The Zone (Fiction) Chapter 2&3

I originally wrote two additional chapters on Nifty, but I have combined 

them into one post on here.  

Chapter Two

It was a Sunday afternoon and my mother and I were returning home after a
shopping trip to the mall.  It had been a good day for the most part.  My
mother did not get a chance to spend much time with me lately as I was often
running about with my friends.  She enjoyed getting caught up on what was
happening in my life.  I had also had a pretty good day as the car was now
packed full of the new clothes that I would be taking with me when I headed
for college in a few weeks.   It was a good trade off.  My mother got to
hear about what movies I saw with my friends and I got clean underwear.

"So, you never did tell me about that fight you got into last week.  Who was
it with?" my mother asked, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Nobody you know," I answered, quickly trying to think of a way to change
the conversation.  My mother had noticed the red marks of my face the
weekend before.  I had lied and told her I had a fight with a friend.  At
the time she knew that I wasn't in the mood to talk about it, but evidently
she had not forgotten and now wanted an explanation.

"Well, I don't like it," she said.  "I didn't bring you up to get into
fights.  It's not like you."

"Mom, I really don't want to talk about it," I replied, not thinking of
anything that might get her off the subject.

After a pause, "I realize you're a young man now and I can't expect you to
tell me everything, but I've been worried.  You haven't been yourself this
past week.  You've been up in your room every night.  You normally come down
and spend some time with your dad and I, but you haven't all week."  She
wasn't going to let this one drop.

"Mom, really, everything is fine.  I just had a little problem last week but
now everything is OK.  Trust me, everything is fine."

"It's a girl, isn't it?"

I had been sipping a soda and almost coughed up my spleen.  "No Mother, I
can guarantee you it wasn't over a girl," I answered while wiping the
spilled Pepsi from my chin with my shirt and looking out the window so my
mother couldn't see my eyes literally roll into the back of my head.

My mother continued to drive while I just kept my mouth shut.  I knew she
was still thinking about what might have happened to me last week that would
cause me to hide away in my bedroom.  There was no way though I was about to
tell her anything close to the truth.  How do you tell your mother that not
only are you gay, but that also you enjoy getting fucked up the ass by big
black men?  Even if you send it with a gift, that story ain't going to play
well with the folks.  So I didn't say anything and eventually we were
pulling onto the driveway and I sensed my ensuing escape.  But it would not
be a clean getaway.

"Well, if you want to talk about it you let me know," my mother advised me.
"I'm not a boy, but I remember how boys your age acted when I was a girl.  I
know your hormones and juices and all that stuff kind of get in the way of
your brain and normal thinking.  So you just watch yourself, you
understand?"

I was not having a conversation about "my juices and stuff" with my mother.
No way, Jose.  "Thanks Mom, I'll be fine.  Trust me," I said and quickly got
out of the car and headed up to my room.

"Well you know where you can find me if you want to talk!" my mother yelled
as I headed up the stairs and to my room.  Yeah, I knew where she was and I
wasn't going there.

It had been a week and the piece of phone book with the phone number was
still was on my desk.  I had looked at it every time I entered my room.  I
couldn't help it.  The memory of what had happened the weekend before was
still seared into my head and the piece of paper brought that memory back
like a tidal wave every time I saw it.  I instinctively squeezed my ass
cheeks thinking of the experience.

I had been sore for the first couple of days, but not nearly as much as I
would have expected.  That first night before I went to bed I wanted to feel
my ass again to see how much it still hurt.  I found some Vaseline in the
bathroom and put some on my middle finger.  Laying on my stomach I reached
between my cheeks and gently dabbed the jelly onto my ass and then slowly
rubbed around my ass ring.  It was sore all right, but it was neither
stinging nor extremely painful.  It was feeling more bruised than anything
else.  I kept rubbing around the circle and then slowly started to insert my
finger until it was up to the first digit.  With my finger now inside I was
able to feel around the rim of my ass.  Again it was sore, but not painful.

I felt around a while, making sure everything was where it was supposed to
be, and suddenly noticed that I had a raging boner.  Closing my eyes I again
replayed the image of being pinned to a bed and having two huge black cocks
practically rip open my hole.  During the actual experience my cock never
even got remotely hard, but here I was now with my finger up my own ass and
it had never been harder.  How weird is that?  When I was having the sex
with those men my cock didn't even come into the picture, but afterwards
there I was thinking about it and my cock was rock solid.

