Scott Sherman: First You Fall

In the cab to his apartment, I thought about something Mrs. Cherry had said about Al en. “He was such a good customer.” Freddy had asked me if I knew anyone else who knew Al en, and I had forgotten about Randy Bostinick, the hustler I recommended to him.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t known Randy as wel back then as I did now. If I had, I wouldn’t have made the recommendation. Because as hot as Randy is, he’s also a little bit nuts. I’ve heard a few stories of Randy going off on guys in clubs when he thought they were being rude to him.

I also knew more than one of his old boyfriends who was seen trying to hide a black eye or swol en cheek. They learned the hard way that steroids and crystal meth may make a boy beautiful, but they don’t do much to improve his anger management skil s.

I had my own story, too.

Once, when Randy and I were at a bar together, a guy approached me. The guy was cute, but he had an intense stare that made me a little uncomfortable.

He leaned over to say something, but I couldn’t hear him over the crowd. I asked him to repeat himself, but it sounded like he was mumbling.

I didn’t want to be rude, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. I shook my head, but the guy just tried again.

“Hey,” Randy bel owed from behind me, “can’t you see my friend’s not interested? Buzz off.”

But the guy just leaned closer and tried to talk right into my ear. Randy, thinking the guy was moving in for a kiss, had enough.

He put down his beer-some horrible American brew that only he would have the nerve to drink in a trendy gay bar-grabbed the guy by the shoulders, and threw him against the wal. Al eyes in the bar turned our way.

“Hey, punk,” Randy shouted. “What the fuck is your problem! I told you, he’s not interested. What are you, fucking deaf or something?”

Wel, imagine our embarrassment when it turned out that he was. That’s why his speech wasn’t very clear, and that’s why he was staring. He was trying to read my lips. That’s also why he didn’t hear Randy tel ing him to back off.

Once the misunderstanding was made clear, Randy went from sixty to zero as fast as he had previously accelerated. He was especial y gratified to learn that the guy was trying to ask me if Randy and I were together, because he was interested in Randy.

“I owe you a drink,” Randy said to the stil — shaking deaf guy. “And if you want, I’l take you home afterwards and touch you up nice al over.”

The deaf guy was reading Randy’s lips and he looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Seeing. Whatever.

You could see how tempted he was by the prospect of spending time with Randy, but he was also wondering if he shouldn’t just leave now rather than risk his life with this beautiful nut.

But after a Cosmo and twenty minutes of watching how Randy’s impossibly strong shoulders tapered down to slim hips and an unbeatable ass, he decided that even if Randy kil ed him, it wouldn’t be a bad way to go. They left together, and Randy later told me “deaf guys are hot! He had a mouth like a Hoover, great fingers, and, after sex, I didn’t have to make any conversation or anything.”

Stil, despite a happy ending, Randy’s run-in with the deaf guy gave me firsthand knowledge of how out of control Randy could get.

Tony told me that Al en was expecting someone the night he was kil ed.

Could it have been a handsome hustler with a bad temper?

Randy was strong enough to throw a man off a balcony.

But why would he want to?

Under other circumstances, I would have cal ed Tony with my suspicions. But I couldn’t tel him how I knew Randy without revealing too much about myself.

I might be determined not to want Tony anymore, but I certainly wasn’t about to let him know about my hustling. That might make him not want me. I couldn’t have that!

No, I’d have to fol ow up with Randy on my own.

Two hours later, I found myself in an apartment on the Upper East Side, a high-priced neighborhood fil ed with wealthy dowagers and young investment bankers. If only they knew what their neighbors were up to.

I heard a telephone ring, but I was al tied up.

Literal y. Seated in a chair, my hands bound behind my back, my ankles lashed to each other. I was also nude, gagged and blindfolded.

I could hear my tormentor answer the phone.

Muffled voices conspired. Then he came back to where he had imprisoned me.

“I’m so sorry,” said my client, Melvin Cuttlebeck.

His thin, high voice was hushed. “That’s my boss on the phone, and I real y have to take this cal. It wil be about ten minutes. Shal I untie you?”

“No, I don’t mind,” I said through the gag, which, to be honest, wasn’t on tight enough to be effective anyway.

“Fabulous,” Melvin whispered. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. I’l be back in a jiff.”

I wouldn’t ordinarily do this kind of scene, but Melvin Cuttlebeck must be the world’s most solicitous sadist. Although he enjoys the fantasy of binding and dominating me, he’s terrified of actual y causing any pain. Or even discomfort.

As a result, he always ties me loosely enough so that it doesn’t chafe. In fact, I could probably just slip out of tonight’s ropes.

In our first session, Melvin spent over an hour showing me different knots and how to open them. “I wouldn’t want you to feel the least bit trapped,” he told me. “This way, you know that you can always get yourself free. After al, what would happen if I had a heart attack or something? Why, you could be stuck here for days!”

In the background, I could hear Melvin saying “yes sir,” and “right away, sir,” while whoever was on the other end of the phone did most of the talking. I felt sympathy for poor Melvin. Of course someone so obsequious on the job wanted to be the boss in the bedroom. It wasn’t his fault that he was too sweet to actual y hurt someone.

I’ve been seeing Melvin every month for almost a year now. Sometimes, we even do phone sessions.

Melvin’s about five feet, seven inches tal and thin as a rail. I think he likes me because I’m one of the few guys he’s bigger than.

A few minutes later, Melvin returned. He cautiously took off my blindfold and gag, and stood before me in a black leather harness and chaps with no pants underneath. His smal ish penis quivered.

“I’m back, boy. You better beg me not to hurt you.”

“Oh, please, sir, please don’t punish me,” I said. “I know I’ve been a bad boy, but I’m sorry, sir. I promise I’l be better.” I tried to act frightened, but probably just sounded whiny.

“Sorry, boy, but it looks like a spanking for you.”

Melvin untied me and laid me over his lap. He brought a hand down on my ass so softly that I barely felt it. “That’s not too hard, is it?” Melvin whispered, breaking character for a moment.

I fought hard not to giggle. Giggling was definitely a mood kil er. “That’s just right,” I whispered back.

“Good, then here’s another one!” he shouted.

This one was even gentler. “Ow!” I cried.

“That’l teach you,” Melvin said.

“Please, sir, no more, no more!”

After a few more faked pleas and ten more soft slaps, I felt a sticky wetness on my bel y as Melvin ejaculated.

“You’re such a good boy,” Melvin beamed as he stuffed a generous tip into my palm. “I have a lot of meetings with my boss this week. Maybe I could cal you in the next few days?”

“Anytime,” I told him.

Outside, the air was a humid fog that covered everything like a wet blanket. Thanks to Melvin’s quickness on the draw, it wasn’t even 7:00.1 stil had the whole evening to… wel, I’d figure that out after I got home.