Ian is intrigued by the idea of “servicing” straight guys, and through a friend contacts Shawn. Although the experience is not quite what he expected, Ian discovers a deep satisfaction in being submissive. Shawn, an amateur boxer, begins to visit more frequently, sometimes even sleeping over. Ian also visits Shawn at the gym to watch him train. The two men connect, and Ian is hopeful something more might develop.
Then Shawn dies unexpectedly in Ian’s bed.
Now Ian finds himself facing the suspicions of the investigating policeman, Glen, even though Shawn died from natural causes. When Glen returns to question Ian further, he begins asking for specific details about Ian’s and Shawn’s relationship. Then he insists on Ian performing re-enactments. Soon all pretense is stripped away as things grow more intense between them.
Ian starts to hope something might be developing with Glen. But the cop is keeping secrets from him. Will Ian still be interested when he discovers why Glen initiated things between them in the first place?
Shawn showed up with a black eye and evidence of bruising on his face. I knew he didn’t like me staring at him, but the effect was so astonishing that I couldn’t help myself and, to my surprise, he grinned with satisfaction when he noticed me looking.
“A rough match,” he said, and for a moment, with that smile, I saw beautiful teeth and something of a boyishness that had hitherto been hidden.
I proffered him a beer, and he took it and sat down on the couch. I sat down in the armchair and continued to regard him with something like awe. He turned the television on and parsed the channels for a minute, evidently aware of my attention but tolerant of it. Finally he glanced at me, and turned down the volume. Then he stretched languorously and winced, lifting an arm carefully.
“Would you like something for that?” I said impulsively.
He looked at me, frowning. “Well, you’re gonna suck me off, right?”
I nodded, my face heating up. “I meant, for the pain.”
He looked at me. “What you got?”
“Aspirin. Tylenol -- with codeine.”
He snorted.
“And --” I hesitated. “I have some Demerol, too. I get migraines.”
Shawn looked impressed, his eyebrows raised. Then he nodded. I went upstairs and returned with the Demerol and a glass of water.
He took the pill but not the water, washing it down with beer. It occurred to me to point out that Demerol and alcohol didn’t mix, but then told myself it wasn’t my space. In the minutes that followed I saw the gradual effect growing on him. He moved his arm again several times, smiled, and even chuckled.
Finally he said, not looking at me, “It was quite a fight.”
I chuckled sycophantically, and said, “You should see the other guy, right?”
He looked at me and frowned. “What?”
I repeated the cliché, but he shook his head.
“Naw, I got trounced.” He took a swig of his beer and sighed. “The guy was good, that’s all.” Then he smiled and looked at me in a considering way. “You could come down to the gym sometime. I could give you a lesson.” He grinned.
I felt my face heat up. The idea of being in even a lesson with this intense and obviously physically capable man was -- well, unthinkable. It was also, however, intoxicating.
“You’d wipe the floor with me,” I said.
He grinned again. “That’s the idea.” And, with that, he leaned back and spread his legs.
I got up -- and got to work.