I quickly rolled over and pulled my legs up to my chest pretending that once
again I was preparing to take a huge black pole up my ass.  I repositioned
my finger at my hole and started to finger fuck myself slowly at first and
then faster.  At the same time I started to stroke my cock to the rhythm of
my finger fucking.  Although it hurt a little because it was still sore I
closed my eyes and tried to mentally get back to where I was that afternoon.

The term that I had given to the mindset that I had achieved that afternoon
was "The Zone".  I had used the same term before when I was working out.  It
was almost that same mental state I had when I was really hitting the
weights hard or going that extra mile in a long run.  It was the same, but
it was different.  When I was working out, getting in this "Zone" allowed me
to do one more rep.  When I was running it allowed me to run a little longer
than I might have otherwise.  When I was being fucked, getting in this
"Zone" was something completely different.  Even though it allowed me to do
things I otherwise might not have been able to do, it was more spiritual
than physical.  When I worked out or ran it was just me.  When I got fucked,
there was someone else involved and they were pivotal in getting me in the
state of mind where I thought I could do anything.

I stroked my cock faster and plunged my hole deeper with my fingers trying
to get into that state of mind again.  Although I was physically enjoying
the pleasure and sensation I was giving myself, it still wasn't nearly the
same as the real fucking I had endured the weekend before.  I felt my cock
getting close to orgasm and I roughly squeezed another finger next to the
first.  It hurt a bit because I had not put on any additional Vaseline, but
it was enough to put me over the top as my cock exploded and I shot the
biggest load in my life.  The first shot landed high on my chest and the
remaining two or three shots landed squarely on my stomach and did not
dribble down the sides of my cock as they normally did.

I pulled out my fingers and went to the bathroom and got cleaned up and went
to bed.

It had been a week since the encounter with the two black men and I had not
picked up the phone.  I had spent a lot of time thinking about what had
happened and why I had allowed it to happen.  Alone in my room I played the
scene over and over again in my head.  Why did I do it?  Why did I let this
guy take me back to his place and do those things to me?  More importantly,
why did I enjoy it so much?  They were questions that had no answer and it
would be some time before I came to terms with who I was and what I was
becoming.

Several times I had picked up the phone and was in the middle of dialing the
number, and then chickened out and hung up the phone.  Was I fucking nuts?
Was I really going to call this guy and let him pimp out my ass to strangers
so he could make money?  That was fucking ridiculous!  Now that a week had
passed the memory was starting to fade a bit into something like a dream.  I
knew it happened.  There was no question about that, but I was starting to
mark it off as just a strange experience - an adventure that would not be
duplicated.  "Really," I thought, "What in the hell was I thinking?"

I finally got up the nerve and took the phone number and got rid of it.  I
not only got rid of it; I burned it on the stove so that there would be no
way for me to change my mind later.  I knew that my hormones might try and
trick me so I was taking no chances.  This number was getting trashed and I
was moving on with my life.  End of story.

It was Sunday afternoon.  It had been a week and a day. I was getting ready
to head out of the house and go meet a friend to see a movie.  I had cleared
my head of all the thoughts about what had happened and I was going to go be
a "normal" kid again.  Yes sir, that is exactly what I was going to
do...until I walked out the front door and saw Martin sitting in his car
parked in front of my house.

I stopped, frozen in my tracks.  This was not happening.  The man who had
practically raped me was not sitting in front of my house in his car smoking
a cigarette.  I turned around and saw my mother in the kitchen window baking
something.  She wasn't looking out the window, thank goodness, but any
moment she would turn around and see this guy parked in front of our house.
I knew my mother and she would not waste any time before investigating.  The
houses in our neighborhood were big and spread apart and no one just came
and parked in front of one of them without having a reason.  She would come
out and ask him what he was doing.

Oh my God, I was in deep shit.  I looked at the car, then my mother, then
the car, then my mother, and back and forth several times before I started
to get a hold of my senses.  I casually walked up to his car - if you could
call walking so stiffly that it looked like rigamortis was setting in - and
bent down appearing to act as if one of my shoes were untied.

Without looking up I played with my shoelaces and whispered, "What are you
doing here?  You have to leave now or I will get in trouble.  Please, just
leave."

"Hey there little man.  I've been waiting for the phone to ring, but it be
silent so far.  What's up with that?" He inhaled on his cigarette, leaned
back in his seat, and casually blew a smoke ring across his steering wheel.
He wasn't going anywhere.  "I've been watching that fine women in there.
That be your Mother little man?  Yes indeed, she is mighty fine.  I bet your
papa is one happy man.  Am I right?  I say, am I right?"

