Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

The click of the bedroom door woke me the next morning. I was stretched out on the bed, naked and sore. Sore of muscles, but mostly sore inside my channel. I had no illusion that I had finally been fucked. But everything was hazy. Had Shawn and I made love? It seemed like I had been fucked repeatedly, but somehow I didn't feel Shawn had been doing any of it. I was confused. But I no longer was tense from the frustration of not being fucked, because I definitely could feel that it had happened.

I looked over to where there was a wing-back chair in front of a fireplace. There was a small side table next to the chair and a breakfast tray on top of the table. I decided that was why I had heard the door click. I'd received breakfast.

I had to admit I was hungry. I painfully pulled myself off the bed, took a pair of jeans from my suitcase, pulled them gingerly on, and went over to the tray. I was pouring a cup of coffee, when I heard the braying of more than one dog out on the front lawn. Taking the coffee with me, and sipping as I went, I went out on the porch and over to the railing.

I arrived there just in time to see five men striding down the lawn toward the water, with three hounds nipping merrily at their heels. Four of the men were dressed as Joe was the previous day, prepared for a day of hunting. One of them was Joe Morton and three of them were almost carbon copies of him—undoubtedly the remaining Morton brothers. The head of hair on one of them brought back a painful memory. They must have arrived yesterday while Joe was fucking me down by the pier. I wasn't all that dumb. The "nightmare" of the previous night was getting a lot less hazy. I'd been drugged and bagged by the Morton brothers. It wasn't only ducks they hunted down on the remote Pamlico Peninsula.

The fifth figure, dressed in khaki slacks and a red T, was Shawn. Shawn, my erstwhile lover. A procurer of virgins for Joe and his brothers. Joe his real lover. Shawn broke away from the other four and headed around to the side of the house as the four brothers jauntily walked toward the marshlands, their shotguns slung over their broad shoulders, ready to continue bagging game.

I ate and dressed and slowly descended the broad staircase to the first floor, bowlegged and fighting the pains deep inside me that screamed at each step—pains not only inside me but also in my conflicted emotions. I should be angry and indignant, but I had wanted to be fucked—and now I certainly had been.

An elderly black man, dressed in a black suit, was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning, sir," he said. "Mr. Morton told me to drive you back to Norfolk this morning, sir. He and the other gentlemen will be out hunting all day."

"But Shawn—" I started to say. I had quite a bit to say to my college roomy.

"Young Mr. Stabler is already gone, sir. He drove out just a while ago."

Gone? Shawn gone? "But I came down here with him. We came together." I was having trouble processing. This was all just too much for me to process.

"Mr. Stabler isn't going back to Norfolk, sir. He's transferred elsewhere. He won't be going back to Old Dominion."

So much for all of my dreams of a first time with Shawn.