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It was impossible for either of us to come together and talk. It wasn’t for a lack of trying. We just didn’t know how to get through this.
Both of us found solace in things that didn’t involve the other one. Dad turned to the bottle after trying to be strong for me, and I turned to other activities for comfort. Things that I couldn’t talk to him about in a million years. They were things that would turn his stomach and make him sick to know what his one remaining son enjoyed.
I had practically become invisible to him, and we were going through the motions of pretending to be aware of one another. He’d ask how my day was. I’d say fine and ask how his day was; it was a vicious, never-ending cycle.
I couldn’t stand being around Dad when he drank. I hated to see him drink himself into a stupor and pass out. I wasn’t emotionally strong enough to help him either; I had my own problems.
Shortly after losing my brothers and Mom, I’d discovered bottoming. Specifically, I had tried being on the receiving end of impact play and instantly fell in love. It was the only thing that made me feel a little better and eased my heartache. At least for a while. I sought it out as if it were a drug that I craved.
Did it take the pain away? Absolutely.
Did I really understand it? Not at all. I knew enough though to keep my mouth shut and just say yes when asked to do something.
But even I was cognizant of the path I was on. I was a freight train heading toward another train on the same track. Eventually a derailment was coming. My time with Tops was no longer enough for me. The pain they inflicted wasn’t as effective at taking away my pain anymore. After trying it a few times, I developed an ache in the pit of my stomach.
Was it guilt? Maybe.
But I was pretty sure it was loneliness. It was hard to go from being important, making someone happy, and having all my aches soothed, to being alone and insignificant.
There were a lot of kink clubs in the Los Angeles area, but being twenty-one and on a barista’s salary with no one to put in a good word for me, I could only get into one club over in Hollywood… the slummy side of Hollywood. Each time I went there, I looked at the corkboard in the hallway where people posted about private parties. I needed to be able to get into some private parties to meet other people from the better clubs, like Club Oxygen. I was aiming high with that, but hey, why not?
I dreamed of one day getting into Club Oxygen. It was the club of clubs, and I was desperate to be under a Top there. Since I’d discovered that being hit took away the pain over the loss of my family, I only looked at parties that were looking for masochist bottoms to attend.
Months ago I’d signed up for a private party that I’d overheard some other bottoms discussing. I was intrigued, so I asked about it. Apparently, not only was the host phenomenal, but the Tops were too, many being members or having connections to the elite clubs. I was told these parties were for the Tops who couldn’t take these parties into their clubs. One of the guys had told me that the key to getting invited back was to just say yes. Saying no would get you on the banned list. When I signed up and noticed what date it fell on, I thought it would be perfect.
I needed to start getting ready for the party. The expectation was that if I played my cards right by the end of the evening, I’d feel some relief from this agonizing week. I pushed myself upright and picked up my phone. I had seven missed messages, all from my dad. I’d avoided them all day and took a deep breath to steel myself for them. I pressed play and held the phone up to my ear.
“Hey, Andrew. It’s Dad. Call me when you get this.”
Delete.
“It’s Dad again. Just wanted to tell you I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad,” I murmured under my breath as I hit delete on the message and moved on to the next one.
“Andrew.” There was a long pause and then he said, “Call me.”
Dammit, Dad. I could tell he’d started drinking. I hit delete and moved on.
“An-drew. It’s Dad.”
Delete.
“Remember when you, Adam, and Allen all played outfield in baseball? I was so proud and would tell people the outfielders are all my boys. You guys were all so good. Numbers one, two, and three.” He was congested on top of being drunk.
The pain in my chest was getting worse, and I didn’t think I could handle listening to any more messages. I took a deep breath as I deleted that one and then pressed play on the next.
“Two years ago, I lost your mother. She was my best friend, Andy. Lost my boys too.”
I took a deep breath as I pressed delete and then started the last one.
“I miss them so much,” Dad sobbed.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and deleted that one too. I went to take a shower and get ready for the party. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray Henley shirt. I wouldn’t be in clothes very long tonight and these would be fine. Before I grabbed my keys, I pulled on my navy jacket and zipped it up. By the time I left my apartment, I was more than ready for what was to come.
The party was being held in Brentwood, and I followed the directions from the email. As instructed, I parked my car along the street and then made my way to the door. I was a little nervous since this was a private party at a stranger’s house, but I reminded myself that anyone who posted about parties in clubs must be a decent person. Even if that wasn’t the case, I told myself it was.
With my heartbeat pounding wildly, I rang the doorbell and waited. A man wearing a tight black t-shirt and black leather pants opened the door. His biceps bulged from the sleeves of his shirt and could quite possibly be the size of my head.
