male bondage
jordan weiss
When the three of them got together, a visit to the emergency room was as predictable as an NFC team winning the Superbowl. Tony, Rick, and Al knew how to have fun; whether it was videotaping a couple of whores or beating up a queer in the black side of town. Tony Calzone was the most endowed in the appearance department, his thick, hardy features were accentuated by a cocksure gait. A couple of qualities the men he emulated possessed. Al, a genetic compilation of a thousand hangovers, owned the rights to a body that, as his physician glibly described as “suitable for atrophied couch potato-ism.” Rick Murphy was the type of guy who would blend into a crowd. A receding hairline left a hard presence to his moldy bread colored eyes. Rick was one of the better known drunks in his soft-edged circles.
The boys ended up at “Jackson’s Hole”, a trendy new gay bar in the lower sixties.
“Look at all the rug munching “Pats” in here,” Rick said with the slightest trace of white, European male superiority. “I’ll bet none of these dykes have seen a stiff dick since their daddy’s.” he added on, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie, while sharing a laugh that seemed to exemplify their collective propensity to be correctly labeled as ass-holes. The three made no attempts to conceal the content of their conversations from the staff. Sunny, the waitress, came up, undecided on whether or not to smear a broken bottle across the ringleader’s mouth.
“Gimme a bleeding mary and a couple slippery nipples,” announced Tony, in a successful effort to have his buddies double over in laughter. Sunny gave Jean, the bartendress,a look that seemed to ask, “How much more of this shit do I take?”
Johnny Duke was sitting at the bar, facing the door; he had witnessed the three guys’ entrance and was now planning their departure. He wore his hair at marine length, the same way he had during his two highly decorated tours with the Marines. He had a rather anemic appearance that contrasted with his sinewy build. Jean gave Johnny another soda water with grenadine; his standard before “showtime.”
As it turned out, Al was captain for this ship of fools’ perilous journey. He walked up to where Johnny sat and slapped him on the back followed by his favorite joke, “Hey dude, do ya know what AIDS stands for?” Johnny batted both eyes just to make sure Al was correct in his assessment of Johnny.
“Another Identified Dick Sucker,” and Al let out a laugh that he hoped would bring over his partners in crime so they could give the fag the beating he deserved.
“Oh, that was such a silly joke. Tsk, tsk, you are so baadd,” Johnny said, stretching out each syllable and brushing Al’s cheek with his palm. Al backed up suddenly and yelled,
“Get yer fuckin’ hands offa me ya goddamned pantywaist.”
Al’s prophetic utterance had just about maxed his pre-Cambrian capacity for vocabulary. It also served as the call to action his pals had been anticipating. Johnny continued his more than inviting theatrics by acting surprised and putting both hands over his mouth. Al gave a quick glance to make sure Tony and Rick were at hand, then he threw a right, which he had hoped would “send the little faggot back to San Francisco.” It did not, but he did feel an intense pain right where his elbow used to bend, rendered useless by Johnny’s quick palm. As Al rushed Johnny, Johnny’s foot stayed firmly in place thus causing Al’s chin to find the edge of the table. Tony was rolling up his sleeves, preparing to vindicate Al’s drubbing and said,
“That was some dirty fighting., wouldn’t ya say, gayboy?”
Johnny looked at both of them, acknowledging their advantage in the height and weight department. He said with his polished voice inflection, “I’d like the next dance with you,” as he grabbed Tony by the balls, right through his two hundred dollar pants. Tony found himself on the receiving end of a no-win situation. Johnny squeezed tighter, until Tony’s head dropped to the height of a barstool, then planted his knee between Tony’s nose and his upper lip. Johnny looked over at Rick and put both of his palms on his cheeks and said,
“Oh, they have made such a mess! Are you going to help me clean up?” as he winked at Rick. Rick whipped out a switchblade and said something about cutting Johnny a new ass-hole. Johnny had sent two hard jabs faster than Federal Express. By this time Rick had dropped the knife and was doing anything he could to block Johnny’s barrage of knuckles. Johnny lifted Rick’s chin one last time and sent him with open arms to the only place where he would be safe; the floor.
Johnny grabbed a towel from the bar and wiped Rick’s blood from his hand, he then bent down and kissed him on the forehead speaking loud enough for Rick’s two mangled friends to hear also.
“There are two things I enjoy doing, either loving men or beating men.”
Tony and Al grabbed Rick by the arms and dragged him through the same door that Jean takes the used bottles and bags of garbage out of every Tuesday.
