. But it’s not enough. I need a nice guy hurt me. A decent guy. ‘Cause I was nice once...”
Harry looked at him. Art stared back. His dark eyes didn’t even blink.
Harry had never hurt anyone in his life. Not intentionally. He’d done stupid things. And said stupid things. But the thought of hurting someone physically...
“I think you’d better leave,” he said.
In response, Art pulled off his shirt. It was a golf shirt, and it was over his head before Harry could stop him. “Sad looking, huh?” Art said. He grabbed his flabby pecs and shook them. “And hairy. I hate that.”
It was true. Art didn’t have the best looking body. He trimmed his hair really close, but that just made him look heavier. While Harry watched, Art quickly opened his pants and yanked them down his thighs. “Though I’ve got a good dick,” he went on.
Harry was on his feet. “I’ve got neighbors,” he insisted.
“No one can see me.”
“The police station’s downstairs.” Harry pointed towards it.
“But they can’t see us from there. A cop’d have to be halfway up one of those trees to look onto this balcony.”
Though Art’s pants were down, he worked something out of his pocket.
“These hurt a lot,” he said.
He tossed a black binder clip onto the table, then snapped a smaller one on one of his nipples. As it caught, he rose slightly on his toes. Then he snapped the other one on and grimaced.
“Look at my dick,” he said. “Not even hard. Now clamp my balls.” He pointed to the bigger clip on the table.
Harry didn’t move.
“You can clamp ‘em together,” Art said. “You have to squeeze, but they’ll both fit into that clip.”
Harry took the clip and tossed it over the railing. A second later, they heard it hit the ground. Then Harry reached for Art’s chest.
Art twisted away. With his pants down, he couldn’t move far, but he quickly bent over the table.
“Hit me,” he said, pointing his hairy ass towards Harry. “Make my butt good and red, and I’ll get out of here.”
Harry forced Art to stand up. They nearly wrestled, but finally Art stood, and Harry unclamped his nipples. “Pull up your pants,” he said.
“Make me.”
Instead, Harry sat down.
“Okay, then just watch,” Art said, grinning. “Tell me how pathetic I am.”
“How much are you getting off on this?” Harry asked instead.
“My dick’s still soft,” Art insisted. “Look at it.”
Harry didn’t mean to, but he did.
“My nipples hurt like hell though,” Art went on. “That’ll remind me of this for a good couple of days.”
“But it doesn’t get you off?” Harry asked.
“I don’t deserve to ever come again. I’d chop my balls off if I could.”
Harry looked at him.
“I’m a disaster,” Art went on. “I’d kill myself, but it hurts more to live.”
Harry could say nothing.
“Just tell me that. Tell me I’m a loser. Call me a fat, cocksucking shit. The sooner you do that, the faster I’ll be out of your life.”
“You’ve already humiliated yourself,” Harry said.
“Then get me arrested. You said there’s a police station there. I’ll stand in front of it.”
“Just get out of here.”
“Tell me I’m a loser,” Art challenged.
“You’re not,” Harry said. “You’re just a pain in the ass.”
That made Art laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I am.”
And without pulling up his pants, he sat and started finishing his lunch. Harry only watched.
“Hungry,” Art finally said, reaching for the coffee.
“How long have you been doing this?” Harry asked eventually.
Art considered. He was almost smiling. “Hurting myself? A couple of months. Since soon after Glen left.”
“And how long are you gonna keep it up?”
Art considered. “I don’t know. If I weren’t so horny all the time, maybe that would finish it. I should cut off my dick, too.”
“You’d just show the scars to everyone.”
Art laughed. “Who knows?”
Harry said nothing.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Art went on. “I feel better, sitting here, embarrassing myself in front of you, than I have since that cocksucker took off. My life’s a mess. My daughters don’t want to see me again. My friends have all gone. The only thing that keeps me from getting fired is I’m so good at my job. But it feels great, just sitting here naked.”
“Then stay as long as you’d like,” Harry said. He pointed to the outside stairs leading down to the parking lot. “Just don’t come back.”
And Harry went into the kitchen. He locked the door, grabbed his wallet and keys, drove to Gordon’s, and took his friend to bed.
“What’s this about?” Gordon asked, stunned. “What did I do to deserve this?”
Harry would never say.