“I can take care of myself.”
“What if you couldn’t?”
“I have my security.”
“What if they were all dead?”
I purse my lips. “You are only to use this gun in self-defense situations. An imminent threat. That means if someone has a weapon pointed at you, someone other than me that is, then you may grab for the gun. If you continue to do well in therapy and get past the suicidal thoughts, then maybe down the road you can have one of your own.”
“I don’t want one,” he is quick to assure me.
“That’s fine too. We have security to keep us safe. Now, here’s how you load it. Give me your dominant hand.”
He reaches out with his right and I place the 9mm solidly in his palm. “Grip it. That’s good. Now take the magazine like this. Yes. Use your index finger to make sure the rounds are seated, or it won’t properly load. Line up the magazine. Mmmm hmmm. Now slam it up there. Harder. Good. There are two ways to chamber the round, but I’m going to show you the one I find most instinctual.” I show him how to pull back on the slide and release it. “There you are, now your bullet is in position to be fired.”
He takes aim on the target, and I adjust his posture so that his feet are in a bladed position. “This will help with the recoil,” I tell him and shift his left hand to support the bottom of the gun. “Aim down the barrel with both eyes open and shoot.”
Giovanni fires off all eight rounds with impressive accuracy. I show him how the empty the clip, and he loads another. He discharges that one into the target as well with machinelike efficiency.
At the end of the third round, he hands me the gun to take a turn and I fire off a few rounds myself. All kill shots.Not bad, old man.Giovanni compliments my accuracy, then asks, “Does it make you feel powerful, Sir, having a gun?”
“It doesn’t make me feel powerful, but it does make me feel less powerless.”
“What’s the difference?”
I tell him the story of my mother, how she died from stab wounds inflicted by a common street thug. Scum. The man didn’thaveto murder her, but he did, then grabbed the cash from the register and as many pill bottles as he could carry. A senseless crime. “My father chased after him,” I tell Giovanni. “He was in the back office and my screaming alerted him to what had happened, though I couldn’t recall making any noise. I held my mother as she died. Blood everywhere, choking on it.” I pause, recalling her pain and confusion, a bewilderment that was almost childlike in her last few moments of life. “I didn’t know what to do. I felt powerless to save her. Later, I swore I would never be so defenseless again. I’d never be caught, unaware.” I swear it again now, to protect and care for what’s mine and the few people I love—my brother, Giovanni… “And that’s why I don’t leave the apartment without my gun,” I tell him.
“Is that why you like being a Dominant?” he asks. “To feel less powerless?”
“Maybe. Being in control is soothing to my spirit. My mother’s death may have something to do with it. I haven’t interrogated it before, but it makes sense that I am eternally trying to rewrite history.”
“I feel powerless most of the time,” he says, “except when I’m with you. Then I am calm. Because I know you’ll take care of me. And I don’t have to make any big decisions or worry about what the voices are saying.”
“You don’t have to worry about a thing,” I tell him.
We finish with our target practice. Giovanni watches me reload the gun with a fresh clip to place in my holster.
“Would you fuck me with your gun, Sir?”
It takes me a full five seconds to comprehend what he’s asked me, thinking I must have misheard him because of the ringing in my ears, but no.
“Are you serious?” He does have a habit of fucking with me.
“I think you’d enjoy shoving the barrel of your cold, hard gun into my mouth or up my ass. And I’d like taking it too. You could even leave it loaded if you want.”
I can’tnotimagine it, now that he’s put it into the arena of possibilities, and he probably knows that too. “No, Giovanni, I will not fuck you with my gun.”
“Why not?”
Because I might like it too much.
“Because that is even riskier than breath play, and I don’t think it would be good for your mental health.”
He tilts his head, considering it. “You’re probably right, and I wouldn’t want it to jam on you later if you actually needed it.”
I nod and avoid looking at him, lest he tempt me anymore. “Very practical.”
12
