Personal Demons

by Jay Lygon

  Chapter 14

  Since Joey had a hot date New Year’s Eve, I decided to go to Ophir’s party that night. I was deeply touched that instead of leaving me to drift around on my own while he held court in the kitchen, Ophir introduced me to the few select Masters I didn’t know and then watched with amused detachment as I demurred on invitations to go upstairs with them. After he seemed to feel that I could handle being on my own, he headed for the kitchen.

  A short, blond guy with a huge moustache pounced as soon as I was alone. Since Ophir hadn’t introduced him, I figured Ophir didn’t feel the guy was worth my time. I tried to be nice, but quickly decided Ophir’s judgment was right. There wasn’t anything specifically wrong with the guy. He just wasn’t my type. So I excused myself and went across the room to talk to some guys I knew.

  The guy followed me and butted into our conversation. That was irritating enough, but he kept barking out orders as if he expected us to wait on him. He had no manners and no sense of boundaries. No boy served anyone but his Master, but that guy didn’t seem to understand.

  The other boys were called away, or rescued, which was how I saw it, leaving me alone with the blond again. He started bragging about his Harley. I tried to make polite chit-chat about motorcycles when he told me to be quiet until he gave me permission to speak. That’s the point where I decided to walk away from him.

  He didn’t take the hint. Stupid me, I let him corner me near the grand piano. He was yapping about something else, probably bragging, but I only had eyes for an escape route. The other party guests were beginning to turn their attention to us as if we were an amusing floor show.

  “Excuse me. I have to piss.” I pushed past him. He actually followed me.

  “Boy!”

  I slipped out into the garden.

  “Boy, I was talking to you. I didn’t give you permission to leave.” He posed and tried to look mean.

  Done being nice, I decided that some people needed a clue the size of a two-by-four to smack them upside the head before they got the hint. “Listen. I’m not your boy. Just because you call yourself a Master doesn’t make you one. So back off and leave me alone.” I went back into the house.

  Unbelievably, the idiot followed me all the way into the living room.

  “Boy! You need to be taught a lesson.” He grabbed my arm.

  The conversations around us fell silent.

  Heat crept up my face, but I stayed calm. “Take your hand off me.”

  He smirked at the men who were rising to their feet. “Not unless you beg.”

  Honestly, I hadn’t been drinking. That was probably a good thing, because otherwise my temper would have spun out of control. Instead, I bent back his middle finger until he yelped. Smiling, but not in a friendly way, I kept pushing back on it. Tears sprang to his eyes as he slowly sank to the floor before me. By then, I had several fingers in my grasp and bent them back almost far enough to break them.

  “Until you earn my respect, you don’t get to play Master with me. Got it, asshole?”

  The rest of the guests chuckled.

  In blinding pain, and dismayed by the support I had, the guy fought for his dignity. “You’re crazy!” I let him jerk his hand away. He cradled it to his chest as he staggered to his feet. “I’ll fucking sue you. You broke my hand.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t. Consider it a lesson. Don’t touch what isn’t yours. And for the love of the Gods, learn how to control yourself before you try to control a submissive. Strutting around in cheap leather doesn’t make you a Master.”

  The men behind us laughed.

  “I ought to teach you a lesson, boy.” The blond got right in my face.

  Chris stepped between us. “Master Ophir requests that you leave,” he quietly told the blond.

  He looked shocked. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Now.” Chris grasped the waist of the guy’s leather pants, put a hand on his shoulder, and forced him to the front door. The blond kicked up a fuss, but Chris had no problem shoving him out of the house. “You will not be admitted again.”

  Chris closed the door and came over to me. “Master Ophir invites you to join him in the kitchen.” He gestured toward the door.

  Behind me in the living room, conversations continued.

  Fear had overtaken my anger by the time I walked into the kitchen. Was I about to be told off? I’d certainly stepped out of line. I hoped Ophir wasn’t angry with me.

  Ophir handed me a glass of red wine as I entered the kitchen. “I thought you might need this about now.”

  The rest of the Masters inside greeted me with quick kisses and little squeezes of support. It was easy to love men like that. They made me feel at home. My fear ebbed away.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to train to be a Master, Sam?” Ophir asked. His eyes positively twinkled with merriment.

  “Pretty sure, Sir.” My gaze dropped respectfully to the ground as I took a submissive stance before him.

  “That isn’t no, Sam.”

  I wanted to be nice. “I appreciate the offer, Sir.”

  The others in the kitchen seemed to be listening in on our conversation.

  “I consider you to be a friend, Sam. After that little demonstration, I’m more convinced than ever that you would make a good Master, unlike that sorry excuse for one that you brought to his knees.”

  “Sorry about that, Sir.”

  “Not at all. He deserved it.” Ophir took a sip of his wine. “But about my offer.” An all-knowing smile tugged on his lips.

  “Well…” My gaze dropped back to my shoes.

