Hanging off the Appalachian Trail

He moved back into the barroom and stood at the bar, ordering a beer from Manuel, the bartender on duty.

The gay part of the tavern wasn’t large—just an entrance foyer, where a bouncer ascertained that the patron really wanted to be there; this barroom with a long bar, a few tables, and a small stage with a dancing pole; and a couple of multipurpose back rooms with toys, beds, and special equipment. The Lynchburg College student had been made to dance the pole until Rocko got in the mood and took him to the back. There had been few patrons present then. It was the middle of the afternoon, and this pretty much was a night-time club. The student was doing this willingly—but probably, like most, not having fully understood what “this” was. College students always needed money, were willing to try anything, and thought they were invincible.

After Rocko got through with them, most of them were subdued and broken. They certainly were broken in. If they tried to fight him, they were broken down.

The gay part of the tavern was on the back of the building, entered in back, in a corner of the parking lot and through the fenced-off area where the trash bins were kept. It didn’t look like the entrance to anything and that’s how the small gay community in the area liked it. The girly bar was on the street side and was much larger and covered with neon signs. There was a lot of business in this area of the state for that part of the club.

Howard Holt, mostly taken at face value as a white, good-old-Southern-boy, who had accumulated a lot of lucrative businesses and who spent enough time in the gym to look very good as a fifty-five-year-old extrovert glad-hander, hid his true sexual desires well. Very few in town would take him as a pain-loving gay sub who melted at big black bull cock and maximum body testing and humiliation. As long as he kept the gas station, car garage, and small grocery store open in Buena Vista and the residents didn’t have to come down in the east from the Blue Ridge to Lynchburg or to the west to Lexington to get the necessities of life, any other businesses he ran were overlooked or quickly forgiven.