Becoming Andy Hunsinger Page 12

  “Leave it there, and leave your britches down, too. Walk to the house just like you are.”

  When I exited the truck, my cheeks burned in shame. I felt like some kid who’d been spanked and then put in a corner with his pants down. The cool night air made me shiver. I strained to hear noise of any kind, but I heard nothing. On the way to the front porch, I tripped over a tree root, and then I fell to the ground with a thud.

  “Jesus,” Ray cried, “you’re not only dumb, but you’re clumsy, too.” He kicked me in the rear, hard. “Get your ass up.”

  After rising, I stumbled toward the porch steps. It wasn’t easy, climbing the steps with my pants lowered like they were. Ray’s boot heels clunked on the treads behind me. After placing a hand on my shoulder, he kicked open the front door. Then he pushed me into a room as dark as tar. A single shaft of moonlight entered through a double hung window, casting a silver rhombus onto the bare wood floor. The place smelled of mildew.

  Ray spun me around, grabbed the back of my neck, and brought my mouth to his. He pried my lips open, and then our tongues dueled while Ray’s chin whiskers rasped against mine. The firm muscles of his chest pressed against my sternum, and his hips met my hips. I’d never had sex with a guy much older than me, and especially not a guy as hyper-masculine as Ray. My pulse accelerated, and then my armpits grew damp with excitement.

  Ray pulled his mouth from mine.

  “Get on your knees.”

  After I did so, Ray’s belt buckle tinkled. He opened his pants, shoved them to mid-thigh. No underwear. Already, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I saw Ray’s genitals and his dark, pubic bush. When I drew a breath, I crinkled my nose. Clearly, Ray had not bathed after work that day.

  I glanced up at his face. “Aren’t you going to turn on a light?”

  He chuckled. “This was my aunt’s house. She’s been dead four years; there’s no electric service. But you don’t need a light to service me, now do you?”

  He slapped the top of my head, pulled my face to his groin. “Get to it, College Boy.”

  After a few minutes of thrusting, Ray withdrew. “Get on your feet,” he told me.

  I rose, wiping slobber off my chin with the back of my wrist. Ray led me down a dark hallway, and then into a bedroom. He lit a kerosene lantern, the kind with a glass chimney and a braided wick. The lantern rested on a battered bureau. The lantern’s glow filled the room with caramel light, casting our shadows onto a wall. A burlap sack served as a drape, covering the room’s only window. Aside from the bureau, the only furniture was a metal-framed, four-poster bed with a badly stained mattress; the bed occupied the center of the room. Leather restraint devices, fashioned from belts, appeared at each of the bed’s four corners.

  “Strip,” Ray told me.

  I felt an urge to bolt for the door. Who knew what Ray had planned for me? But I had come this far. I couldn’t back out now, could I? Besides, Ray wasn’t some freak who’d picked me up hitchhiking. He had a job; he was a regular customer at The Gate. The guy just liked his kink. Who knew, maybe I would too? I rubbed my chin with a knuckle

  Go on: do it.

  I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks. After shucking my pants and briefs to my ankles, I stepped out of both. Then I tossed them into a corner. Ray’s gaze traveled over me like a clothes iron pressing a pant leg. “You’ve got a long night in store for you, College Boy, you know that?”

  I glanced at the bed. “Are you planning to tie me up?”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  I swung my gaze back to Ray.

  “You’ve got to promise me,” I said. “If I tell you to stop what you’re doing -- if I ask you to let me go -- then you will, right?”

  Ray crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Sure, College Boy.”

  Five minutes later, I lay face down on the mattress, with my wrists and ankles buckled to the bedposts. Aside from shifting my hips or turning my head from one side to the other, I’d completely lost my freedom of movement. After he’d secured me, Ray left the room. He returned moments later, carrying a bottle of Boone’s Farm Apple wine and his doubled-up belt. He had fastened his jeans and removed his T-shirt. Dark hair dusted his chest. His biceps bulged, and the veins in his forearms looked like blue knitting yarn. When he drank from the bottle, his Adam’s apple pumped.

