Tom pivoted back toward the island and swam in a slow, natural motion. I followed in his wake. It felt natural to follow him as my leader. I took deep breaths of the salty air. In minutes we were back in shallower water standing with our feet planted on the sand under the surface.
I followed behind as Tom led the way to the loungers on the deck. "Have a seat, and I'll get us some iced tea.” I leaned back raising my arms up and behind my head. I knew that it would take a few days to adjust fully, but the island life was already profoundly appealing.
Tom returned and handed me a glass. The ice cubes clinked when I took it from his hand. He sat and asked me the one question I was dreading. "So, I have to ask. Have you read my trilogy of novels Joel? Did you read them carefully?"
I cringed, but I answered truthfully. They were three long books each more than 400 pages. I made it about halfway through the first. "Honestly, no. I hope that's not a disqualification. Please don’t deport me back to the Midwest.“
He laughed. "It's a good thing I like you." After a pause, he said, "But reading the books is your first priority. Part of your job is dealing with fan mail and social media connected with the books. You do need to know what you're talking about. Some of the readers will be experts on the books. They will know more about the details than me.“
Back in the spring after hiring me, Tom signed hardcover copies of all three books and mailed them to me. They were each inscribed with the words, "Looking forward to the best of all possible summers!" I settled in and spent much of the day, with only a break for lunch, devouring my new employer's prose. He had a gift for language and a peerless talent for plot pacing. The stories unfolded quickly.
I was almost one hundred pages into the second book when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. I was so engrossed in the story that I lost awareness of anything going on around me or where Tom was on the island. Holding the book open with my hands, I turned my head to the right to see the tendons sticking out from the back of his strong hand. The fingers of his other hand brushed through my hair and then gripped it tight tilting my head back slightly. A shallow breath caught in my throat.
"Were you serious about wanting the buzz cut? Why don't we take care of that now?" Tom ended the question with a squeeze of my shoulder.
Tom buzzing my hair with clippers sounded like a physically intimate experience. He wasn’t a faceless barber with a lineup of middle-aged customers waiting patiently for their cuts. He was my employer and benefactor for the summer, and he was a stunningly handsome man preparing to alter my appearance so that it was closer to his own. I wasn’t sure that I was ready for Tom to cut my hair, but I didn’t know how to say no. Caught in the immediacy of the moment I didn’t speak but nodded in the affirmative.
"You can try out the barber chair. It’s still pretty darn comfortable after all of these years."
I slowly closed the book and set it on the table at the side of the lounger. Tom gestured toward the house. I tried to relax and hoped that Tom wasn't staring at my trunks and the arousal starting to show. I asked, “Are you sure that you know what you're doing with the clippers?"
"I've done haircuts with clippers since I was in junior high school. I did my brother and some of my friends, too. It’s not a straight razor. Let's get it taken care of, and then you'll be a streamlined bullet in the water."
I followed Tom into the living room. He patted the red leather upholstered seat. “Climb on up here. We don't even need a cape. You can brush the hair off when I'm done and take a quick shower or a swim."
Sitting in the chair brought back memories of childhood, and I realized the last time I sat in a real barber chair was during sixth grade. After I left elementary school, my haircuts took place at family style salons, and for several years the woman who was my mom's hairstylist cut my hair. There was something intoxicatingly masculine about sitting in a barber chair for a haircut. I was shirtless wearing only my swim trunks. The leather creaked as I leaned back against it.
Tom put his hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “Close your eyes and relax, Joel. I'll have this done in minutes.”
He retrieved cordless clippers from the drawer of a desk in the living room. The stainless steel guard on the clippers glistened in reflected sunlight from outside. His tools were professional. As Tom stepped behind me again, the clippers began to buzz. I closed my eyes while he placed a firm hand on my shoulder. He pushed my head forward exposing the back of my neck. The clippers glided close to my scalp, and hair clippings rained on my chest and shoulders. Tom reached down to brush the hair off my chest, and his fingers swept over a stiff nipple. He stopped brushing and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the nipple like he’d made an exciting discovery and explored its ability to grow hard beneath his searching touch. I stopped breathing. I knew that he couldn't help noticing his impact on me.
