Monday, May 24, 2010
Iowa Farm Boy, Part VI
The next morning when I awoke he was gone from the bed, and gone from the farm. I lay in bed for another hour. It had been months since I’d actually slept anywhere except on my bed of hay. I could smell his scent everywhere and I was fully aroused. Around noon I heard his bike coming up the lane. I rushed downstairs to greet him, fully naked.
He came into the kitchen and gave me a big hug. “Been a busy morning. I called CD and told him we were coming for a visit. I left a sign at the shop we’d be closed until Thursday. I stopped by the realtor and asked him to come out and take a look, if nothing else to get an estimate on how much the property is worth. I filled up the bike with gas and dropped by the neighbors to ask him to take care of the horses for a few days. Now get upstairs, get showered, pack a change of clothes, and get your pink little ass down here! We’re leaving for Omaha in 10 minutes.”
I made it with three minutes to spare and 2 hours later we were pulling off the interstate into downtown Omaha. One quick turn and we were in an older warehouse district. Over the rumble of the motorcycle Steve shouted “The Old Market. Might be fun to live here!” Two blocks later he took a right, climbed a small hill, then took a left on 16th Street. He slowed and came to a stop, the motorcycle still rumbling. The bar was a squat little dump with a variety of neon signs advertising various beer companies. Three cycles were parked out front. Next door was a three story building, narrow and deep, built probably around 1920 or maybe even earlier. On the first floor was a huge plate glass window and next to the entry was the red and white barber pole. “That’s the leather bar, and that’s the barbershop for sale. We’ll come back later to talk to the owner. First, let’s get our stuff over to Nasti and CD’s place. We can clean the bugs out of our teeth there.”
We made a retreat back to the Old Market area and at one far end of the neighborhood he pulled up to an old storage building. He parked next to Nasti and CD’s bikes and pulled me along with him up some fire escape stairs. On the third floor, the top floor of the building, he pulled open the fire escape door and entered a small vestibule. I could hear music rocking the walls. Steve pounded on the steel door at the end of the little hallway and I could hear the music being turned down.
“Who the fuck is it?” I could hear CD’s voice from the other side.
“Go fuck yourself!” And the door opened. CD was standing there completely naked with a cigarette dangling from one corner of his mouth, a coffee cup in the other hand. He waved us in. The place they lived was incredible. It was wall to wall windows, one side taking in the Omaha downtown skyscrapers, the other looking at the Missouri River wandering through the city. There were probably 30 columns that ran floor to ceiling evenly spaced about. I estimated it was somewhere around 6000 square feet. All the windows were wide open but it was pretty steamy inside. Off in one corner was a small area that served as a kitchen. Behind the kitchen was a small area that must have served as the bathroom. Diagonal from it I could see several tools used for woodworking along with a variety of pieces of furniture in disrepair. The other two corners held mattresses thrown on the floor. And throughout the middle of the space were a variety of objects, some of which I now recognized, others which I could only guess at their function. In one area was a sling hanging from the ceiling. Between two of the columns a spider-web of chains had been created. Between two of the other columns a huge X had been built out of 2 x 12 lumber and painted black. Several steel rings were attached. I wandered into the middle of the room, slowly turning, trying to take it all in.
From behind me I heard a squeal and I turned just in time to have Nastibear grab me in a bear hug and lift me off my feet. He yelled over to Steve, “How sweet of you! How did you ever remember my birthday. And what a nice gift!!!! But I didn’t get you anything, darling....” He was smothering me with kisses by now and I was laughing.
Nastibear swatted my ass, and between the spanking from the previous afternoon and the two hour ride on Steve’s bike I knew my gasp was a little over the top. Nasti picked up on it right away. With deftness only a gay man can know he had undone my pants and turned me around to expose my red and somewhat bruised ass. He looked inquiringly at Steve who nodded, and then he grabbed me in yet another breath-taking hug. “Welcome to the family, darling, welcome to the family.”
