Chapter 1

I didn’t go into work that day knowing that I was going to lose my virginity. Sex wasn’t on the menu.

I was working the noon to eight shift at a little shop my mother owned, and while I worked, the biggest rainstorm of the decade started to come down.

It started a little after noon and just kept getting worse. The water flooded the streets and then the sidewalks. Whole sections of town got blocked, and nothing could get in or out. By 4:00, no one was on the street. No cars were moving or could move, and I realized for the first time that I had no way of getting home. Home was a half-hour drive away, and I didn’t have a car. I didn’t even have a license. I always took the bus home, but there would be no bus, I could tell.

But my mother came to my rescue. The phone rang, and when I picked it up, she told me that she’d arranged with her friend, Barry, to take me in for the night. He lived right downtown, she said, in a large condo that looked over the bay.

“But Kim hates me.”

Kim was Barry’s daughter, hot as fuck and super popular at our school. That made someone like me, a nerd headed to college on a scholarship, her natural enemy—or more like her prey.

“Kim doesn’t hate you,” my mother said, but then my mother was clueless about things like that. “Barry says she’s at some cheerleading thing, and her mother went with her.””Oh yeah,” I said, “fine. When’s he going to get here?”

“Well, at 8:00, of course,” my mother said.

“But there’s no customers. Why do I have to wait until 8:00?”

My mother explained that the rain might stop, that people might come back out on the street, and if they did, they might want to come into her shop, buy things, and pay money for them.

I put down the phone and resigned myself to a useless wait of 4 hours with nothing to do, but then the door to the shop opened. Barry walked in.

Barry had a business too, selling things made out of leather—fancy things that made him a lot of money. Barry was cool. Barry had style. He was the president of the local business improvement association and the guy who always had the bright ideas.

“I got an idea,” Barry said when he stepped in the door.

“What’s that?”

“Let’s close up now,” he said, shaking his umbrella and covering the floor with water.

“My mom says I gotta keep the place open till 8:00.”

“Just close. They’re about to issue a stay-in-place order.”

Barry stood around making chit-chat while I counted the till, replaced the float, and dropped the rest into the floor safe. It was a routine I’d done hundreds of times, and it took me less than 10 minutes.

“Do you have an umbrella?” Barry asked me before we opened the door and stepped outside. I told him I didn’t.

“We’ll have to share mine,” he said, and after I locked up the shop, we walked together on the wet sidewalk, the water streaming past us, and the rain coming down, huddled close to share the small shelter of the umbrella. I was about to say something, when I found myself on the ground.

There was a smell of ozone and it was only then that I realized there’s been a lightning strike.

“Are you ok?” Barry said, helping me up. The lightening had struck an antenna across the street.

“That was close,” i said. I wasn’t burned, so the lightning hadn’t touched me. but it had knocked me down nonetheless. I felt its effects.

We made it safe to Barry’s place after that, but by the time we got there, I was shivering. I watched while Barry pushed the up button. While we waited, the lights flickered, flickered again, and then decided to stay on.

“Forget the elevator,” Barry said, “we could wind up trapped all night. It’s only four floors.”

Four flights of stairs later, I followed Barry into his condo—a big place with a big balcony and a wonderful view of the bay and beyond it, the open sea. At least, that’s what my mom said it had. Right now, I couldn’t see anything other than sheets of water pouring down on the city.

“Let’s get out of these clothes,” Barry said. When I turned, he tossed me some track pants and a t-shirt. I went to the bathroom to put them on, leaving my wet clothes hanging on the door, and when I stepped out, Barry had changed into pretty much the same thing, except his clothes fit, but mine didn’t.

The track pants sagged, wanted to fall down. Barry wasn’t fat, but he was a big guy—a lot bigger than me—and I was swimming in his track pants.

The t-shirt was just as bad. It was made to accommodate Barry’s broad shoulders, but it hung on me like I was a scarecrow made of sticks and straw.

This won’t take much longer. You won’t have to read a lot more words before we get to the point of this story, the reason why you clicked on the link. Just that I tell you, in case you’re getting impatient. We’re almost there.