"Martin, please, you really gotta go," I replied, still kneeling down
pretending to tie my shoe.  "If my mother comes out here I will be in so
much trouble.  Please, please, I beg you, just go."

Still staring ahead, Martin did not appear to hear a word I had said.  "Why
haven't you called me boy?  I thought you and me had our selves a little
deal.  You do know what day it is don't you?"  I didn't reply.  "Well let me
remind you, my little man.  It be Sunday.  More importantly, it be more than
a week since we had our..." he hesitated a couple of seconds, "...our little
ren-dez-vous."  He punctuated every syllable as if pleased that he had
thought of such a big word.

My initial plan of begging and pleading for him just to get the hell out of
here was going nowhere fast.

"What do you want?" I asked urgently, looking back again to see that my
mother was thankfully still pre-occupied with her baking.  "We can talk
about this somewhere else.  Please just pull up around the corner and we can
talk about it."  I had had enough with this man and I was taking charge. I
stood up and started to walk down the sidewalk hoping that he would just
start the car and follow.

He honked his horn.

"I'm dead," I mumbled to myself, pressing my hands against my face.

I looked back at the car, and then at my house.  My mother was no longer in
the window and was no doubt heading to the front door to find out what was
going on.  I walked to Martin's window and leaned my head in.  "Martin, my
mother is coming.  If you ever want to see me again, for any reason, I
suggest you leave."  I knew I was cornered and just putting forth the facts
was all I could do.

"Well, Little Man, I'll make a deal with you," he said, flicking his spent
cigarette out the window and onto the street.  "You meet me at the park this
afternoon at 5:00, near the bathroom where we first had our little
encounter.  If you don't show up I will be placing this here picture
somewhere near where that pretty mama of yours can find it."  He then
reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a Polaroid.  It was his
roommate Jake on top of me, with my legs pinned to the bed, and his massive
cock crammed completely up my ass.

Oh my god, when the fuck did he take a picture without me knowing about it?
I didn't have a chance to think about that question before I heard the front
door open and my mother, now looking quite serious, started to walk across
the yard to where Martin and I now stood.

"5:00 Little Man," said Martin.  He then started his car, put it in drive,
and slowly just drove away leaving me standing in the road and looking at my
mother, who was now standing on the sidewalk with her hands on her hips.

"Who was that?"

Think fast Little Man, "I don't know.  He was asking how to get to Wrigley
Field."

"He was looking for Wrigley Field my ass.  What are you up to young man?"
First I was Little Man and now I was Young Man.

"Really, he just asked how to get to Wrigley Field." I asserted, trying to
act as if her assumption of me not telling the truth was absurd.

"Do you think I'm stupid?  Is that it?" she responded.

"No," I replied, not sure where she was going with this.

"I saw what he pulled out of the glove box young man," she continued.  "I'm
not like all your little friends' mothers.  I pay attention to my kid's life
and I know when something is up, and something is definitely up."

Hopelessly caught, I decided to not even try to play the game anymore.  I
had lost and she had won.

"Okay, he wasn't looking for Wrigley Field."  Although I would not lie to
her anymore, I wasn't about to just spill the entire can of beans either.

"What was it pot?  Cocaine?  What was he trying to sell you?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"He was trying to sell you drugs, wasn't he?" she asked.

Maybe I wasn't so busted after all.

My mother, bless her heart, has always lived a very comfortable, yet
isolated life.  Like my father, she had grown up with money, attended
private schools, and for the most part only associated with people just like
herself.  That being mostly rich and very, very white.  She wasn't a snob
exactly, but someone who hadn't experienced the "salad bowl" of colors and
cultures that made up the world.  I think she had a few Jewish lady friends,
but knowing my mother that could be chalked up to plane old ignorance on her
part, confusing the darker tint of their skin to either a good tanning bed,
or regular visits to their vacation homes in the Virgin Islands.

Unfortunately when one is so secluded and protected from the real world,
they tend to make their assumptions about how the "other people" live from
sources other than the real world.  In my mother's case, that would be the
television.  Not being someone who had any interest in situation comedies,
she would often gravitate to the myriad of cop and detective dramas that
flood the airways.  An unfortunate byproduct of such selective viewing is
that one gets the assumption that every Black, Hispanic, and Puerto Rican
man was either a drug user or a drug dealer.  Just as the rest of the world
watches American television and believes that the majority of Americans live
in 10 bedroom homes, with a swimming pool, and a maid, and dance to Britney
Spears music, my mother believed that except for Bill Cosby there was no
such thing as a black man who didn't have a desire to get the world hooked
on drugs.