ChromeDome was at the refrigerator. “This calls for a celebration. Champagne or something like that.” He pulled four cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon and tossed one to each of us. “Cheers, baby.” And the three men toasted me on my S/M coming out.
From one corner I heard a rustling of sheets and a little voice, “I want one of those.” Nastibear looked a little sheepish and went over to the corner. He started digging through piles of leather and denim until he found what he felt sure were the clothes of the bed’s occupant. He threw them to the kid in the bed, muttered something to the kid in the bed, and found his way back to us.
“I made a little mistake, just a little mistake. He’ll be gone soon.” The ‘little mistake’ was dressing in the corner, tight jeans and a pink polo shirt, disco platform shoes, and made his way past us to the bathroom.
Nastibear was not looking happy. The kid came out of the bathroom pulling his zipper up and came up and gave Nastibear a big kiss. “I gotta go, sweetie, but you be sure to call me. I mean that.” And a whiff of cologne trailed him as he headed for the door.
When we was gone, Nastibear gave each of us a dirty look and said, “Not one word you son of a bitches, not one word. He said he was really into toys. Who knew it meant Barbie dolls?” With that he pulled me over to one little area that obviously served as a living room in the huge space. Pulling me down on the sofa next to him and holding me close, he asked “Now just how many times did that mean man hit you? It’s okay. You can tell your Auntie Nasti. And just how hard did you get when he hit you? It’s okay. You can tell your Auntie Nasti.” Steve and CD were standing at the kitchen counter just laughing. “Now, when you came, what exactly was happening? It’s okay, honey. You can tell your Auntie everything......”
A little later that afternoon Steve and I walked from the loft back over to the barbershop. Steve opened the door catching a little bell hung near the top of the door frame. We entered the shop and I felt like I had been transported to another time. The shop was good sized and was filled with all of the wonderful aromas I associate with barbershops: the talcum powder, the bayrum aftershave, and the rich cigar smoke that had wrapped itself around everything. Everything in the shop had to be close to 60 years old, including the grizzled old guy occupying one of the chairs. The two matching chairs were classic white porcelain with chrome trim and leather seats. Behind the chairs were pedestal sinks and running the entire length of the wall, framing the sinks, was an incredible mantle that ran floor to ceiling and wall to wall. There were built-in cupboards and cubby holes, large mirrors, shelves with mirror backing. It looked dusty and dryed out but it was the most magnificent piece of furniture I’d ever laid eyes upon. Along the other wall was a row of heavy chairs, mahogany wood with carved feet and arms, the seats and backs covered in horsehair upholstery. Large school-room type lights hung from the ceiling over each chair. The floor was narrow oak boards heavily scarred with a patina of burns and spills. The only other item in the room was a large pot-belly stove in the back corner. It looked like it was still working.
The chair’s occupant made a slow, almost tortured exit from the chair and met Steve in the middle of the room, the men exchanging a warm hug. Steve introduced me as Jack, his barberboy.
“This is Master Barber Louis.” Then man shook my hand and I was struck at how large his hands were and how weak his grip was. Even this weak shaking of hands produced a wince in his face. His knuckles looked like huge steel balls had been surgically implanted. He pulled me close and looked my haircut over closely, running his hands across my whitewalls and bare neck. I could smell fresh cigar smoke on his clean smock.
Letting me go he returned to his chair while Steve took a seat in the other barber chair. “Nice razor work. I taught you well, huh?”
Steve smiled at the compliment. “You know you did, you old goat.”
They chit-chatted for a few minutes before Steve turned the discussion toward the reason for our visit. “So what’s this crap CD and Nastibear tell me about you wanting to sell the shop?”
“Not want to. Got to.” Steve frowned. “It’s the arthritis. I can’t barely hold a pair of scissors or the clippers anymore. And its also in my hips, so standing up all day long, well, I just can’t do it.” He started to laugh. “Thank God I got a fat dick. I don’t think I could get my hand to close around some skinny ass pencil dick anymore.