His scratchy whiskers brushed against my cheek as he asked, “Did that feel good?”
I sighed, “Mmmhmm,” as he went back to his work.
The clippers swept through the hair on the other side of my head as he tilted my head to the right. Tom moved his face close to my cheek. I heard his steady breathing in my ear. My body tensed. I didn’t know what would happen next. After playing gently with my nipple, I wondered if there was any chance that he might kiss me. I wanted to taste his lips. They were thick and perfectly kissable. Perhaps it was only wishful thinking. Tom was straight after all.
I tried to relax my shoulders and breathe deeply when his fingers swept down over my chest once again. This time they crept further south and brushed the hair from my abs. Tom rested his cheek against my scalp as he continued the brushing action. I wanted to open my eyes to watch his arm moving across my body while his hand touched my belly, but I was nervous about how I would react. I already knew there was a visible tent in my trunks. I squeezed the arms of the barber chair holding on tight while Tom's fingers danced over my ab muscles.
The clippers swept up the back of my head, and Tom whispered in his husky voice, "Relax. It's only a haircut." He was right, of course, and I responded by trying to breathe deeper and releasing my death grip on the chair. The clippers pressed firmly just in front of my ear trimming my sideburns. The haircut was almost complete. He whispered again. "You look amazing, Joel."
The compliment sent a surge of electricity up my spine. I wanted to look my best. I didn’t want it for myself. I wanted to look outstanding for Tom. Images of walking around in public with him raced through my mind, and I wanted to look like I belonged at his side. The click of Tom turning off the clippers interrupted my thoughts. The silence was louder in my head than the now-familiar hum.
Tom wrapped a long arm around my chest crushing my back against the chair. The sensation of his arm rubbing against the flesh of my chest was one of warmth and even protection. He said, “It's been a good day. You’ve gotten a lot done. Don't worry about reading any more in the books tonight. Take the rest of the time off. We can enjoy the evening and have some conversation and continue getting to know each other. Our summer adventure couldn’t have a better beginning.”
4
Ropes
The new haircut was fantastic in the ocean. Gone was the shaggy mane that sprayed water every direction or let it drip down my face and into my eyes. A quick towel dry and a shower to wash off the salt was all I needed after a swim. I didn’t need to wait for my hair to dry or run a brush or comb through it in the morning to tame disheveled bedhead. I loved the texture under my fingers as I swept my hand from my forehead back.
The next few days began to blur into each other. I spent a lot of my time finishing up Tom's books. He then gave me access to his "public" author email and shared a few quick canned responses in his voice that I could use for responding to messages from his thousands of fans. I learned how to recognize the incoming notes that needed to be sent on to him for personal attention and the best ways to handle the others myself. The amount of praise and interaction Tom received from his readers was h
umbling. His work was meaningful to thousands, maybe even millions of people.
I don’t mean to give the impression that I was working hard. Working for Tom was nothing compared with writing papers and struggling to complete short stories that I wrote myself. Tom said, "Sometimes you have to get used to the value of doing nothing." He made the comment when he was relaxing on a lounge chair looking out over the boat dock in the direction of Marathon.
We spent almost an hour watching a pair of herons scout for fish. It was late in the afternoon, and we were killing time before dinner. Tom taught me a few cooking lessons, but he did it without pressure, and he only shared praise for a job well done. He kept any negative comments to himself.
Tom continued to occasionally touch me in ways that increased the intimacy of our connection. We roughhoused with each other in the water. He stood behind me and ran his fingers along my arm as he taught me cooking skills. I thought I felt his arousal pressed against me, but I quickly shook it off and assumed it was my own horny mood, and I was engaging in wishful thinking.