One time at a drive-thru restaurant my Mother was reaching out the window to
pay the Latino teenager manning the cash register when the young man asked
my Mother if she had a dime.  "I don't think so young man," she responded
harshly.  "And you had better hope that by the time I get home I don't call
the police."  The cashier, looking surprised, handed her the change and we
drove off.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Didn't you hear him?  He asked me if I had..." she hesitated, trying to
find the right word "...some Mary Jane."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, amazed.

"A dime bag, stupid!  Weren't you listing?"

"Mother," I replied, putting the palm of my hand to my forehead.  "The food
was five dollars and ten cents.  You handed him a ten dollar bill.  He asked
if you had a dime so he could just give you a five dollar bill instead of a
bunch of change."

"You think so, Mr. Smarty Pants.  Shows what you know.  One of these days me
and you are going to take a drive to South Chicago and I am going to show
you exactly how these people live.  Change my ass."  Why a complete stranger
would assume my mother had a "dime bag" did not occur to her.  There was no
arguing with her knowledge of how the world worked and I didn't try.  I
imagine her meeting Collin Powell one day and although honored to meet him I
can picture her scanning his pockets with her eyes looking for the eight
ball of coke surely hidden somewhere in his military jacket.

She was still standing on the sidewalk, waiting for an explanation.

"Okay, he wanted to know if I wanted to buy some..." I hesitated, trying to
think what my mother would find truthful, "...weed."

She continued to stare me down with her eyes, not blinking, trying to see if
I would snap.  It almost worked before she responded, "Well...that
sonofabitch is damn lucky I didn't get his license plate number.  I mean,
really, does that guy think anyone around here would want to buy any of his
'weed'."

"You scared him off, Mom.  Good job."  I tried to sound thankful that she
had arrived just in time to save me from this stranger who surely wanted no
less than to see me completely drugged out of my mind before the age of
twenty.

"If he comes around here again, just stay away from him and come get me.
You got that?"  She started walking back into the house, stopped, then
turned around.  "One more thing.  If I see you do something so stupid as to
go up to a complete stranger's car again I will shove the heel of my shoe so
far up your ass that you'll need to hire a professional spelunker to climb
in there and retrieve it."  She turned around and walked back to the house
and went inside, closing the door behind her.

Chapter 3

After Martin left I headed to my room to think.  My Mother was in the
kitchen and thankfully left me alone the rest of the afternoon.  As I was
laying in bed I wondered how he had managed to take a picture of me being
fucked by his roommate without me realizing it.  He must have came in the
room when Jake was really fucking me hard because I didn't remember hearing
or seeing any flash.  Also, how did he know where I lived?  The photo was at
least somewhat explainable, but how had he known my address?

Given the circumstances, I had no choice but to meet him.  After his little
display in front of my house I had no doubt that Martin would not hesitate
to follow through with his threat.  He had shown that he didn't care what
problems he might cause me and since I was heading off to college in a
couple of months I could not let anything jeopardize my plans.  I'm not sure
what my parents would do if they saw that photo.  They would probably assume
that I was raped or forced into doing those things, but if confronted I
don't believe that I could actually lie.  The truth would eventually come
out.  They would know that I willingly went to a strange man's apartment for
sex and once that truth was out I wasn't sure how my family would react.
For all I knew they would cut me off completely.  Although at 18 I was
desperate for freedom and couldn't wait to get out of my parents' house I
was not quite so willing to have that freedom without the financial benefits
that my parents would no doubt be providing me.   If my parents cut me off
financially I wouldn't know what to do.  I've never known what it was like
not being taken care of financially.  No, I had to go meet Martin and find
out what he wanted.

I headed out around 4:00 telling my Mother I was heading over to friend's
house nearby.  Surprisingly, she did not ask for anymore details, only to
"be sure and be home by 10:00 or call if you are going to be late."  After
walking a few blocks I hailed a cab and within 15 minutes I was being
dropped off in the parking lot at the park.  I paid the driver, and then
headed into the park and towards the bathroom where this whole thing
started.

I was beginning to get a little nervous as I approached the bathroom, but as
I came closer I saw that Martin was nowhere to be found.  I went inside and
found no one and after searching the area I decided to wait and sit under a
tree near the restroom where I would have a good view of the surroundings.

I sat there about 30 minutes and watched several men use the restroom.
Although I couldn't tell for sure, it looked like most were using the
facilities for their intended purpose however a couple of older men tended
to hang around just a little too long and appeared to be cruising the place. 