Barry was no chef, and that’s why the freezer had lots of frozen pizzas. That’s what Barry told me when he pulled a pepperoni pizza out of the oven. Compared to pizza from an actual pizza store, grocery store pizza is shit. But when there’s nothing else on the menu, or when you have to cook if you want better food, grocery store pizza is just fine. I settled with Barry on the big couch facing the big screen with the backdrop that would have been of the bay and the sea except for the sheets of rain coming down. We ate pizza and talked about what movie to watch.

Barry asked me about the movies I liked. We compared genres and actors, trying to find common ground. Eventually, we agreed that history was something we both liked, including Roman history.

“There’s this old movie I’m dying to watch, but my wife won’t watch it with me. It’s set in ancient Rome, and it’s got a bunch of A-list actors in it—the best cast for a historical drama that I’ve ever seen.”

I asked for details, and he mentioned Sir John Gielgud and Malcolm McDowell and Peter O’Toole—names that I knew, and I thought were just fine—but then he mentioned the name that mattered the most to me.

“Helen Mirren’s in it too,” he said.

That got the attention of my barely 18-year-old brain.

“Helen Mirren? It has a great cast. Why doesn’t your wife want to watch it?”

“She says it’s got too much nudity. We can’t watch it when our daughter’s in the house.” I almost broke out laughing. Their daughter had fucked a half dozen members of the football team, so far as I knew. I took a big sip of the drink Barry gave me, rum and Coke, to stop myself from laughing.

“Is Helen Mirren naked?” I said after I took another big sip. I said it more as a joke than anything else. I could not imagine a woman of her beauty appearing naked in a movie. That would be something too awesome to believe, something that would never happen except in someone’s fantasy.

“Do you want to find out?” Barry said. Hell yes, I wanted to find out. Barry popped the video into the machine. He hit play, and it started. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that something was seriously wrong.

“Something wrong?” Barry said, looking my way, his face bland, trying to hide the mischievous smile behind it.

“This is a porn flick,” I said. It wasn’t just tits and ass, slap and tickle stuff. This was porn, straight-up porn, porn like my teenage brain had never seen.

After a little while, a pattern emerged. When any actor of significance was in a scene, the porn dial was turned down to one or two or maybe three. But the scenes with only minor cast members were the raunchiest things I’d ever seen. It was a good thing I was wearing Barry’s baggy track pants. In anything that was tight, my raging hard-on would have been visible. Even so, I had to adjust myself a couple of times to make sure.

“Holy shit,” I said when I saw a man cum in a woman’s mouth while she fellated him and jacked him off. I’d never seen that before—not in video—a woman giving a blowjob and a man cumming. I drained the rest of my drink and then passed it to Barry for a refill.

“I think you’ve had enough, champ,” Barry said. He was probably right. I was feeling the effects of it—two rum and Cokes, two more than I’d ever had in my life. I decided that I liked the taste of rum and Coke, and I reached out my hand for the bottle.

Barry pushed my hand away gently, and when I tried again, he gripped me harder.

“You want to turn this into a wrestling match?” he said, not angry, not pissed off, more amused than anything else.

“Just kidding,” I said, “just fooling around.”

Barry did not let go of my hand as I expected him to. He held it, held it tight, and when I tried to pull his hand off with my other one, he held that hand too.

I looked up at him, puzzled, and saw that his face was close to mine. Then he kissed me, lightly on the lips, making me feel, for the first time, the wet lust of a kiss made with intent.

I’d never been kissed like that before—not by a girl, not by anyone—and with two rum and Cokes inside me to add to my confusion, I froze.

I froze when Barry kissed me. My hands became rigid, then limp, and when Barry let go of them, my hands did not move. They could not move. I might as well have been tied up or in cuffs, because when Barry’s lips began to kiss, and kiss harder, the only movement I could make was to part my lips slightly and accept the touch of his lips and his tongue and his hands that began to wander.

“Barry,” I said, not loudly, almost a whisper, in a voice that said the speaker did not wish to be obeyed, maybe not even heard. “Barry, I don’t know if we should—”

“Shhhhhh,” Barry whispered gently into my ear, his voice a deep baritone, maybe even bass, and when he whispered to me and shushed me in my ear, a feeling went through me. I wasn’t frozen anymore; Barry’s hot whisper had thawed me in an instant. Instead of being frozen, I was limp. I could move now, but not of my own volition. I could move only the way Barry wanted me to.

