It's All Fun And Games Until The Wings Appear

So there I’m naked and chained to this hard rubber table when I make this sudden realization.

See, the night had begun relatively simple. I was on the hunt and looking for someone with a burning passion for something. Anything. That’s sort of my lifeblood.

Well, I was cruising for cruisers and noticed this old station wagon pulling up to the hustlers in Turing Park and quickly driving away. Curious, I note he’s driving around the loop and so put myself in place. When he approaches me, I note the white hot part of his story and make sure he sees me. He sees what he wants to and in moments the reality equals the glamour; he apparently likes muscular twinks with copper hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. To each their own, right?

He stops next to me and leans over. “Good evening. Ready for a good night?”

Sure, I get a bad vibe, but I’m hungry enough that I ignore it. “Always. What do you have in mind?”

He smiles. “A movie, some pictures, and maybe something a little weird after.” He leers at me.

I take a hard look at him. Sure, he looks good, but I’m debating if he is really all that strong. I decide he’s not. “Sure. Four bills.”

He’s off-put. “Three.”

I look up, but it’s just a ploy. “Sure.”

He opens the door, I get in, and ten minutes of silence later we arrive at this house in the suburbs. He points out the sofa s he disappears into the kitchen. I take off my jacket, untuck my muscle shirt, and sit down. He hands me an opened beer, puts down a charcuterie tray, and slips in a DVD. He then sits next to me and hits play. The movie was some second-rate sci-fi, but it was better than his approach; you would have thought he had never made love before. He’s kissing my neck, feeling my muscles, and his hand drops to my crotch for a quick massage.

I’m loving all of the attention, and my body reacts. I even kiss the top of his head, but he shudders so I decided to just scratch his back and otherwise ignore him, letting my body do all of the reacting. He quickly forgets my original trespass and gets busy exploring my body while keeping a hand near my inner thigh, sometimes just keeping it there, other times allowing it to charge in and explore.

I close my eyes and my head goes backward. I start breathing heavily. I see his passion become even greater, stoking my hunger. But I ignore it, curious to see how much I can stoke it.

We keep like this until the end of the movie. Then he grabs the back of my neck. “Want to see my studio?”

Well, he did mention pictures. “Sure.”

He virtually drags me to another room in the house. We pass a padlocked room on the way. The room he leads me to is a studio. Sure, it’s amateur, but a good amateur studio, with multiple lights, a tripod, a green screen, and what appears to be a decent laptop. It’s a lot better than what I normally see. Usually, it’s just a light, a sheet, and a stool or bed.

He pointed out the stool to me and the session began. It starts with a full frontal, a couple of profiles, and then it gets serious. He asks me to pull off my shirt and toss it off-screen, but slowly. He moves, following the action, snapping away. “Perfect.” After several shots of my torso and my arms in different poses, he asks me to take off my shoes and socks, tossing them away, but to take my time. Again, he moves with the action, gets his shots in. “Nice.”

My natural empathy makes me an incredible model, allowing me to easily anticipate requests. As I allow his love for what he’s doing to flow through, allowing myself to become part of his flow, he quickly transcends from pornography to erotica, and he knows it. I get the feeling he normally gets frustrated with his model, but here, right now, he is unsure of what to do; he wants to take more control but does not want to force anything lest he pops the bubble he is in. That lack of confidence feeds into the moment, adding a certain humanity to the situation. I have never before been able to experience the phrase “the camera should caress the model” so much as I have at this moment.

I then shed my slacks, allowing them to fall unto the floor. He has me do some poses, and he likes how my boxer briefs keep some things hidden while accentuating other parts. And then he asks me to shed the underwear; I do and they hit the ground with the slightest sound. He smiles as we enter into another round of I pose, he moves, the camera snaps.

He is breathing heavily, and I allow myself a smile. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He departs. I hear a padlock being opened. He returns. He grabs the back of my neck, and he kisses me, trailing from one shoulder to my navel. “Are you ready for the final act?”

I'm having problems catching my breath. “Yes.”

He then pulls me into the room we had passed earlier. He lays me down on the table, closes my eyes, and pulls my arms up. I feel the cuffs put on my hands then my feet, but that’s fine; this must be the “weirdness” he was talking about. It looks like the final act is a little vanilla BDSM.

I then notice that the cuffs feel a little solid for all of their fluff. I open up my eyes and look around the room. It seems to be part dungeon and part tool shed. The walls are covered in rubber and hooks, making it easy to clean up. My eyes roll as I have my epiphany.

I look at him. “This is not supposed to end well for me, is it?”

He gags me. “Probably not.” He goes back to his counter and starts to open a cardboard box. “I was so curious how you would do.” I presume he was talking to a new knife.

Suffice it to say that my evening is completely ruined at this point. I decide to go home, but only after grabbing a snack. The light fades around me, as shadow surrounds me. I lose the form he fell in love with, and my skin becomes a dark red. A pair of the cutest little horns grow from my forehead. My fingernails become talons. I rise, easily breaking the chains. A pair of bat wings grow from my back and extend as far as they can in the room.

He sees my transformation and does not run. Strangely, his passion explodes off the charts. He falls to his knees in awe.

I grab his chin and kiss him. As I do, I am surrounded by a cloud of purple butterflies, each butterfly exploding against my skin in an explosion of stardust. In minutes I have drunken of his soul deeply and fatally. He falls, a desiccated husk against the rubber floor.

I retrieve my clothes, take the three hundred from his wallet, and leave. I could have taken more, but I don’t do this for the money.

I do it for the passion.