No one hung around for more than a couple of minutes and it made me think
that fate must have thrown me a curve for me to have come to this particular
bathroom at exactly the same time Martin had been in there.  I wondered why
he had been in there and whether he was there cruising or was just using the
place to take a piss.  I guess it didn't make a hell of a lot of difference
at this point.

It was getting close to 5:00 and I was starting to get nervous again.  I
didn't have a clue why Martin was doing this or what he wanted.  When I had
met him last week, he had made it appear that I had a choice as to whether
to hook up with him or not.  I obviously had decided that I didn't want to
do anything like that again, but evidently that was not the decision that
Martin wanted to hear.  I assumed that he took the picture as insurance to
use in case I didn't call.  But then again, he took the picture before we
had any discussions about me calling him and "working" for him in the first
place. It just didn't make sense.

I was thinking about these things when I noticed a Latino kid about my age
walk into the bathroom.  He was wearing the typical baggy pants that were 10
sizes too big and a white tank top shirt that showed his skinny, yet
muscular body.  His head was shaved and although his skin was dark, it was
not nearly as dark as most of the other Latino guys that I had seen.  He
went into the bathroom and came out within a few seconds.  He obviously did
not have to use the bathroom, as he was not in there long enough.  He walked
around the small building and then started to gaze around at the park as if
he was looking for someone.  Finally, he happened to glance my way and
without any hesitation started to walk in my direction.  I was a little
surprised that he was heading towards me, but I didn't give it much thought,
as my mind was still pre-occupied with what was going to happen when Martin
showed up.

He came to where I was sitting and asked, "Are you waiting for Martin?"

I was expecting him to ask me for a cigarette or maybe a couple of bucks,
but I didn't expect this.  I was a little stunned as I responded, "Yeah."

"He asked me to come here and get you.  We need to head back to his place.
Let's go."  He then turned around and started to walk away.  I quickly got
up and started to follow him as my mind raced with questions.  Who was this
kid?  How many people knew about this?  What in the hell was going on?

"Hey, just a second.  Wait up!" I called after him.  He stopped and turned
around looking at me.  When he did I was able to get a better look.  He was
about my height and probably weighed around 150.  He looked much more
muscular up close and not quite as skinny as he did before.  He had a little
goatee, but there was not much hair and it was very thin.  I noticed that
his skin was very smooth and appeared to be completely hairless.  Upon
closer inspection he was actually quite handsome.  "Who are you?  Where's
Martin?" I asked.

"He's back at his place getting things ready.  He didn't have time to come
out here and get your ass, so he asked me to do it for him."  He didn't tell
me his name and I didn't pressure him any further as he appeared to be a
little upset, although I had no idea what about.

"Well, can you at least tell me what's going on?  Martin asked me to meet
him here and that's all I know.  I wouldn't even be here, but Martin..." I
stopped, not quite ready to tell him the entire story.

"I've seen the picture man, so don't worry about it.  Let's go and I'll
explain in the car."  He then turned and started walking towards the parking
lot again.  After hesitating, I quickly followed and soon enough we came
upon Martin's familiar beat up junker sitting in the parking lot.  The kid
unlocked the car, climbed in, and then reached over and unlocked my side of
the door.  Once again I was getting into Martin's car at the park and
getting ready to head over to his place.  Just like Martin, the kid
opened a pack of cigarettes, lit one up, and then started the car and headed
out of the parking lot toward Martin's apartment.  As we drove away he
didn't say a word and didn't explain any further about what was going on.  I
couldn't stand it anymore.  My nerves had all they could take and I was
getting to the end of my patience.

"You said you would explain in the car what in the hell was going on, so
tell me.  All I know is that Martin picked me up last week, took me back to
his apartment where both him and his roommate royally fucked the shit out of
me, and then this afternoon he shows up at my house demanding that I be at
the park at 5:00.  So please tell me just what in the fuck is going on!" 

All the stress of the situation was finally coming to a head and I was
shaking and almost in tears.  I had had all I could take and was losing it.

"Man, just calm down," he said as he glanced at me nervously.  "No one is
fucking with you, so just calm down."

"Then tell me just what the fuck is going on," I demanded, still quite upset
but starting to get a little under control again.  "And who are you?"

