Chapter 6

The alarm woke me at its usual time, and I inserted my new plug with some difficulty, dressed casually and walked to the kitchen to prepare my aunt’s breakfast.

Aunt Liz bustled in later than usual, although she still looked as elegant as ever. She hurriedly ate her breakfast and downed her coffee before almost running out the door.

I started my day with a bit of housework, including vacuuming, changing the sheets and pillowcases on our beds, and doing the washing. I was out of chores by 10:00 a.m. and was at a loss as to how to fill my day until around 7:00 p.m., when my aunt typically arrived home. I opened my coursework, but I was currently up-to-date with everything I could do—a strange thing for me and my education. Being allowed to work frenziedly when the mood struck and then not doing anything for long periods suited my personality. As long as my assignments and assessments were on time, my professors seemed to care little about how it was done.

Bored, I began trolling through my Facebook account. I’ve had one since I was thirteen but hardly ever used it. My mother was my only friend on the account, which only served to remind me how alone I was before Aunt Liz rescued me. I searched to see what I needed to do to deactivate my mother’s account and immediately came upon another of those seemingly unfixable problems that the deceased’s relatives faced—I didn’t have the documents Facebook wanted before they’d allow me, her only descendant, to deactivate her account. I made a mental note to ask my aunt if she had them. I’d learned Aunt Liz was the executor of my mother’s will, so I guessed she would.

I didn’t use any of the various social media apps very often, so I was unfamiliar with how to navigate around them. I could tell I had a message, but initially, I couldn’t figure out where to access it. I eventually found where it was—under something called ‘message requests—and opened it. To my shock and almost horror, the message was from Grant Bowers. It was short, only four sentences. He asked for my forgiveness and requested to talk via messenger with a view to meeting for a drink and mending the broken fences between us.

My first instinct was to delete and block him. My second was to type, “Fuck off!” and then block and delete him. But then, I remembered my dreams, and my cock lurched in my panties. It was increasingly evident that I was a submissive, girly boy, and being dominated by others was central to my self-image. I wondered what it would be like to be ‘forced’ to suck Grant’s cock, and as I imagined doing that, I had unawarely taken my cock out. My sudden orgasm surprised and disgusted me, and I logged out and fled to my room.

I lay on my bed wondering if Roger, my former supervisor, hadn’t been right—I was a faggoty queer boy who wanted a ‘real’ man like him to fuck my girly ass. I got up long enough to wash my makeup from my face and then lay back on the bed. I cried bitterly into my pillow, wishing my mother was still alive and that this nightmare would end.