I adopted a pattern of masturbating before falling asleep at night. I closed my eyes and fantasized about sex with Tom. I thought about our warm, soft lips pressed together as I kissed him passionately. I thought about us wrapped tight in each other’s arms surrounded by the warmth of the water, and I fantasized about Tom taking me on the floor of the living room after dinner. Even if they were unlikely ever to come true, I got a lot of private mileage out of the erotic daydreams.
When I finally finished reading the third book and felt confident that I’d retained all of the essential details, we celebrated with glasses of scotch on the rocks while we reclined on the loungers shirtless in our swim trunks. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, but I enjoyed the sensation. Sipping late in the evening became one of our daily rituals. It made us both sleepy, and we said our goodnights with a warm hug.
While we sipped on the celebratory evening, we talked briefly about the books. I steered the conversation toward the question Tom asked me to hold until I completed reading his novels. I brought it back up after another sip of the scotch. “What is the research for the next book that you mentioned when we met?”
He turned toward me with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye. “I think it’s straightforward. The next novel will be a thriller. It’s focused on adventure and action. There’s something that happens to the main character, and I realized I'm not sure how to write about the details. I want to get into the visceral sensations of the scene.”
"That sounds interesting." I sipped again while the warming buzz surged through my body.
“A group of thugs take the main character captive. His long-term nemesis leads the thugs. Joel, has anyone ever tied you up?” Tom held his glass up and stared into the remainder of the amber colored liquid as he spoke. Before I could respond, he added one more comment. "And I don't mean your wrists wrapped with a bathrobe tie and secured to the bed for sex play. I mean tied up tight with rope."
I swallowed hard before I spoke. "Umm, a buddy and I did some of that when I was growing up. His dad hauled stuff for people on weekends to make extra money. He had all sorts of rope, chain, and straps that he used for tying down.“
Tom set his glass down and turned to look at me. "Oh, was it like cowboys and Indians stuff?"
I shook my head. "No, we were a little older than that." I thought hard about how much I was willing to share. I knew that I couldn't tell Tom that the first time I ejaculated was into the hand of my friend Bax who had me tied to a pole on his back patio while his parents were away.
"Older?"
"Yeah, I did a little rope play with my friend Baxter. We competed with each other like escape artist stuff. We made bets on who could get out of each other's ties quicker. It was guy stuff like that." I started to pick up my glass again, but when the ice cubes began clinking from the shaking of my hand, I set it back down again.
Tom swung his legs over to the side of the lounger and leaned forward facing me. "Then I'm sure you remember some of what it was like, and you would be perfect for helping me with my research.”
I asked, “Do you want me to show you how to tie someone up? It’s not that hard.“ An image of Tom's powerful chest wrapped in ropes appeared in my mind.
He shook his head. "No, I'm already pretty good with knots. It’s hard to avoid learning that when you grow up around boats and docks. I want to tie you up. I want to know what it feels like to do the tying, and I want you to tell me what you experience when you are tied up...in real time. Do you think you can do that for me?"
I’d not been tied since before college, but it did sound exciting and fun. I speculated that the attraction to bondage was like riding a bike. You didn’t lose it over time. The response was reflexive.
Even if it wasn't about sex, I always loved the struggle to get free from ropes. There was something about being restrained and unable to escape that was intoxicating. The strain of my muscles against an unforgiving force made me hard. Still, I didn't want to sound too eager. I didn’t want Tom to think I was some kind of perv. I didn't want to risk my summer position. So far, the time spent with him was perfect.
I rubbed my sweaty palms on my swim trunks and said, "Yeah, I think I can do that. Do you already have the rope?"
Tom grinned showing off his pearly white teeth. "I have plenty of that, and I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or upset. Some people are nervous when they fell vulnerable. Is that understood?"
"Yes, I will tell you if there is anything that makes me uncomfortable." With his next round of questions, Tom turned me into an interview subject. I was happy to comply. He dug into my life experiences as raw material for the development of future stories.