  After approaching the bed, he draped the belt across my shoulder blades. The buckle felt cold on my skin. When Ray sat on the mattress, the bedsprings squeaked while I squirmed on the mattress.

  Ray said, “You’re in for a good pokin’, College Boy; I know it’s what you want. But first I’ll need to strap your behind.”

  My vision went blurry. “You’re going to whip me?”

  Ray squeezed my ass cheek. “Sure am.”

  Get out of here, now.

  “I didn’t agree to a beating,” I cried. “Let me loose, take me home.”

  Ray giggled. “Too late for that, College Boy. You’re mine for a spell.”

  My voice shook when I spoke. Already I trembled like a kid in a spook house. Things had gone from kinky to downright scary, just like that.

  “You said you’d untie me if I asked; you promised.”

  “Here’s your first lesson in S & M,” Ray said, wagging a finger while a shit-eating grin crossed his face: “Don’t ever believe what a leather daddy tells you, at least not what he says before he ties you up.”

  What transpired during the next two hours I’d like to forget, but never will. I was beaten, degraded and violated. As the scene unfolded, I screamed like a guy getting stabbed to death. I blubbered like a child and pled for mercy, but received none. And when it all ended, I was sore and spent. My buttocks, thighs, and asshole burned. When Ray released my restraints, I rolled onto my back. I stared at the water-stained ceiling, and then I asked myself why the hell I’d ever left The Gate with Ray in the first place. What an idiot I’d been, an utter fool.

  I worked my jaw from side to side.

  You must never, ever, lose control over your body like this again.

  A half hour later, Ray drove me toward Highway 27. The two of us rode in silence, both of us stinking of sweat and sex. I squirmed on the truck’s vinyl seat. Ray smoked as we drove through the night; his ash glowed in the truck’s shadowy cab. The time was close to four AM. The moon had reached its apex in the sky; it cast a silvery glow over live oaks, pecan orchards, and pastureland. When we reached the city limits of Perry, Ray pulled onto the apron of a darkened gas station. After shifting into park, he turned to look at me.

  “Get out, College Boy.”

  “Aren’t you taking me back to Tallahassee?”

  Ray spat out his driver’s door window. “Shit no; I’m tired. I’m headed home, and that’s in the opposite direction from Tallahassee. This is as far as I’m taking you.”

  “But how am I supposed to get back?”

  Ray raised a shoulder. “Not my problem, kid.”

  Arguing with Ray, I knew, would be futile. He had used me as a sex toy, treated me like an animal, and now he would dump me like a sack of garbage. After I exited the truck, Ray shifted gears and drove away without speaking to me again. I shook my head while I watched his taillights fade into darkness.

  Asshole.

  I shivered in the chilly, damp air. What should I do? Off in the distance, a motel’s illuminated sign glowed. I walked along the highway’s edge with my hands in my rear pockets, and my elbows jutting. The Bahia grass on the road’s shoulder hadn’t been mown recently, and fiddleheads brushed against the legs of my jeans. The only sound I heard, other than my footfalls, was the chirping of crickets.

  Behind me, an engine growled. I glanced over my shoulder. A semi tractor-trailer approached, headed northward, and after I turned and stuck out my thumb, the truck’s driver switched on his brights, making me squint. But he blew past me without slowing down.

  Shit.

  The motel was single story, with an exterior corridor and a dozen rooms. Several cars
occupied the asphalt parking lot, rusty models with dented bumpers and cracked windshields. The lobby was dark, but a payphone hung on a cinder block wall in the corridor.

  Who could I call?

  I tried Fergal first, but he didn’t answer, and I figured he was probably sleeping at Gina’s. I tried Biff Schultz next. His phone rang ten times before someone answered in a sleepy mumble.

  “Biff?” I said.

  “No, this is Travis. Biff’s camping this weekend with Austin.”

  Over the phone line, I heard a yawn.

  “This is Andy, Travis. I need your help.”

  In less than an hour, Travis picked me up in his station wagon. Stars still gleamed in the night sky, and dew glistened in the motel’s ragged lawn. As soon as I climbed into the car, Travis made a face.

