5
Ryan
Iwasawake before the alarm clock had gone off. I stared at the ceiling while I haphazardly stroked my dick and I thought about my text to Russell. This was the nineteenth day that I’d sent him morning texts to notify him of something that I liked aboutmyself.
I also recorded whatever it was that I’d sent to Russell in a notebook. I supposed it was a way for me to easily reflect on the good stuff going on in my life. He had told me that when I was feeling down on myself, the notebook would be a great thing for me to sit down and take a lookat.
These hadn’t been easy tasks, but I had promised to approach the tasks with seriousness and thoughtfulness. But that morning, my mind wasn’t there. A short time ago, I woke up from a vicious nightmare. I had been so disturbed by the dream that I hadn’t even gotten out of bed to walk it off. I had, however, picked up what I had termed the nightmare journal that Russell had been having me write in. I had been writing in it for a few months now, and it never got easier. He read each and every entry, but I never felt as though it was dangerous to tell him all of that stuff. In reality, I think he knew most of it, but the journal provided him details on what grabbed me in the night. Sometimes I didn’t get much down, maybe just a few words or sentences, but other times I could write paragraphs and pages. This morning was one of the times where I could barely get anything out. Before I shut the journal, with defeat, I stared at the few written words in my shittyhandwriting.
Hanger. Butt, tops of legs. Train yard and in trouble for crying and beingnoisy.
I shut the notebook and tossed it towards the end of the bed. I needed to take that with me when I went to see Russell. I flopped back in bed and shut my eyes for a few minutes, just to rest. I had been awake for a while from the dream and was still tired. I’d get up in a minute ortwo.
In the nineteen days, I’d managed to not get too personal. It wasn’t because I was purposely trying to be a dick, but I just didn’t find that I had many good qualities. I had already hit on anything and everything that could be work related, but now that well had run dry and I had to come up with something better. There was something Russell had been waiting for me to say, but I hadn’t figured it out yet. In the meantime, he had accepted the mediocre things that I had beensaying.
But with that fucked up dream still roaming around, there wasn’t much of anything I had liked about myself right now. I rubbed my stomach over Russell’s soft t-shirt that I had worn to bed. I’d never been in t-shirts this soft, and he wore them as undershirts or around thehouse.
“Ha!” I laughed out loud at my own thoughts; Russell didn’t lounge around the house. Either way, these were soft as fuck t-shirts, and I enjoyed them. Just then my idea for my text burst into my head and I grabbed my phone off thenightstand.
Ryan: Good morning, Russell. I like the fact that you showed me that I don’t wear an XL in t-shirts.
Proud of my text, I hit send. I was happy to get out of bed and get on with my day. It was Saturday and my day with Russell. Last night, while I was at the store, I picked up a bunch of new bathroom stuff that all matched. I’d noticed that all of Russell’s bathroom stuff all matched in the same scent for body wash, soap, and lotion. I had just used bar soap in the shower and generic shave gel. But today I’d match everything; shave gel, body wash, deodorant, and lotion. I’d never been a fan of lotion before, but Russell showed me that just a little could make my elbows and knees look good. I wanted to show him that I had beenlistening.
While I was in the shower, I heard my phone alert me of a new text. Russell, Ibet.
On my “Russell days,” I spent a little extra time in the shower, making sure everything and everywhere was clean enough to eat off of…just incase.
“Suds the bud,” I joked under my breath. “Don’t be a dirty guy forhim.”
My head started going backward about being told that I was dirty. Though I tried to shake it by starting to sing in the shower, I only got through a verse before the singer’s voice had been overpowered by my dad’s.If you’re going to act like a filthy animal, you’re going to be treated like one.My stomach had started to hurtagain.
I stood under the spray of the shower and rinsed my body without touching it. As I turned my body under the spray of the water, I remembered sitting outside in the backyard with wet shorts or pants, waiting for the sun to drythem.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath and hurried to finish. “Just hurry up and get over there so he can beat you. Then it’ll be better,” I toldmyself.
Dripping wet, I reached for my phone before I bothered to dry off. I needed to see histext.
Russell: Good morning, my boy. Indeed, you are not an XL. You’re more of a medium if the shirt is of a loose cut; large for trimmer cuts. Your arms are well-toned; let your shirts hug yourarms.
I smiled and read it again and again. He complimented my arms. I glanced at my arms in the mirror but quickly looked away. I focused on the phone again and histext.
“Good morning, my boy,” I read out loud andsmiled.
I was his. That should’ve sounded weird to me, but it didn’t. Was it weird that I didn’t think it soundedweird?
“You’re overthinking,” I said outloud.
I felt like texting more with him right now. Maybe it would keep my mind focused on the positive instead of lingering on thenegative.
Ryan: I’m looking forward to seeing you today. I need asession.
I quickly finished in the bathroom and went to my bedroom to get dressed. I put on black boxer briefs, jeans and then was stuck. I stared into my closet at my options. I pulled out a navy henley shirt and looked down at my arms. The sleeves weren’t tight on the arms, but snugger than some other shirts I had. Even before the text from Russell this morning, I had decided that on my next payday, I’d go shopping. I carefully picked up the folded stack of my week supply of Russell’s t-shirts, the nightmare journal, and headed to hishouse.
For the drive to his house, I thought about how badly I needed him to beat me. If I stopped thinking about the possible session, my mind would go back to the empty boxcar and a heavy coat hanger. We had talked extensively and multiple times about him slowly replacing old memories. Taking old pain and turning it into pain with pleasure. These sessions always forced shit to the surface and allowed me to release the stress or burden that I had carried withme.
I needed that kind ofsession.
His mouth was on mine before the door had shut all of the way. Russell’s hands gripped the material of my shirt on my upper arms and pulled me towards him. The second his hands were on me, I began to relax. Russell’s goatee felt abrasive against my freshly shaven jaw, yet I didn’t mind the burn. A hand of his moved from my upper arm to the top of my head, and he tugged ever so slightly, forcing my face upward. His kiss was hard as he pinned me to the door with hiships.
