Sometimes, it’s a battle I don’t win.
Tonight, however, it looks like I’m in the lead. At least for a little while.
“Thank you, Master.”
I pull him in for a long, strong hug. I’m the only guy he’s ever been with. Hell, he was literally a virgin when I met him. I’d been with two other guys before him, in high school, but it was just sex, not this.
Not love.
“You’re my good boy, and you’ll always be my good boy. I’m never going to let anything happen to you, baby.”
His embrace tightens around me and I pretend I don’t hear his soft sob. “I’m yours, Master. Forever. I promise. No one else ever but you.”
“No one else but you, either, baby.”
Finally, I pat him on the back and he steps away from me so he can go wash his face in the bathroom.
Just once, I’d love to tell his father off. Tell him what an absolute cunt he is, but then I think about the long-term.
I think about law school.
Ward losing his parents’ financial support right now would likely derail his education, even if he does have the grades to apply for scholarships. My boy is fragile in so many ways and I understand that. It terrifies me that I might fuck up and cause him harm, but I’m the only safety he can cling to.
There is no one else standing beside him but me.
That’s okay. Once I get him through law school, I’ll surprise him by having Mom and Dad meet us here in the city. Let them sell our future together for us.
Show him that my parents aren’t toxic shitbags, and lure him away from Georgia forever.
Let him see that, yes, we can make it. It isn’t about his father’s money for him. Not really. It’s his fear that his father is omnipotent and will attempt to ruin me.
Well, okay, maybe his father has serious juice in Dixie, but not way the fuck up here. I cannot believe that. The two of us together, we might have a few lean years starting out, but that’s all right, too. Ward doesn’t need his father’s influence to get him in the door anywhere in New England with grades like he has.
I suspect my boy will be making a serious name for himself all on his own in a few years, and it’ll be me quietly following in his wake and silently supporting him.
I’m good with that, too. He deserves to shine on his merits. He’s a sweet, gentle, brilliant man who has the potential to go places.
But the last thing he is, at heart, is a politician.
I know every inch of his body. I’ve touched his soul. Together, we’ve made magic and secretly profaned churches all over the five boroughs, and he’s laughed and smiled in ways he never dreamed possible before. I showed him another side of spirituality, and have introduced him to a loving God who isn’t based in shame, or eager to punish every little infraction, one who only cares what’s in your heart, not what’s filling your wallet, or parked in your driveway, or buckled around your wrist.
I give him promises I know I can keep, if he’ll simply believe and trust in me and the power of my love for him.
When he emerges from the bathroom, he’s pulled his public face into place again and wears a weary smile. Worrying about his father’s reaction has destroyed him for today.
“Let’s go fill my boy with sashimi so I can bring you home and cuddle you to sleep.”
He rises up on his toes and kisses me again. I’m not that much taller than him, but he still likes to do that. “Thank you, Master.” His smile fades. “I mean it. No one but you. Ever. You completely own me.”
One more kiss, then I turn him toward the door and give him a swat on the ass. “You own me, too, you know. Now, let’s go eat.”
Because I don’t want to contemplate the future right now.
I only hope that it’s a promise he’ll let me hold him to.