Barry settled me deeper into the couch, and his face wandered as he touched me with his mouth, his teeth, and his tongue. Where his mouth touched me, it burned.

“You’re married,” I muttered when Barry started tonguing my neck and it was starting to dawn on me that this might go somewhere, that something might actually happen.

“My wife’s not home,” Barry said just before he tongued my ear and made me sigh.

“But I’m not gay,” I said.

“Shhhhh,” he said, and I shushed. And when I shushed, he took my nipple into his mouth for the first time, and the pleasure was so great that I wanted to die.

For the first time since he kissed me, I found I could move. I held his black curls in my hands while he lavished my nipples with his tongue, going back and forth, smiling down at me as I sighed and moaned.

When he finally released me, I felt cheated, disappointed. I figured he was done, that he was going to send me off to my bedroom, where I’d jack off, after which I would lie there alone, wondering what the fuck just happened.

But that’s not what happened. Instead, Barry’s hands grasped my track pants and pulled them down just far enough for my rock-hard erection to spring out and greet him. They made friends right away, Barry and my cock, and in no time most of my length was down his throat. When his hands reached up and gently swirled on my nipples, I let out a soft cry of warning, and he backed off immediately, releasing me, letting my cock go. My length landed with a hard slap against my stomach, a sound of disappointment. My cock had wanted to cum so badly, but it was going to have to wait.

I knew that because Barry explained it to me.

I lay there on the couch, naked before him, spread out with my cock rock-hard in Barry’s hand. He brought some oil and lubed me up, and he’d been edging me for almost a half-hour.

I was begging him now, pleading with him to let me cum, to please let me cum. I’d gotten to the point where I was begging, making promises, and when that didn’t work, vows of allegiance, pledges, more promises. When I started to repeat myself, Barry withdrew his hand once more. I lay there, harder than I’d ever been in my life, desperate for an orgasm and angry that he would not give it to me.

“I’ll let you cum,” he said, “but there are some things you’ve got to do first.”

“I’ll do anything,” I said. But when I found myself five minutes later in the bathroom getting my first enema, that’s when I said to myself, what the fuck was going on? What had I gotten myself into?

I was in the shower cleaning up after my second enema because Barry told me I had to do two, and I was showering and asking myself what the fuck was going on.

I’d never been interested in men before. It had never entered my head. And besides, having sex with a man was gay, and I was straight.

I hadn’t proved my straightness with any girl, unfortunately, but I’d spilled a lot of cum jerking off to a lot of gorgeous women in magazines smuggled into my room and hidden where my mother wouldn’t find them. There were no gay magazines in that collection.

But as I toweled myself off, I was rock-hard again, my cock pointing almost straight up because I was young back then, and it was great being young.

I wanted to jerk off right there and then, but Barry told me not to, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. So I threw on the robe that he left in there for me, and I came out cleaner than I ever had before, ready for him to finish that awesome blowjob, to finally let me cum, to give me satisfaction.

Barry took me to his bedroom, led me by the hand, and as I stood at the edge of the bed, he tugged gently at my robe and let it fall to the floor. He took my face in his hands and kissed me again. I held his elbows in the palms of my hands as I accepted his kiss and then his tongue.

I think Barry had pretty well figured me out by this point, sexually speaking, which was kind of funny because I didn’t know myself at all. But I think he knew exactly what he was dealing with. He knew exactly what to do with me.

When he touched me, when he moved me, when he gave me commands, when he whispered in my ear, the message was always the same, no matter what the words or where his fingers and tongue landed. The message was always the same, that he was a man, and I was just out of boyhood. His voice and his words, however gentle, always spoke of his authority over me.

And what I said back, and how I moved, and what I did spoke of my submission to Barry, my trust in him.

“Oh god,” I said, not for the first time, but louder than usual. “Oh god,” I said when I felt one of Barry’s fingers slip inside me for the first time. I said his name, and God’s name, over and over again like they were two words for the same thing. Barry’s finger reduced me to nothing, destroyed any sense of self in me. It took away my independence, the pleasure that he gave me, and left me entirely dependent on him.