A New Path

I was thrusting hard and deep, relieving two week’s worth of tension and frustration, both of us having known all along it would come to this. It may have been the grinding noise of the brass headboard against the wall or the scream of bedsprings, as, crouched over him, I held him pinned to the bed with my fists pressed into the curves where his arms attached to his torso and pounded him deep and hard, that drew Petey up to my bedroom out of curiosity. When he arrived, though, he just crouched down beside the bed, crossed his front legs, and looked up to where I was moving on his master’s body. Petey gave a calm, “it’s about time” expression.

I had to acknowledge that Petey was right.

Over the next month, Neal slowly worked his way up into the house and into more control of our relationship. The door to the basement remained open. Neal started showing up for dinner upstairs, so I more than doubled the portions I cooked. He roamed the upstairs at will, advising me on how the nearly untouched third floor could best be restored. He was in my bed, under me, most nights—at least for the first couple of weeks—with Petey taking up station beside the bed.

As Neal became more comfortable with our relationship, the relationship loosened up. He started to bring other men home. These were usually older men—not as old as I was, but older than Neal was. It became obvious to me that he was renting himself out to them. Some of them were there for fun, though.

Then came the evening that he brought one upstairs—a young black man. Very good looking, slightly effeminate, but very well put together.