I Had to Say Something (8 page)

I rubbed my face feverishly. “Do you have a dollar bill?”

Art looked at me curiously.

“It's not for my tip, it's for the meth,” I assured him. He smiled and pulled out a crisp, stiff dollar bill. I took it from him, and with the cap from a ball-point pen, I scooped out a very small amount of the white crystals. I also asked him for a credit card so I could crush the crystals, which can be chunky and hard. I told him to form it into a line, no more than one inch in length. “You really have to be careful with this stuff! You can't play around with it!” I almost yelled, only to turn around and say, “I'm sorry.”

Art reached over for my arm. “Does this upset you?” he asked in a very sincere tone.

Quickly regaining my composure, I finished smoothing out the line of meth and then rolled the dollar bill carefully so it could work as a straw. “You simply put one end of the dollar bill to the meth and the other end inside your nose and inhale.” I simulated how to do it without putting the bill into the meth or putting it inside my nostril. “Be sure to do it slowly. If you have any difficulty, just stop,” I instructed.

Art's glow was starting to fade a bit. Perhaps he was starting to see that this was not as glamorous as he had envisioned. He carefully took the tightly rolled bill from my hands and put it inside his nostril as far as it could go. He then leaned over the table and placed the other end of the bill right into the meth. But instead of inhaling, he exhaled, causing the line to move a bit. “Sorry,” he said.

He pulled back from the meth, exhaled slightly, and then bent down over the line of meth again. Carefully, he inhaled, taking small amounts of meth into the dollar bill.

“That's enough!” I shouted suddenly. Maybe I shouldn't have done that, but I wanted him to go slow and not try to do it all in one snort. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I just want you to take your time.”

“It's all right, Mike.” He took another small snort through the dollar bill to finish the line, paused, and then sat up. He didn't have much of reaction, really, other than saying, “It burns.” No shit, but I told him the burn should go away in a few seconds. He sat there, somewhat dazed, or maybe he was just waiting for something to happen.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Art shrugged a bit. “Not bad,” he said. “Maybe a little more?”

“I would not do more,” I warned. “Give it a few minutes.”

I thought about a client who started having serious chest
pains right in the middle of our session. He was much older than Art. The guy finally said, “I think you better call an ambulance,” so I did. Before medical help arrived, I had gotten him dressed so there would be few questions about what led up to the chest pains. Once in my apartment, the EMS crew asked me questions that I couldn't answer. I told them that I had just met this gentleman and I knew nothing about him. One of them then started looking around my apartment and came across a bottle of pills. “What's this?” he asked. I told him it was Cialis, a brand-new drug at the time, and that you take it to get hard. He put down the bottle and asked me no further questions, following the rest of the paramedics out the door with my client on a stretcher. No illegal drugs were involved, to my knowledge.

As the meth kicked in, Art's expression went all over the place, but overall, he looked happy, at times even euphoric.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Fine, thank you,” he replied, somewhat glassy eyed. “Just fine.”

Nervous about him overdoing it, I offered to take him directly to the massage room.

“That would be nice,” he said, still seeming somewhat disconnected. I grabbed his hand from across the table and helped him stand up.

As I pulled him away from the table, however, he pulled on my shoulders and wanted to French-kiss me. I was not turned on by this, and was even more turned off by the trace of meth that was underneath his right nostril.

“Let's get naked!” I told him quickly. I already had the massage room ready to go with just one candle. I got him in the room, shut the door, and to my surprise, he took off his clothes with me standing right there. That was the first time he ever undressed in front of me. With a noticeable increase
in aggression, he tried to kiss me again and then put his hands down my shorts.

“Art!” I exclaimed as he squeezed me hard. He wasn't acting high or weird, just more intense. He was hugging me so tight, it was almost as if he wanted to crawl inside me or get inside me somehow. I guided him to the massage table and told him to lie down. That worked for a few minutes, but Art was clearly too wound up. I helped him up and moved him to one of the chairs nearby. He sat in it for a few minutes while I played with him, but then he got up and sat me in the chair so he could kneel in front of me.

There was a big difference in Art after he took the meth. It was as if suddenly all his inhibitions were gone and he was ready to do everything he'd ever fantasized about. His motions, his breathing—everything was more intense. Yes, it concerned me, but I'd seen it before in clients, and I knew that I had nothing to fear. Art was complex, but a tendency towards violence was never one of his character traits.

When I looked at Art, I saw a lot more than just the color of his eyes. It was as if Art were a puzzle with several hundred pieces. Just by looking at the pieces, no obvious pattern emerged. You could put the border of the puzzle together, but you could not be sure that every piece would fit.

He was quiet, to be sure, and when he spoke, he said little. He was never boastful, and there was always a sense of shame, guilt, or something that was not right with him. He wasn't looking just to get his rocks off. He wanted more. He needed more. I just couldn't tell what it was.

As we stood crotch-to-crotch, I was able to get him off. His body became the most intense I had ever seen it, but after the moment was over, he almost collapsed in my arms. Carefully, I guided him down to a chair so he could cool off.

“Thank you, Mike,” he panted. “I've never done anything like that before.”

No shit. I watched him carefully until his breathing came back to normal. I put a towel on his groin and held it there. He was still excited, but I tried not to think if that was natural or chemical.

A few minutes later, he grabbed his clothes and went to the bathroom. I was thoroughly exhausted from our session. I started to strip the massage table and prepare the room for the next client.

Standing in the living room, I watched Art come out of the bathroom with wet hair and wearing a slightly wrinkled shirt. Suddenly, the joy and intensity were gone. He looked like he was going to cry.

I gave him a bear hug. “Thanks for coming, Art.”

He hugged me back hard, as though he were holding on for dear life. “Thank you, Mike. I really enjoyed it.” He handed me two hundred-dollar bills and a little extra. I could tell he was sad.