"The name is Arturo.  Nice to meet you."  He put his cigarette in his mouth
and reached over with his right hand to grasp my trembling hand.  "Don't be
freakin on me or anything.  I don't need the hassle.  Just calm your ass
down and everything is going to be fine, you got that?"  I nodded in
agreement.  At least he was talking now.  "I know why you are here.  Martin
told me, so no need to worry about any of that shit.  I don't want to get
into any particulars, but Martin kinda did the same to me so I know how you
are feeling about now.  All you need to know is that everything is cool."

"Martin took a picture of you too?" I asked, stunned.

"Like I said, I don't want to get into any particulars.  Let's just say I
don't want to be here anymore than you do, but there is no way around that
right now, so you might as well get used to it."

This was getting stranger by the moment.  Apparently I was not the only one
who had been tricked by Martin.  He had evidently tricked this kid as well,
although he wasn't supplying any details.  Since he was talking I decided I
would at least try to get some additional information out of him.  "So what
is going on this afternoon?  Why are we going to Martin's place?"

Arturo continued to drive for a few moments apparently ignoring my
question, before replying, "We need to do a little work."  He took another
long drag off his cigarette before blowing it toward the windshield.
"Martin has these parties for special friends of his, and he likes to supply
them with whatever they want.  Usually all they want is to get fucked up,
smoke some shit, do some lines, whatever.  Most of them like to fuck some
pussy."  He took another drag on his cigarette, his face looking like he was
thinking about something serious, before continuing but speaking softly,
"Some of his buddies don't want no pussy."

I didn't get a chance to think about what he meant by that because he was
already starting to turn into the apartment's driveway and pulling around
toward the back parking lot.  I didn't say a word, and just starred at
Arturo and wondered what in the hell I had gotten myself into.  I was
desperately trying to figure a way out of this, but nothing was coming.  I
was in this for the entire ride and I started to realize that when Arturo
parked the car and got out.  I got out of the car and followed him to the
stairway that I had emerged from a week earlier.  I followed behind him but
instead of going to the door where I had gone last time, he turned and
knocked on the other door that was at the opposite side of the landing.

After a couple of seconds I heard the lock being turned and the door opened
and Jake appeared, standing in the doorway smiling.  He wasn't wearing the
shabby clothes that he wore the last time we had met.  He had now cleaned up
rather well.  He was clean shaven, had his hair slicked back, and had on a
pair of black slacks with a white silk shirt.  If I hadn't recognized his
face, I probably wouldn't have recognized him at all.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to come and pay us a visit.  Come on in
boys, come on in."  He then stood aside as I followed Arturo into the
apartment.  Although I was extremely nervous and a little scared, part of me
was beginning to give in to the realization that there were circumstances
taking place that were now very much out of my control.  The only thing I
could do now was to stay alert and just try and figure out exactly what was
happening and see if there was anyway I could somehow undo this mess that I
had gotten myself into.

After walking through the doorway, Jake closed and locked the door behind
me.  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room I noticed that we were
once again not alone.  There were several women dressed in what my father
called "slut wear" who were standing around a small bar that had been built
into the corner.  As I looked around I also noticed that unlike the other
apartment, this one was bigger and much nicer.  There was the bar area that
had stools and a stocked liquor cabinet.  There was a den area that had a
big screen TV, and a huge stereo system, and a fireplace.  The walls had
real wood paneling, which gave the room a cabin-like feeling.  There was a
kitchen that I could only see part of through a cut out in the wall next to
the bar.  There was a hallway that led off from the bar, but I could not see
where it went.

As I looked around the room I was startled when Jake grabbed my arm and
said, "Let me show you around before the party starts."  He then led me
toward the bar.  "Do you want anything to drink?  Now is your chance,
because later you won't have nothin for a while."

I didn't understand what he was talking about but replied, "I'll have a
coke."

"Anything in it?  Rum?  Whiskey?" he asked, being extremely polite.

"No, thanks.  I don't drink."

"Suit yourself," Jake responded as he reached into the built in refrigerator
and pulled out a can of coke, opened it, and gave it to me.  I took it from
him and noticed that Arturo was fixing himself a tall drink from the bar.
I couldn't tell what he was making, but it sure wasn't a soft drink.  Jake
then walked past the women at the bar, not even paying them any notice, and
turned into the hallway.  I looked back and Arturo was staying at the bar
with his drink.  As I turned back to follow Jake he was heading all the way
to the end of the hallway, passing several closed doors.  One went to the
kitchen, but that was all I could tell.  What were behind the other doors
was unknown to me.  When I got to the end of the hall, Jake reached forward
and opened the door and led me inside.

"This is where you will be staying for the evening," he said as I walked
past him into the room.