“If I can sell the shop, actually the whole building, I’ll have enough to move to this little area down by Pensacola. I don’t think I can survive another winter. Doc says warmer weather will be better for me. I can sit in a boat and fish. I guess....”
“How much you asking?” Steve asked.
“This fancy pants realtor tells me I can get fifty thousand for the whole property. Knows a guy who would tear it down and put in a parking lot. I’d sell it to you for thirty-five just to keep it out of that asshole’s hands.”
“I’ll pay you the fifty.” Steve was blunt and to the point.
“You ain’t got it.”
“I’ll figure out a way.”
“Well, before you decide how much money you want to invest you better take a look at the whole thing. C’mon, boys. Let’s go upstairs.”
He led us down a small hallway that started just behind the pot belly stove. A small office was tucked in under a set of stairs that led to the other floors. A back entrance was also located down that hallway. We climbed the stairs one flight and Louis opened the door to a tidy one bedroom apartment. “It ain’t much, but it’s better than commuting to work. Upstairs is an identical apartment. Haven’t rented it in a couple of years and it’ll take some work to get ‘er fixed up. But would provide a little income if you did. There’s also a ladder-like set of stairs that’ll take you to the roof. You two go on up. I already know what it looks like. Take your time. I’ll be back down to the shop.”
Steve and I climbed to the third floor. The door to the apartment was wide open and, unlike the spaces below, this place was in dire need of help. Peeling wallpaper, broken plaster, and piles of garbage made the place look like a tornado had gone through it. We climbed over the crap that was everywhere and found in the bedroom the ladder that led to the roof. Steve climbed up first and opened a hatch-like door. Fresh air and sunlight filled the room. He disappeared through the hatch and I scrambled up the ladder and climbed up on the roof with him.
The view was stunning. Not unlike the views from the loft, but being up a hill and having a 360 degree view it was even better.
I didn’t have to think. “How soon can we move?”
We went back down to the shop. Louis was back in his chair. I could see just the one flight of stairs had taken a lot out of him.
“Here’s the deal. I won’t take a penny over forty-five. And if that’s too much let me know. One other thing, and this is a deal-breaker if you say no.”
“Name it.” Steve was curious. So was I.
“You gotta give me a haircut and a shave right now. I ain’t had a decent shave in months.”
Steve was laughing as he crossed over to the sink and washed his hands. Louis pulled a big cigar from the pocket of his uniform, lit up, and got comfortable in the chair. Steve located all the instruments he’d need and went to work.
When Steve was finished with haircut and shave Louis looked about ten years younger. He admired himself in the mirror. “Damn, you’re good.” Steve didn’t answer, but I could see he was pleased by compliment. “If I could get you to shave me like that everyday I’d let you have this fucking place for free.”
We parted company, Steve telling Louis to come over to the loft later that night. Nasti and CD were throwing a little party for us while we were there and Steve wanted Louis to join them. We walked slowly back down the hill toward the Old Market area. As we neared the loft we saw CD and Nasti struggling to get a keg up the fire escape.
“Bout fucking time!” roared CD. “Where the fuck you two been. I need some real help. This ol’ queen is worse than no help at all.” Nasti dropped his end of the keg and took three steps down the stairs.
“So what’s the news? You gonna buy it? C’mon, I’m dying to know!”
Steve nodded a yes. I was grinning ear to ear.
“Yeehaw! C’mon, let’s get this beer iced down so we can start the celebration!” And with renewed vigor Nasti threw the keg on his shoulder and climbed the remaining stairs.
Once inside we put the keg in the bathtub. Several bags of ice were poured in with it and some salt sprinkled over the ice. We sat at the kitchen table drinking cans of beer while we waited for the keg to cool off.
“So how much?” CD asked.
“Forty-five. And it’s probably gonna take another ten to do some remodeling, fix the roof, get a new hot water heater.” Steve answered.
“Can you swing it?”
“If I sell the farm I should clear about twenty-five. I’d have to get a loan for the other thirty. I’m not sure if anybody is gonna give me a loan for that amount, but hopefully so.”