  “You look terrible, and you smell like a toilet. What happened?”

  While Travis drove northward on U. S. 19, I told him everything about my evening, and I didn’t mince words. I spoke of leaving The Gate with Ray, the weird ride to Perry in his truck, the bondage, the fiery whipping I’d taken, and the rough sex that had followed.

  Travis grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why would you go home with this guy in the first place?”

  I stared out the windshield, at two cones of light the station wagon’s headlamps cast onto the asphalt road. I said, “I’ve thought about that ever since I called you. I guess I wanted Ray’s abuse.”

  Travis looked at me and narrowed his eyes. “Are you a masochist? Do you get pleasure from pain?”

  I shook my head. “I think right now I hate myself -- I guess I felt I deserved a beating and I sure got one -- but what a fucked up situation. What is wrong with me?”

  Travis turned his gaze back to the road, and he did not speak to me again until we reached Tallahassee. When we did, he told me, “I’m taking you to my house, but first we’ll visit someplace special: a spot you should know about.”

  The Lake Talquin water tower stood a few miles west of Tallahassee’s city limits, among a stand of slash pines, maybe two hundred yards south of Highway 90. Standing next to the tower’s rusty ladder, Travis pointed upward, toward a wooden promenade with a metal railing. The promenade banded the water tank like a belt.

  “Climb up there with me.”

  I made a face, looking upward. “Look, I’m sort of . . . scared of heights. Can’t we just stay on the ground?”

  Travis shook his head. “Come on, chickenshit; it’s not that tall, really.”

  The tower’s rusty ladder creaked as we ascended, Travis in the lead. My hands trembled and I wouldn’t allow myself to look down, for fear I’d faint from fright. By the time we’d climbed to the tower’s promenade, the sun had crested the eastern tree line, and now we both squinted in the dawn’s brightness. Below us, birds chirped in the pines. A transfer truck roared past on the highway; its headlights were still illuminated. Off in the distance, Lake Talquin gleamed like a mirror. We sat on the promenade’s wooden deck with our legs dangling over the edge. Gazing southward, we watched the sun burnish treetops.

  I squirmed on my sore buttocks. Would I ever sit comfortably again?

  Travis crossed his arms on the promenade’s railing. Then he rested his chin on his arms. Sunlight reflected in his dark eyes, in the dark stubble shadowing his chin. I studied his delicate features, his craggy cheekbones and thick eyebrows.

  “I come here when I’m troubled,” he told me. “Nobody knows I do; it’s my private place. I feel a sense of peace when I’m up here, like I’ve escaped all the sadness in my life.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Travis turned his gaze to me. “You should come here once in a while. Spend some time thinking about yourself and what you want from life; it might help you feel better.”

  I studied the roof of Travis’ car. At that moment, I felt lower than pond scum, like the most worthless guy on the planet. I stank like hell. I was sore all over. I had been used and abused in the most horrid fashion. What kind of a loser was I? Would I ever feel good about myself?

  An hour later, when we entered Travis’ house, he pointed to the bathroom. “Go ahead: clean yourself up. Then I’ll treat your skin.”

  In the shower, warm water streamed over my aching limbs, my raw buttocks, and steaming thighs. I scrubbed myself with a washcloth in frenzied fashion, as if by doing so, I could wash away not only the stinks from my session with Ray, but the memories as well. Afterward, Travis had me lie naked on his mattress, on my stomach. Sunlight crept into the room, and birds chirped in nearby live oaks. Down the street, a dog barked. Travis squeezed juice from an aloe plant onto my buttocks and thighs. Then he massaged the soothing juice into my skin.

  For the first time since I’d left The Gate with Ray, I felt safe. Travis’ touch seemed so gentle and caring, especially compared to the savagery I’d endured at Ray’s hands.

  “Feeling better?” Travis asked.

  I nodded.

  After he’d tossed a sheet and blanket over me, Travis closed the blinds.

  “Look,” I said, “will you do me a favor?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Call the pro shop at Capital City, around eight. Tell them I’m sick with a fever, okay?”