I walked through the doorway and Jake flipped on the switch.  My first
impression was that I had walked onto some strange movie set.  I had
expected a bedroom, and it was indeed a bedroom, but this was no ordinary
bedroom.  The first thing I noticed was that there were mirrors on every
wall.  Except for the door to what I presumed was the closet, there was a
floor to ceiling mirror on every wall.  There were no windows, no pictures,
nothing except for the mirrors.  There was a single light bulb that hung
from the ceiling.  There were no other lights in the room.  In the middle of
the room there was a large king sized bed.  It was not against the wall, but
in the very middle of the room.  It did not have a headboard and there was
just a black fitted sheet covering the mattress.  In one corner of the room there was a
small table with some items on top of it which I could not identify.  Other
than the table and the bed, there was nothing in the room.  I stood there
not moving, amazed, my mind racing with what it was being presented with.

"So whats you think?" asked Jake as he shut the door and proceeded to go and
sit on the bed.  He patted the bed with his hand, gesturing me to come and
sit next to him.  I didn't move.  I couldn't move.  I was too stunned.  "I
ain't' gonna bite.  Come on over here cause you and me need to have a little
talk."

I slowly, as if in a daze, came and sat down next to Jake on the bed, while
continuing to look around the room.  It was too much and my brain just
wasn't working at full speed at the moment.

"This be where you are gonna work tonight," Jake said, putting his arm
around my shoulder.  "Don't worry, you ain't going to be alone.  Art will be
right here with you the entire time to show you the ropes."

"What...what do you mean work?" I asked.

Jake just looked at me as if I was the dumbest person on the face of the
earth.  "Ain't you figured it out boy?" he said while tapping his finger
against my forehead.  "Martin and I run us a little business.  You don't
need to know the details of what that business is, but part if it involves
letting our business partners have a little fun once in a while.  We have
ourselves a little party, see, and we let the boys have their fun.  Whatever
they want, we give it to them.  You understand that boy?" he asked, lightly
slapping my face a couple of times to make sure that I was hearing what he
was saying.

I didn't understand anything.  I wasn't even close to understanding
anything.  I was too stunned to think anymore.  All I could do was shake my
head from side to side.

Jake took a big breath, sighed, and continued, "In a little bit some
friends, or should I say partners, of ours are going to come over for some
business.  After we get done we like to celebrate with a little party.
That's where you and the girls come in.  The girls go in a couple of the
rooms and you and Art come in here.  If someone want to party with the
girls, then we supply the pussy.  If they want to party with the boys, then
we give them some ass.  You understandin now boy?"

Slowly, it started to make sense to me now.  Martin and Jake were going to
give me up to their friends to use as they wish.  I was going to get used by
people I had never met before.  I was sitting in a room designed purely for
sex and I was going to be one of the major players.  Yes indeed, I
understood now.

"Just relax.  No one is coming for a while, so just relax.  Take a nap or
somethin."  Jake then got up, walked to the door, opened it and left,
closing the door behind him and leaving me alone to think about the
predicament I was in.

I sat there for a couple of minutes and did nothing.  I didn't even drink my
coke.  This was not happening.  I was not sitting in a room waiting for any
strange man to come in and have sex with me.  How had all this happened?  I
was sitting in my stupor when the door opened and Martin walked in and shut
the door behind him.

"Hey there Little Man, nice that you could make it."  He came over and stood
in front of me, while I said nothing and just stared up at him.  He was
smiling down at me, with a smirk on his face.  He reached down and lightly
grabbed my chin and guided my face up to meet his own.  "Let's me and you
get something straight right now.  You belong to me and you'll do anything I
ask.  You got that boy?"  He didn't raise his voice, and talked as if he
really cared about me.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked softly, looking at him and hoping that he
would just let me leave.

"What do you mean 'why am I doing this?'  You asked me to boy.  Don't you
remember?"  He continued to stare down at me with an expression of mild
bewilderment and surprise.

The frustration that had been building in me all day had given me a little
courage and I didn't feel like taking anymore of this guy's shit.  I had had
enough and I wasn't interested in being nice anymore.  "What do you mean I
asked for it?" I said sarcastically, beginning to raise my voice.  "I didn't
ask to come here.  I wouldn't be here except for that picture and that
little stunt you pulled in front of my house.  I don't know what the fuck
you're talking about."