CD and Nastibear were grinning at each other. Nastibear broke the tension, “You wanna tell him or should I?”
CD swatted Nastibear’s chest. “My bottom, my story.” He turned to Steve and me. “I got this ‘straight’ banker who likes to have me fist him once or twice a month. He’s a hot little fucker. Last week when I heard about the shop being up for sale I got him in the sling over there. When my arm was buried almost up to the elbow I asked him if he could help a friend of mine. I can basically ask him for anything at that point. Between moans he sort of pretends he can’t help me out. A few minutes later I think I could have gotten a half a million in cash on the spot. I don’t think you’ll have any problems getting a loan from him.” He grinned. “ Besides that he’s a little crew cut boy who would probably like your services just as much as he likes mine.”
We ordered in a bunch of pizzas, tapped the keg, and around 9:00 several guys started arriving. It was the most interesting menagerie of men I’d ever seen. They ran the full gamut of ages and sizes, from another kid who looked to be 18 like me, to a guy who might have been Louis’ father. The other 18 year old was probably 30 pounds lighter than me, a real featherweight, while one of the middle-aged guys had to be close to 350 pounds. Most had on some sort of leather whether it was chaps, jeans or a vest. Many wore motorcycle caps made of leather. Louis arrived around 10:00. He wore blue jeans covered by chaps, and a well-worn leather vest. Like CD’s and Nastibear’s the vest was covered with a rainbow of patches describing a variety of groups and events he had participated in. The haircut and shave had been a real tonic for him. He’d made it up the three flights of stairs with no problem and he spent the night with a pretty big smile on his face.
The one thing that bonded this group was their masculinity. Despite their wide variety of ages, sizes, body types–they were clearly all testosterone driven.
Around midnight another man joined the party. Just his arrival took my breath away. The man had on tight black jeans and a leather shirt that had been laced on the sides and down the arms, making the suit a tight second skin on him. The body that suit was covering was a tight and lean one. He wore a motorcycle cap with a chain running across the brim. His boots were knee high and shone brilliantly. Peeking from under the brim of the cap was a dark, Italian face, with deeply set eyes, dark bushy eyebrows, and a thick moustache. When he removed his cap he revealed the thickest, tallest black flattop I had ever seen. I guessed that he was around 45, the lines around his eyes being the only clue to his age.
The response to his arrival was an interesting mix. Several called out his name, Tony, other’s added his title, Master. Some turned their backs inconspicuously.
I was alone at this time, Steve being pulled away countless times by old friends who wanted the whole story of his buying the barbershop. CD and Nasti were trying to play “hosts” of the party, and the only other person I knew, Louis, was pretty busy talking to a group of older men who’d gathered off in one corner.
It took probably less than 3 minutes before Master Tony found me alone in the middle of the room. I hadn’t taken my eyes off him that entire time. He walked directly up to me, perhaps sensing my curiosity and attraction, and placed one hand on a shoulder, the other on my chin.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” I didn’t know how to respond.
Even though I couldn’t find a voice, the rest of my body was definitely beginning to respond. I could feel a flush on my cheeks, a twist in my stomach, and a grumble in my gonads. This man oozed danger and sexuality, a potent combination on me.
“I don’t really care who the fuck you are, what your name is, or anything else. I just know we should leave this party now so I can take you home with me. I know you want to be my slave boy. I can tell just the way you’re looking at me.”
I felt almost like I was being hypnotized. The voice coming from this man was as sexually charged as his body. I’d only had three beers over the last few hours but felt like I’d drunk the entire keg. The trance was broken when an arm went over my shoulder and I heard Steve.
“I see you’ve met my boy, Jack”
Tony moved back a step immediately. “Steve. Good to see you. So this is Jack. Your “boy.” He said it almost with a sneer. Gone was the hypnotic voice, now replaced by an arrogant one. “Jack. Like jack off. I should be able to remember that. Sorry, I didn’t know he was yours, and since I didn’t see a collar I just assumed he was fresh and free meat.” He gave my face a little pat. “You got a nice one Steve, better keep him a little closer to you, just to be safe.” He laughed and moved over to another gathering of people in the loft.