I gave him another hug and watched him walk down the hall to the elevator. I then quickly cleaned any residue of meth off my table. I washed my hands very thoroughly, repeatedly. I wanted no trace of meth anywhere in the house.

Every time he came over after that, he did a little meth—I assume it was meth—before we got naked. One time he asked me if you could mix meth with a joint. I told him I didn't know, but I supposed you could. I suggested he look for someone who was more knowledgeable. He also asked me about ecstasy, and I told him I had had only one experience with it, but I felt it was overrated and usually taken by people who want to dance all night.

When he came over, Art would sit at my dining room table
to prepare his meth and take it there. One time, as he got his meth ready, he was particularly chatty.

“You know what?” he said. “I love doing this stuff before I have sex with my wife.”

If I was supposed to be shocked, I wasn't. I didn't say anything and just acted like I didn't hear him.

Art gave himself a minute for everything to kick in, and then he met me inside the massage room. For Art, it was naked fun and games from there.

 

I had a chest full of sex toys that I kept for my clients to use and enjoy. There were sessions now when Art played with one toy after another. Sometime he knew what they were and how they were used, and sometimes he didn't. He asked a lot of questions, and I saw that as a good sign. It's easy to injure yourself with a pair of tit clamps if you are not careful.

Shortly after meth became part of his routine, Art started carrying a small canvas bag with a variety of his own adult toys and accessories. In a short period of time, he had accumulated a lot of them: cock rings made of leather, rubber, or metal; jockstraps; tit clamps; and porn that he wanted to watch.

“Look at what I bought!” he'd say as he showed me the latest addition to his collection.

 

“Hey, Mike, can I ask you something?”

I nodded.

“Do you know any young college guys?”

I said, “I know some. Why?”

“I think it would be hot to have sex with a bunch of athletic young studs.”

I scratched my head, mostly because I was really hoping he wouldn't pursue it any further.

“Do you think you could arrange something like that?”

“Let me look into it,” I said. I gave him a quick hug and took him into the massage room. We had a typical session that time. On his way out the door, Art reminded me that he'd really like to meet some young college guys.

I made a few phone calls, but it wasn't looking good. The next time he called, the first thing he asked was how the orgy was coming along. I told him I was still working on it. But a few days later, when Art called again, I told him that the orgy was not going to happen because I couldn't get enough guys together.

“Oh, shoot. Well, thanks for trying,” Art said, disappointed.

“Maybe we can try again later,” I offered.

When Art arrived for his next appointment, he did his usual hit of meth. “Tell me about these guys that were going to come over,” Art asked eagerly as he got on the massage table.

“Oh, the ones I know are quite handsome,” I told him. “Hot, young, hung, horny. You would have liked them.” As we played with each other, I told Art about five young studs, around twenty-two years of age, three with blonde hair and blue eyes, the other two with brown hair and brown eyes.

“Mike, do you know what would really turn me on? I would love to watch you and another hot bodybuilder get it on.”

I kept the passion going, trying not to think too much about what he was saying.

“I don't want to participate, but I would love to watch. Could you arrange that?”

I told him it would be double because I'd have to pay my “buddy.” Art said okay, and we continued with our passion.

I called a friend named Matt and asked if he would like to make an easy hundred dollars. “It will probably take less than half an hour,” I assured him. Matt said no problem.

 

“Art, I'd like you to meet Matt.”

Art extended his right hand to shake Matt's, moving his eyes up and down Matt's physique. “Very nice to meet you,” he said in an anxious tone.

Matt was a handsome, sturdy young man with a bodybuilder's physique. Wearing just a jockstrap and a little body lotion, his stance was statuesque and his looks solidly masculine.

“Are you ready to see us get it on?” I asked Art in a rough, sexy voice.

Art nodded his head and took a seat on a chair. This all happened by the light of just one tea candle. I waited a few moments while Art got situated. I didn't know if he was undressing or unzipping or what he was doing. While we waited, I started playing with Matt, snapping his jockstraps in a combination of foreplay and horseplay. That session may have been the first time Art had ever been with two other men.

“I'm ready,” Art whispered. “Show me some hot sex.”

Okay, show time. “You want my big fucking dick?” I said to Matt in a dominating tone. It was all role-playing for us, because Matt and I had been friends for years, and we had never talked to each other like that.

“Sir, can I have it?” Matt begged.

Art seemed to be enjoying it, though it was hard to tell. In reality, I just wanted to get the show over with.

Matt and I kept up the nasty talk because Art seemed to really respond to it. Sensing that perhaps he wanted to see a
little bit of tenderness, Matt and I slowed it down and rubbed each other sensually.

“Oh, yeah!” Art whispered.

From that point on, the show was a combination of hot man-on-man action and sensual lovemaking. We tried to do whatever Art seemed to respond to.

It may have seemed impromptu, but for Matt and me it was all choreographed. I've seen lots of gay porn movies, so I knew how things were supposed to end after two guys had hot and heavy sex with each other. That's what Art wanted, I knew.

“Yeah, Daddy, give it to me!” Matt moaned, his naked body silhouetted on the wall. We had discussed earlier how Art wanted to see Matt reach his peak, so I told Matt not to prolong it, to do it as soon as he was ready so we could all get out of there quicker. Within moments, all the action came to a climax, and then, with little more then a slap on the thigh, it ended. I said thank you and Matt said thank you, and then we both stood up as though we were going to take a bow.

I could hear Art moving about, so I assumed he was done with whatever he was doing. I gave him a moment to walk to the bathroom. Once I heard the bathroom door close, I blew out the tea candle, turned on the lights, and Matt and I got cleaned up. I gave Matt one hundred dollars and sent him on his way.