Still smiling he said, "Well, maybe you just have a bad memory.  Let me see
if I can help you out."  With that, he suddenly reached forward and grabbed
my hair, pulling me off the bed.  I was startled and tried to struggle, but
the pain of him pulling on my hair brought some sense into me and I stopped
struggling immediately.  "Lay the fuck down on the bed, face down," he
demanded, now angrily, his voice tense.  He then shoved me forward onto the
bed and I fell forward.  I quickly rolled over onto my stomach and hid my
face, expecting that he might try and punch me.  Within a second his weight
was once again on top of me, pressing me down into the familiar position
that he had first had me.  This time though, we both had our clothes on.  He
moved his hands underneath my arms and once again had them clamped around my
neck, pinning me to the bed, making me helpless.

"Please, what are you doing!" I begged, scared.  All courage that I
previously had was now gone.

"What am I doing?  I'm helping that poor memory of yours you little
fuckhead!  Now you fucking just think for a second.  Try and remember what
happened last week and what agreement we made."  He was now almost yelling
and I had no doubt that if anyone was within 20 feet of the door that they
would be able to hear him.  I didn't think anyone was gong to come and help
me.  He continued, his voice getting even louder, "Now you tell me exactly
what you said to me last week when I had you pinned down like this.  Just
what in the fuck were your exact words to me after I shoved my cock up your
fucking white ass?  Tell me motherfucker!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I whimpered.

"I gave you a fucking choice last week.  You do remember that don't you
fucker?"

My thoughts were only of trying to get out of this room.  I couldn't
remember anything about last week at the moment.  I was too terrified.  "I'm
sorry," I whimpered, "I don't remember."  I started to cry and the tears
rolled freely down my face.

"Take a deep breath, and just think for a second.  I know that little brain
of yours will remember if you just fucking think."  Martin was now calming
down somewhat, but he still was still pinning me quite hard to the bed.
"Think Little Man, what choice did I give you last week?"

A choice?  What in the hell was he talking about?  And then I remembered.
Oh fuck, I remembered now every single word that we exchanged.  The memory
came back as if it had just taken place.  He indeed had given me a choice.
That choice was to get up and leave the first time I had been with him.  He
had made it plain and simple.  At the time I had thought that he was just
being nice, but evidently his offer was more serious than I had thought.

"I remember," I said quietly, letting my face slowly press flat against the
bed.  The choice I was given was that I could either leave, or see what I
was made of and take whatever he had to give.  I remembered now as if it had
just happened all over again.  With his weight again pressing down on my
body and his arms pinning me again to the bed, I began to remember what
thoughts were going through my head a week earlier.  I remembered the
decision and I remember what I told him.

Martin now leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "You remember now Little
Man?  Tell me again, what exactly did you tell me last week when I gave your
fucking pussy ass a chance to get the fuck up and get out.  Just exactly
what did you tell me?  Tell me what you said.  Come on, tell me."

He had me and he knew it.  I used to think I was a smart kid.  I thought I
was always one step ahead of everyone else.  Now here I was the last one to
figure it all out.  Once again I found myself slowly turning my head as I
had done a week earlier and looking back at the man who was on top of me,
controlling me, using me, "I said, 'Please sir, please make me your bitch."

A smile broke out on Martin's face then.  He slowly nodded his head and
said, "Well, well, well, my Little Man has finally figured it out.  I'm
proud of you boy, I really am."  He then let go of my arms and neck and
rolled off me and stood up.  I rolled over onto my side to look at him
starring down at me. "Now, get out of your fucking clothes bitch and you do
whatever any motherfucker who walks in here wants you to do tonight.  You
got that?"

"Yes sir."  I replied, not looking at him in the face, ashamed.

"You do as you're told and maybe me and you can work out a little agreement
where you will have a little more choice in when you come and work for me.
Until then, you do whatever the fuck I tell you to, understand?"

"Yes sir."

"And one more thing," he reached inside his pocked and pulled out a plastic
card that I couldn't quite make out and threw it on the bed where it landed
next to me.  "I think you forgot this the last time you were here."  He then
turned around and walked out of the room and shut the door.

I didn't move for a while and finally looked down to see what he had thrown
on the bed.  I picked it up and brought it closer so I could take a look.
Of course, it all made sense now.  I was holding my own student
identification card.  It had my picture, my address, and my home phone
number printed right on it.  It must have fallen out of my shorts when I had
taken them off last week.  Either that, or Martin had searched my pockets.
At least now I knew how he had found out where I lived.  I took the ID and
shoved it deep into my pants.  My own fucking student ID.  I was so stupid.

I slowly stood up and began to get undressed. 

Chapter 4 - Coming soon...