Page 6

6

JACK

W ell, that turned into quite the interesting day. I mull it all over as I tend to a steak on the grill and nurse the last bottle of a four-pack from my favorite local brewery. I’m out on the deck in just a pair of flannel pajama pants, but even if it wasn’t dark out, there’s nothing but miles of state forest behind my property.

In the flickering light of the flames beneath the grates, I look down at myself: solid chest, thick arms and a belly I’ve mostly made peace with, pretty much all covered with black hair. I do keep everything trimmed down a bit because if I don’t, the bear jokes start to hit a little close. Also, because when it comes to below the belt, I don’t want to feel like I have to break out a weed whacker before I jerk off. Like I’ve already done once tonight, and might do again before I fall asleep. Or if I’m fooling around with someone else — although that’s rare. I’ve avoided emotional entanglements for the past decade, after one I still don’t like to think about went very, very south.

Tonight was just a one-off — an unexpected, hot, anonymous encounter that broke up the monotony of an ordinary workweek. I don’t need or want to get close to anyone. And I have damn good reasons why.

I’ve pretty much always known who I was and what I liked, figuring out I was both gay and kinky at an awkwardly young age. I have vivid memories of lying to my parents about what happened to my action figures that were never quite the same after I was through with them.

But over the years, I realized that surety could be as much a burden as a blessing. The kind of boundary-pushing filth that fills my fantasies doesn’t make me good relationship material, apparently. And it’s not something I can detach or walk away from.

So I’m not afraid of intimacy. I’m just being smart about it.

It’s fine; I’m an introvert and perfectly happy with my own company. I’m content to hike, build things and improve my wood-carving skills. Although now I’m tempted to add to that list imagining scenes of dominating a certain bookworm bunny. His absent-minded flightiness — leaving his pitifully unsecured tablet behind when he fled, never mind letting himself get caught like that in the first place — makes me think he could use a firm hand. Like mine.

Shit. I have to derail this line of thinking immediately. If not sooner. Even if he wasn’t infuriating, I’m the last thing that dumb bunny should get himself mixed up with.

I take my food off the fire and head to the picnic table in one corner of the deck. I don’t use it very often, but tonight, it seems fitting. I settle down to dinner, chewing over my food and my thoughts at the same time.

I was just trying to teach him a lesson. After all, the little shit was jerking himself in broad daylight on a public trail. So I figured what the hell, turnabout is fair play and all that. He wants to disrespect me, my park and anybody who might have been walking by, then I’m going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget about being disrespected.

I know I don’t look as fast or as nimble as I am, which was probably why he assumed he could outrun me. I thought after I tossed him against a tree and verbally cut him down a little that he’d slink away with his tail between his legs. Even though the chase and the tussle at the end obviously turned both of us on, I still figured that would be the end of it.

When he came back to get his tablet, I didn’t understand why he was determined to play a game he must have known he was going to lose, especially after I threw the safeword out there. I assumed after I caught him the second time, roughing him up a little and scaring the bejesus out of him with a couple of my tamer fantasies would be enough to make him squeal his safeword so I could send him packing.

I don’t think he knew quite what he was getting into, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that rabbit hole to go as deep as it did. When he didn’t back down, I decided to push him, to test him. I could tell by the way his eyes got bigger and bigger that I was entirely freaking the fuck out of the kid. He was scared, indignant and embarrassed — and from the way he squirmed and the desire that burned in his eyes, it was clear that there was something he liked about it.

He didn’t bail out when I bound him or put my hands on him, but I would have bet good money he’d call it off when I straddled him and told him I wanted him to choke on my cock. He surprised me there — and then again when he let me finger him. If I’d kept going for another minute or two, I know I would’ve made him blow his load right there on the ground.

I couldn’t let him do that. If he had, I might not have had the self-control to stop myself from berating him to the point of tears just so I could watch him cry while I fucked his face until I exploded.

I feel a little bad that he was gone by the time I came back outside with aftercare supplies, but then I just shrugged and figured that was his choice. It feels shitty of me to think but in truth, I’m kind of relieved. His vanishing act is a pretty strong indication that I’m never going to see him again. Because something about the look on his face when I was working him over made me worry I would really have to push myself to find a punishment that would sufficiently deter him.

And even though I know how wrong it is, I like that challenge a lot more than I should.