Looks Good In Black

Cary spoke again. His voice, though still lighthearted, betrayed a hint of uneasiness. "I guess this is where I say, surprise! Eh, Rolf?"

I stared at him, still speechless.

"I'll release you and explain everything. But only if you promise not to get violent, okay? Even though you have every right to."

Another beat, then I nodded. Cary undid my wrists, and removed the collar from around my neck. Finally I found my voice.

"When did you know it was me?" I demanded hoarsely.

"Pretty soon after we started chatting. I should have let you know it was me, too. But--"

"Why the fuck didn't you?"

Cary shifted his weight uneasily, looking at the floor. "I don't know, Rolf. At first, I was amazed that we were into the same secret scene-kind of tickled, actually. A hunk like you wanting to be dominated--that was hot. It was fun playing along.

"Then you told me you wanted to break up. From the hints you dropped I realized you were dumping me for, well, me. Things had got out of hand and I didn't know what to do. I went crying to Kevin and ended up spilling the beans about what was going on between us online. Kevin cracked up. He cooked up this little scheme and offered to help."

I looked over at Kevin. "I might have known."

Kevin shrugged. "I warned you. Fuck with Cary and you answer to me."

Cary said, "I guess I was mad enough at you to go along with it." His voice dropped. "I won't lie, Rolf. I enjoyed it. A lot."

I looked at him, remembering the thrill that had run through me when the dark, lithe figure had emerged from the shadows, how my heart had pounded as I let myself be bound to the wooden bench inside the truck. I felt again the stinging pain of the quirt as it descended on my butt, and the driving heat of Claude's, no, Cary's cock as he took me.

"Looks like he enjoyed it too," Kevin said. He had mounted the stage and was coming toward us, pointing a finger at the rising evidence between my legs.

"Fuck you," I said. I turned to Cary, gazing anxiously at me. "And I thought you were too classy for a lowlife like me." I looked him in the eye. "I guess this changes things--Claude."

I saw the comprehension in his eyes, the smile form on his lips.

"I just hope," I added, deadpan, "you don't use that whip on your piano students."

Cary laughed. A moment later his arms were around me, and I was drinking in the aroma of sweat and leather once more as we kissed.

"Very touching," Kevin said, thrusting my clothes at me, "but University security checks this building at night. Get decent and let's blow this joint before they bust us."

We rode back to the park, Kevin driving and Cary and me snuggled shotgun. Kevin had, of course, been along for the entire ride. He had been sitting at the wheel of the U-Haul while Cary worked me over in the back, ready to drive off had anyone gotten suspicious.

"Damn truck was shaking like an earthquake hit it," he grinned at Cary, who ducked his head bashfully.

He dropped us off and went to return the U-Haul--I never did find out to whom. I forgave him eventually. After all, he did bring Cary and me together--twice. As for Cary, I gave him some more grief for setting me up and playing me for a fool. But my body hadn't lied in the back of the truck that night, and we both knew it.

It's been years since all this happened. Living with Cary, I've heard a lot of classical piano music. "Clair de Lune" is still one of my favorites. He sometimes plays it as an encore when I am in the audience. Sitting in the dark, I smile. Cary cuts a fine figure in his white tie and black tails.

But I know what's underneath the formal concert wear. That's for later, when the audience is gone and I have him all to myself.

The man I love looks good in black. Whatever the material.

END