Saturday night was a lonely one. Back in my mother's house, in what was once my childhood room (since disinfected and painted white), I lay on a spare mattress on the floor praying that the light of morning wouldn't arrive – that I'd never again be thrown back into the world where I would have to deal with the mess that had just happened. In the dark, my swollen busted face throbbed with my heart. It felt as if the swelling around my eye was blowing up to bursting point.

I no longer felt scared, just embarrassed and as usual pathetic. Pathetic that a man of 31 years of age had to call his mother to come and save him from the middle of some perverse sex game (a game which had nothing at all to do with sex), and embarrassed that she had to find and help him into her car, half naked and covered in piss, sperm, vomit and blood. God, what must she have thought? What would she say/ask? How would I react? What could I tell her?

As I lay fretting through the night I once more went through the events of the day. From the surprise at waking to find Brian in the apartment, to John begging me to allow one more sex session. Then there were intermittent moments when John seemed quite understanding, even rational – and then there were the times he got real nasty and seethed and hissed insults and threats at me. Of course, he finally had his way, convinced me that Brian was Our Toy, that this time we'd have some proper fun at his expense. He said that it was “no-holds barred” that “we'll give him a proper dose of humiliation” and “use and abuse him as we see fit”
He said “You like that!”
I said “No, YOU like that! I like giving you what you want and in certain conditions. It does nothing for me to hang a fifty pound ball weight to someone then knock their teeth out. That's you!” And then John done the dirtiest trick ever, he patted flat the groin area of his Chinese dressing gown and made it abundantly clear that he was sporting a raging hard on, let me see it pulsating away beneath the silk. And then I was sold, because in this whole mess all I've ever really wanted was to fuck my man... to somehow do what we used to do before.

Things always got a little vague at that point. We all played around a little. I sucked Brian and munched on his arse, but nothing serious. Then I think Brian showed us his little collection of cock rings and said how mean he gets when he puts one on. I'm not quite sure. From there my memory would kind of fade out completely. It's like there was a blank, some kind of muddled middle of the story which had disappeared. When my thoughts returned they would be much more vivid, alive. It was as if my brain was projecting them into the room. In the dark, I lay and watched as this bizarre mental cinema played out. It would always start the same:

“Right, now hit him!”


  1. 'God, what\ must she have thought? What would she say/ask?'

    She would have thought:

    Oh my poor little child how I wuv him so.

    She will say:

    I don't care what you do. You are my son and anything you do is alright with me.

    That positive enough for you?

  2. Mrs Winthrope, if I swallow that i'll end up with a huge hook lodged down the back of my throat, then you'll reel me in and then I'll really be in trouble! And if you think that if you wind me in fast enough I may finish face first in your crotch and do a Marlowe on you, no chance... I may fuck dogs but I draw the line at cattle.

    Now, is the old Abigail coming out to play? X

  3. This is why I am so sparing with affection!

    Every time I get it thrown back in my face!

    As you are finding out for yourself.

    Your insults only encourage me on to greater tolerance.

    In the name of Our Lord (Jesus).



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