  “You still love Hector,” he said.

  That was it exactly. I lifted my chin. “Yes.” I didn’t mind every Master I respected knowing that. The funny thing was that I felt all kinds of sympathy and respect flowing off them. There was a little pity there, too, but it had a wistful edge to it. Only family could make you feel all right about being so miserable.

  Ophir put his hand on my shoulder “A wise man once told me there’s no shame in love, Sam. But unless you’re going back, you have to move on.”

  ***

  My leather jacket, chaps, and gloves weren’t enough to keep the windchill from my skin as I rode my motorcycle from Long Beach to Palm Springs. Who knew the desert could be so cold at night? Teeth chattering, I stubbornly rode on, but finally gave up and phased to a spot a couple miles out of town.

  Huge windmills covered the barren desert hills on both sides of the freeway. The white blades churned slowly.

  I got off the freeway at Palm Canyon Drive and rode that into town. For a long while there wasn’t much to look at, just dusty desert, rocks, and low scrub bushes. I passed the gas station where Hector and I had worked out a little scene the last time we were in town. Between the vibration of the bike against my groin and fond memories of that spanking, my cock was getting hard.

  I rode past vintage motor lodges and sun-faded buildings interspersed with a few vacant lots. The neighborhood got progressively wealthier until the street was lined with boutiques and restaurants. I stopped at a red light. Banners announcing the film festival hung over the boulevard at every intersection. Guys crossing the street slowed down as they passed my bike. They looked me over with that frank appraisal I got in bars. By the time their eyes made the trip up my legs to the obvious bulge in my jeans, past my skin-tight, leather jacket to my face, they were ready to worship me. That was kind of cool, but then someone ruined it by dragging out a camera.

  Even though it was night, I darkened the visor on my helmet and cursed Alberto, because I was sure he had something to do with it.

  At the host hotel for the welcome party, I parked my motorcycle and walked across the driveway to the ballroom entrance, skirting behind the pack of paparazzi. If I thought I could sneak in, though, I was wrong.

  “Look, it’s Sam Dewey!” Alberto yelled.

  I was going to kill the little bastard.

  He dodged around like a fashion photographer, shooti
ng off rapid pictures of me.

  The other paparazzi, afraid that they were missing something, lifted their cameras and went crazy. I curtly raised my hand to block my face and went inside the hotel.

  The party had spilled out into the lobby. People said my name and tried to grab me. Their eyes were scary, like something that was about to turn very nasty and attack.

  Someone took hold of the collar of my leather jacket. “I got his coat!”

  Not if I could help it. I sprinted for the bank of doors ahead, shoved on them with both hands, and stumbled into the ballroom.

  A bright white light hit me. Like a school of fish, the mob inside the ballroom swarmed toward me. People standing at the sidelines rose on tiptoes to see who was in the spotlight. My heart pounded as I dodged right. The light panned over the crowd. It was like a prison escape movie. I expected to hear alarms and barking dogs any second. I ducked and wove. People pressed close. I couldn’t breath. Someone yanked hard on my hair. I dove into a cluster of husky men and phased at the same time.

  ***

  In the men’s room outside the ballroom, I hung onto the sink and gasped. What the fuck was wrong with people? I knew what was wrong with them. Alberto had cast his spell, and they thought I was famous.

  The bathroom door slammed open. I bolted for one of the stalls, but not quickly enough.

  Harris Smith, looking as unruffled and charming as I’d ever seen him, laughed when he saw me scramble. I’d forgotten he was in Palm Springs promoting his film. “Not enjoying your brush with fame, Sam?”

  I cautiously stepped out of the stall. “They tried to take my jacket.”

  He grinned and walked over, his hand extended. “How have you been?”

  We shook. “Good, until now. How can you stand that?” I nodded toward the door.

  “It never stops being weird. Could be worse. You could be a nobody.”

  “I’d love to be a nobody! I am a nobody! Being famous for being famous is stupid. At least you’re an actor. There’s a reason why people want to see you.”

  He laughed as he went over to the urinals.

  Waiting seemed weird. So did watching him. So I pissed, too.

  After we were both done and at the sinks again, I figured it wasn’t breaking the guy taboo to talk to him. “So, how long can I hide out in the bathroom?”

  “Not too long, or they start rumors that you’re doing drugs or something even more nefarious.” Harris winked. “Come on. Time to face the music.”

  We walked out of the bathroom together. I felt like a dog for using Harris as a decoy but he was far more famous than I was, so I figured that the rabid fans and paparazzi would rush him while I made a quiet escape. Looking back, I should have known it was a huge mistake. There was no hiding from Alberto’s camera.

  “Took you-- What was he doing in there with you?” A rangy guy with a pockmarked face looked from Harris to me and back to Harris.

  “Now, Chuck,” Harris said in a soothing tone, his hands raised in a gesture of supplication.

