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It wasn’t that I was never going to Dom again, or that I refused to use condoms, or that I would never seek out a pos guy to play with; it was just that I hadn’t made peace with my illness yet. I was only six months into this diagnosis—T-cells strong, condition still good, and I felt completely healthy—but just knowing I was infected was a weight I wasn’t used to carrying. To be a good Dom, I needed to be all there. I had to be willing and ready to carry someone else fully for the duration of the play and the aftercare. I hadn’t had that kind of energy in me since the diagnosis.
After I’d ended things with my last boy, Benji—who, thank fuck, was still HIV negative at the time and presumably still was—I’d taken a break from the kink scene to get my affairs in order. Affairs. What a way to put it. Before the diagnosis, that word had meant somethingfun—typically with a man who wasn’t trying to tie any strings. Because he was already attached to a very oblivious wife.
Now the word meant making wills, writing out final wishes, completing end-of-life paperwork, deciding what to do with my home, the contents of my dungeon, and my bank accounts. Thirty-four years old, and I was contemplating issues I’d assumed I had more than forty or fifty years to consider. That was before AIDS, before I even knew the term HIV, before I’d lost friends and lovers and play partners, and even my favorite bartender.
If I were a different sort of man, I’d think maybe the disease was a punishment from God. Not for being gay, because that was bullshit, but for being unduly happy here on earth, for fucking and sucking like His creation was nothing more than a 24/7 bacchanal. For years after I achieved adulthood, I’d lived carefree, cum-soaked, and happy as hell.
But all that was stripped away, bit by bit, loss by loss, until playtime became edged with fear, and I’d dreaded as much as I’d longed for the release that came from dominating a cum-hungry submissive. My diagnosis was the final straw that made me step away from it all.
And backing away had been responsible. Necessary.
So, no, I hadn’t planned on taking on another boy any time soon, if ever.
But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by Barry’s request. The boy he was putting on my plate was pretty—if Barry was to be believed, and he wasn’t a liar—positive, and a pain slut. It also sounded like he was a very bratty submissive in need of a firm hand. Just my type.
“The boy wants to meet me?” I asked.
Barry laughed. “No.”
I lifted my brows. “Then why are you talking to me about him?”
“He doesn’twantto meet you, but he’s interested. I know him. If I tell him he has an appointment with you at a certain time, he’ll show.”
“Why?”
“He’s curious,” Barry said. “He’s also scared of himself. He might not admit he wants help, but deep down he does, and when he finds out what you can give him, it’ll be hard for him to walk away. Even if some part of him does still crave what he gets from those assholes who use him and beat him recklessly.”
“Ah, so you want me to get him addicted to the pain I give him, and then what? Tell him he can’t have it if he starts letting those boys go at him again?”
Barry smirked. “You act like that’s not what you’d do if he were your sub anyway.”
I laughed. He was right, of course. I’d never let my boy treat himself that way. As much as I adored hurting my subs, their bodies weremineto abuse and no one else’s. Not so long as they had a contract or verbal agreement with me.
“One last question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why’s he doing this? Why does he need it?”
Barry frowned, seemed to consider his words carefully, and then said, “You know what they say about the shiniest people covering up the worst pain? That’s always been him.”
I noticed how Barry’s eyes darkened when he went on, “Well, until recently. Now he’s not bothering to cover his pain anymore. No more sparkles, no more shine. It’s like he’s been swallowed by his own shadow.”
“Since the diagnosis?”
“Yeah.”
I pondered that. “All right. Tell him Tuesday, four o’clock, at Knox Supplies & News. We can meet in the back office before my shift.”
Barry nodded, and I hoped I didn’t regret my choice. This Minty kid would be my first boy since I’d dropped Benji, and I wasn’t convinced it was a good idea. But if I was ever going to take on a sub again, this one certainly sounded intriguing.
I always did have a thing for the difficult cases, and maybe this could be a way for us to “rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Before it—and we—blinked out for eternity.
Chapter Two
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