"Did you do any roleplaying with your friend, Joel? Was it all placing bets, or did you pretend to be any characters like in movies or TV?"
The question brought back more memories for me, and I laughed. "Actually, that happened when I was a little kid. We did stuff like cowboys and Indians. One time I pretended to be Tarzan. It was all funny. One time we had to explain to my sister why all of her jump ropes were gone.”
Tom hung on every word. "And have you thought about doing any of that again as an adult? I guess I mean either playing out characters or roughhousing with ropes and making bets?"
I shrugged. "Not seriously. I mean, I guess when I see it in a movie or on TV, I think it might be kind of fun to be one of those characters, but I’ve never taken any action to try something out.“ My voice drifted off into silence. I was hedging. I did have bondage fantasies, and I thought about looking for guys to play them out, but my natural skepticism about strangers always held me back.
"Are you up for giving it a try tonight?"
My cock stiffened when he asked the question. My body was more than ready. I had to decide if I was mentally up for it. I told myself it was going to happen sooner or later, and with my inhibitions loosened by the scotch, it was as good a time as any. I wasn’t drunk. I was only mildly buzzed. I said, “Sure, what do you want me to to do?"
Tom stood up. "I have a yoga mat in the bedroom, and I have some rope, too. Let me get those, and we can give it a try right here on the deck. Hang tight, and I'll be right back."
As I watched him leave, I rubbed my left wrist fidgeting and thinking about different ways he could tie me up. He intended to do something on the floor. The last time I was tied up was at least seven or eight years ago. I wasn't sure how it would feel. I knew it would make me hard, but hopefully, Tom would ignore that. Or maybe it would be even better if he didn't.
Tom returned to the deck and rolled the yoga mat out across the floor of the deck. "Have a seat. This might take a little while. It's an experiment. Do you need to use the bathroom first?"
I laughed with a hint of nervousness in my voice. "No, I think I'm fine."
"Then have a seat." Tom pointed at the mat. “Sit up on the mat and put your arms behind your back.” I followe
d his instructions. I felt my heart begin to pound as I stretched my arms behind me and stared toward the boat dock. Tom sat down behind me. He had three coils of white nylon rope in his hands.
I closed my eyes when the rope started to wrap around my wrists. I heard the swish of the rope sliding against itself while Tom pulled the ends through a loop. He tugged, and he snugged my tightly crossed wrists up together. The stress on my wrists forced my chest forward. "Does it feel okay? Is it too tight?"
I shook my head and then realized he couldn't hear anything if I didn't speak up. "I feel a little vulnerable, but it’s mostly good. It’s secure. I like that. The ropes aren't too tight." I took another deep breath and closed my eyes.
“Let’s have a safe word. If you need out of something or I need to stop immediately, say the word ‘red.’ Is that a deal?”
“Deal.”
Tom said, “I’ve learned how to tie the rope so that it doesn't cut off circulation. If I do it right, it should all be comfortable." Tom's fingertips touched my shoulder blade, and then they slid gently down the center of my back. "It's not a bad thing if you feel vulnerable. Thank you for mentioning it. That's something I can use in the book. Please don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything bad to you."
The rope continued to wrap three more times around my wrists. Tom tossed the ends of the rope over my shoulder. He crawled on all fours around in front of me. I felt fingertips on my chin. "You can open your eyes. I'm not going to hurt you."
I opened my eyes and smiled. I did feel safe. Tom’s words about hurt made me think for an instant about the mystery of his high school buddy, but if he wanted to do something harmful, he had opportunities that began the moment I stepped off the boat. I was sound asleep every night just steps from his bedroom. I took him at his word that this was "research."
After a few more minutes, Tom completed a rope harness for my chest out of the remainder of the first coils. I smiled at him while he reached forward and gripped the center of the harness in his fist pulling me forward.
My Summer Page 4