  Oops. The boyfriend. His aura was awash in sickly shades of green that only grew darker as he looked me over.

  I decided to try charm. I grinned and offered my hand. “Are you Chuck? Harris’s told me a lot about--”

  I was never sure how much of the white flashing behind my eyes was the paparazzi and how much was from the impact of Chuck’s fist slamming into my nose. I staggered back clutching my face.

  Alberto, that little shit, had the cheek to grin as he took pictures of the scene that I was sure he set up.

  “What the hell?” There was a bright smear of blood on my fingers.

  The flashes kept going off.

  “Chuck!” Harris’ eyes were huge.

  Chuck pulled himself up and pointed at me. “That’s for making out with him in the limo.”

  The bridge of my nose and my cheek pulsed in time with my heartbeat. On the other side of that throbbing numbness was a wall of pain, and there was no way I could avoid hitting it.

  People ran over to stare at us. I had no idea what to do, so I wiped another trickle of blood coming out of my nose and laughed.

  “What’s so funny, asshole?” Chuck asked.

  “Well, you got the guy. And you got to throw the punch. I guess that makes me the bad guy. At least it would in the movies.”

  “Sam, I’m sorry,” Harris said. “He’s never like this.”

  Where had I heard that excuse before? But his jealous boyfriend wasn’t my problem. “Don’t be, Harris. I always wanted to be the bad boy.”

  It was a great exit line, so I took it. Back in the bathroom, I checked myself out in the mirror. Oh man, was I ever a sorry sight. The overhead lights cast a sickly glow over my skin. My eye was already swelling. I grabbed a bunch of paper towels, wet them, and pressed them gingerly to my face.

  Alberto followed me into the men’s room. His glee was so obvious that I felt like throwing a punch myself. Instead of erupting, though, my temper pegged at ice.

  “Got that one shot that will make you famous, Alberto?”

  He pouted. “Don’t be like that, Sam. It’s good for you, too.”

  I pointed to my bleeding nose. “This is good for me?” I snorted, sending a fine spray of blood down my shirt.

  “But your picture is going to be everywhere! And not just here in the US. Magazines around the world are going to pay through the nose to print it.” He saw me sopping up the blood coming out of my nose and laughed nervously. Then he tried the big eyes routine. “I used my power to make all the other cameras fail. Was that bad of me?”

  How could he think that was a good time to flirt with me?

  “Did you also use your powers to make Chuck jealous?”

  His mischievous grin made me want to deck him. “I didn’t have to.” He clapped. “Oh, you’re so mad at me right now! Do you want to spank me?” He turned around and wriggled his ass. “Come on. I won’t mind. It’ll be fun.”

  He was turned on. How could I make it clearer to him? I stepped close so that I towered over him. “Get this through your horny, thick little skull, Alberto. I don’t like you, I don’t want you, and I will never touch you.”

  Did that scare him? No. The little jerk just about shot his wad.

  “So butch! But I think you’ll change your tune, Sam. You don’t want to cross me. I always get what I want.”

  Chapter 15

  Life at Ophir’s was really strange. I wasn’t a boy, and his slaves called me Sir. They didn’t let me do anything. No matter how well trained they were, though, I could see the slow seep of green through their auras, and the growing jealousy screwed up the careful balance in the house. I’d only been there a couple days when I realized it wasn’t going to work.

  I knocked on the door of Ophir’s office. I’d never been in there before. A stack of essays sat on his desk. The top one had so much red ink across it that it seemed to be bleeding. He leaned back in his leather chair, smoking a cigar as he conducted along with the orchestral piece playing from his computer.

  “Mind if I come in?” I asked.

  Ophir waved me in. “Any distraction is a welcome one. I’ve been grading papers. If I didn’t know better, I’d think some of these students are trying to torture me.”

  He indicated that I should sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. It felt as if I’d been summoned to the headmaster’s office. The room certainly looked like something out of an elite, English boarding school. There was even a huge cricket bat hanging from the bookcase behind his desk, and I doubted it was ever used for cricket.

  “What’s on your mind, Sam?”

  “I appreciate the space, Ophir, but I don’t really belong here. I’m leaving for Sundance at the end of the week. When I get back, I think I’ll move on,” I told him.

  He tapped his cigar against the crystal ashtray. “Any thoughts about where you’ll go?”

  I shrugged. “Hector made me save all my money, so I’m pretty flush right now, and I’m gettin
g a nice bonus for doing the G-G-G-olden Globes. I make a decent living. I thought about buying a little one-room condo somewhere. A house would have been nice. I miss my garden. But the more I think about it, moving back to Oklahoma seems like the best answer.”

  His eyes widened. “Oklahoma?”

  “My parents aren’t getting any younger, and even though she’s a pain in the butt, I miss my sister and her kids. There’s always work to be done on a farm. It’ll keep my days busy, and exhaustion makes it easy to sleep.”