I could feel an anger coming off of Steve. I was really scared that I had pissed him off. He took me further under his arm. “Go get us a couple of beers and meet me outside on the fire escape.” I pumped two plastic glasses of beer and headed outside.
Steve was sitting a ways down the stairs. I made my way down slowly, stepping around and below him. “Here, Sir.”
He patted the stair next to him. “Have a seat.”
“We need to clear up a few things,” he said, after clearly thinking about how to approach me on this. “First off, even though I don’t have the authority to do so, I’m telling you to stay away from that man. Tony is scum, through and through. The three concepts I began teaching you that day out at the creek, respect, trust, and consensual partners, are not a part of his vocabulary. Tony embodies everything that is wrong with the leather community. He is only worried about Tony. He’s a selfish prick who has hurt many young boys like you, dumped them, and never looked back. Tony also mixes a lot of drugs and alcohol with his sex. He gets most of his money dealing in drugs, and he pumps boys full of them before he ties them up and rapes them.”
He relaxed a little bit and looked directly at me. “He sees a good looking boy like you, and fuck the rest of the world, he decides that you’re his next conquest, the next notch on his belt. And a naive little boy like you is rarely able to escape that man’s sexual draw.”
We sat silently for a few minutes. I finally spoke up.
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“For what?” Steve was genuinely curious.
“For....for....” I didn’t know how to put it into words.
“For being a hot little boy that everybody wants? For not being able to turn your nuts off and on at your own command? You don’t understand. That man has had 20 years to perfect his little routine of picking up cute young boys. I don’t blame you for not knowing how to see the whole picture, to see him for the phony he is. I blame me.”
I was surprised by that statement and looked up sharply at him.
“I was one of the first boys he raped. Oh, we didn’t call it that back then. But after some pretty serious soul-searching I realized that was exactly what had happened. He was about 27 or 28 and I was 17. He smelled my innocence and took advantage of my stupidity. He hurt me pretty bad and then kicked me out. I was really lucky because Louis took me in. I actually lived in that third floor apartment over the barbershop for a while. I owe Louis my life.”
Again we sat in silence. Steve seemed a long way off, remembering the bad days with Tony, or the good ones with Louis? I wasn’t sure.
“What did he mean about there being no collar on me?”
“Damn you ask tough questions.” He laughed. “A collar can mean several things to both the person who wears it, and the person who has locked the collar on. For some, the collar is a sign that a relationship of Master/slave has been entered. The slave is owned completely by the Master. Everything the slave does is to benefit the Master. Everything is under the control of the Master, from what food goes in the body of the slave, to when and how the slave will perform sexually. For others, the collar is a sign of a different type of relationship, a Daddy and son, for instance may use the collar. Here, instead of total control, the Daddy takes on the role of mentor, to educate, to shape the life of the boy he has collared. The boy belongs to the Daddy; in fact the Daddy may collar more than one boy at a time, all pledging their loyalty to him.” He paused for a minute, unsure if he should continue.
“I wore the collar as barberboy for Louis for three years. It was my honor to do so. As I said, I owe him my life. After three years Louis was wise enough to take the collar off of me. He knew that I had outgrown the role and also knew that someday I would be a Daddy myself. During the time we were together he frequently gave me permission to explore my sexuality with other men. He frequently had sex with other men. We never attempted to model our relationship after heterosexuals and their codes. At the end of the day though, I would be with him, in his arms, in his care.”
He started to laugh again, caught in his own memories. “Damn, we had some hot sex in those barber chairs!”
I laughed too, as it was something I’d been imagining since we’d first walked in the shop. He stood up and pulled me up with him. He embraced me strongly and I held on for dear life. He held me close the rest of the night, from watching the party die down, to observing some fairly mild sex in various corners of the loft, to when we finally crashed on one of the mattresses in the loft. I felt truly safe in his arms.