  I still have nightmares about that night with Ray: the lantern’s ghostly light, the shadows, the scents of kerosene, leather and sweat, the crack of the belt against my flesh, the relentless, mind-numbing pain, and Ray’s brutal penetration. A prison cell would have seemed like a hotel suite, compared to the room where Ray assaulted me. To this day, when traveling through north central Florida, I won’t pass through Perry. I’ll take an alternate route, even if it adds extra miles to my trip. And aside from Travis, I’ve never told another soul about those miserable hours spent with Ray. They were, without a doubt, the darkest moments of my life.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I woke to the sound of Biff and Austin’s voices, to the clatter of tent poles and the rustle of camping gear. Glancing at Travis’ alarm clock, I saw the time was close to four in afternoon. I had slept over nine hours.

  My ass and thighs still burned. After rising, I checked my appearance in Travis’ bureau mirror. Purple welts crisscrossed my skin, from my waist to the backs of my knees. I rubbed my damaged flesh and shook my head. How could I have been so reckless? And who could possibly derive pleasure from a beating like the one I’d taken?

  After stepping into my jeans, I eased them over my stinging flesh, and then I buttoned up.

  Austin greeted me in the hallway. He was shirtless, wearing only cutoff jeans and hiking boots. The sun had lightened his hair a shade or two.

  “Hi, Andy Boy. Taking a snooze, I hear?”

  Nodding, I ran my fingers through my scalp. Then I scooted into the bathroom and closed the door. After I pissed and flushed, I stepped to the sink to wash my face. While waiting for warm water to flow, I studied my visage in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. My hair was in tangles and my eyes were swollen from sleep. Two days’ worth of stubble grew on my cheeks. A faint bruise appeared above my jaw, where Ray had slapped me in his truck, outside The Gate. Another much darker bruise appeared above my collarbone, where he’d bitten me during sex. I shook my head. How I wished I could erase these markings, these reminders of my foolishness. How could--

  A knock sounded on the bathroom door.

  “Andy, it’s Travis. Can I come in?”

  Once inside, he closed the door behind him. The fluorescent ceiling fixture reflected in his dark eyes when he spoke to me in a whisper.

  “How are you? How’s your skin?”

  I puckered one side of my face. “I’m sore as hell, but I guess I’ll be okay.”

  Travis stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t tell the guys what happened last night; I just said you were napping.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I feel pretty stupid right now; I’d rather they didn’t know.”

  Beyond the door, Biff’s laughter
boomed.

  Travis glanced at the door. Then he swung his gaze back to mine. “This will stay between you and me, as far as I’m concerned. I know how to keep a secret when necessary.”

  I nodded, thinking about the story Biff had told me about Travis and the mess in Myrtle Beach. Of course he could keep a secret.

  “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry all this happened; I can’t thank you enough.”

  A funny feeling swept through me, then. It started in my feet and crept up my legs. My knees began to shake. I felt an ache in my chest, as though I’d just had the wind knocked out of me. Tears clouded my eyes, and then I whimpered like a five-year-old.

  Travis wrapped an arm about my shoulders. “Shhh. It’s okay, Andy, don’t cry.”

  “I feel like such an idiot.”

  “We all do stupid things in life,” he said, “things we’re sorry for. But you can’t undo them once they’ve happened. You just have to learn from them.”

  I sniffled and swallowed. Then I babbled on.

  “Sometimes I think I should give up the whole gay scene; maybe it’s not for me. Maybe I’m better off living like you do: alone. At least you have peace in your life. At least you didn’t let some asshole tie you up and beat you like a dog.”

  Travis didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said, “What works for me might not work for you. You’re a guy who needs love, and that’s okay. Don’t use me as a role model. I’m unhappy and always will be.”

  Out in the hallway, Biff teased Austin about a raccoon that had spooked Austin when he left their tent to piss the night before.

  “That thing was no bigger than a housecat. I can’t believe how loudly you screamed.”

  Austin replied in a whiny voice. “We don’t have such creatures in Jamaica. I understand they bite.”

  Biff snorted. “No self-respecting raccoon would bite a pussy like you.”