Texas, Our Texas 8

Chapter 8

Texas, Our Texas

“All right?” Sheldon whispered. He was standing in the connecting doorway between the rooms, holding a wet washcloth and a glass of water. “I thought...”

Milton smiled gently, his arms still tight around Samuel who showed no inclination to lift his head from where it was tightly pressed against Milton’s shoulders. The tears had finally dwindled to a few stray splashes and choked breaths. Sheldon must have heard the racking sobs, and now he stood in the doorway with uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did you finish your lines?” Milton asked. That was an easy question that would put Sheldon back on safe and familiar territory, not worrying about Samuel’s obvious distress.

Sheldon’s only reply was a quiet nod, totally uncharacteristic for Milton’s firecracker partner. Of course listening to a man cry like that would drive anyone to uncharacteristic behavior. Sheldon would have heard the light spanking and know the wracking sobs were totally out of proportion. 

“Do you want to go swimming?” Milton asked, still trying to normalize the conversation. He would talk to Sheldon later about Samuel, but not in the young Texan’s presence. Sheldon needed to understand the hurt and the tears were years building up; it wasn’t one incident, but a lifetime of needless hurt, and it wouldn’t be washed away by one spanking or a hundred spankings if Samuel were so inclined.

Sheldon sent a darting look at Milton, further sign that he was uncomfortable. For all Sheldon’s wildness and penchant for dragging other boys into trouble, he damn well cared.

“Swim trunks. No nude swimming.” Milton smiled again and beckoned Sheldon toward him.

“I have a red butt.”

“And whose fault was that?”

“Yours.”

“Really.” Milton crooked his finger, beckoning again, and Sheldon slowly approached, keeping a wary eye on Samuel and walking nearly on tiptoe as if there were a baby in the room. Samuel hadn’t moved, to a casual observer oblivious to Sheldon, but Milton had felt the stiffening in the back and the quickening of the breaths when Sheldon had first spoken.

“Here,” Sheldon said stiffly, handing Milton the washcloth and the glass of water.

“Thank you. Go play, boy. We’re OK.” Milton couldn’t say more, not with Samuel’s ears perked. He hoped Sheldon read his facial expression; yes, it had been bad, but now at least there was a glimmer of light on the horizon. Sheldon leaned in and Milton bushed his cheek with his lips. “Go. We’re fine.”

Sheldon’s eyes said everything. He knew they weren’t fine, but he went anyway with a last concerned look over his shoulder. Milton heard Sheldon rummaging through the drawers, and then he was back in swim trunks decorated with snapping sharks and frantic swimmers with artful trails of red representing blood from terrible wounds. A giant beach towel complements of The Forest was draped over his shoulder.

“Trunks stay on,” Milton said in a forced light tone. He needed to normalize the situation for Samuel. He had to show the example of normal and right, a small spanking and back out to play.

“See you later.” Normally Sheldon would have made a snappy retort or even have stripped his shorts in front of Milton as a tease.

“Have fun.” Milton waited for the click of the door before hoisting a limp Samuel more upright and wiping his face with the wet cloth. “Drink this. All of it,” Milton ordered, placing the glass at Samuel’s lips.

Samuel swallowed the water obediently; his eyes on the floor, his shoulders slumped in a passive acceptance of whatever was to come.

“How bad do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Samuel said flatly, his eyes still on the thick beige carpet.

“I’ve cried before. Your throat hurts; your eyes feel like they have lids of sandpaper, and your cheeks feel like you have the worst case of windburn since the discovery of the North Pole. I don’t call that fine.”

A very tentative smile, almost invisible, flashed across Samuel’s face before the bland passiveness snapped back into place. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You should go swimming with Sheldon. He’s your partner. I’ve taken up a lot of your time already.”

“You haven’t been swimming with Sheldon. He collects as many boys as possible and tries to drown me. It’s not swimming; it’s a modern form of the Roman circuses with the top as the hapless victim against the wild beasts. I’m more than happy to sit here dry and safe. And kid, you’ve been living with me. I don’t begrudge you the time. I don’t expect my houseguests to be invisible or to be unfailingly polite.”

“I...I...”

“You cried. You were upset. You let me hold you for more than an instant. Cruel and ignorant people might even call your little tears a breakdown. You escaped a terrible place. You won’t find your equilibrium in a new society instantly. It’s not like flipping a page in an anthology of short stories and going from Chekov to Conan Doyle. Be patient with yourself. Jonah crashes around like the proverbial bull in the china shop, and you fade into the woodwork, a pale and insipid version of what I expect is your true self.”

“I don’t usually shout and throw things.”

“Probably not. That’s a Zath specialty.” Milton tousled Samuel’s hair in a rough affectionate gesture, something men might have been able to get away with in Texas while a gentle kiss might make Samuel recoil. “You probably didn’t cry either. That was for girls and the fag boys, wasn’t it?” Milton asked, intentionally using the pejorative term. He had to break those terms hold on Samuel, break the distorted and perverted images that had been forced into Samuel’s brain.

Samuel nodded.

“How long have you been in this country?”

“Eight weeks,” Samuel mumbled.

“And six of those with me. Who have you seen cry?”

“Blade, Sheldon. Mike that night when you made me go out.”

“Luke was at dinner at least twice with red eyes, and he doesn’t have allergies or wear contacts. I’ve seen every man in the house cry. I’ve cried. We are all men, and none of us is broken. We are human beings with strong emotions, everything from glorious passion to gut wrenching sorrow; we are not automatons to soldier on no matter the odds.”

“I don’t do this,” Samuel said almost to himself, hunching his shoulders and trying to draw away from Milton.

“You do now,” Milton said with a calculated briskness and tugged Samuel back against his chest. “Now that I’ve ferreted you out of your hidey-hole, you are not going to ground again.”

“I’m not one of your boys,” Samuel muttered, but he didn’t pull away from Milton’s incessant pressure and collapsed back against the broad chest.

“You might not be one of my boys,” Milton said gently, “but you are a young man in distress. You can take the comfort and security without taking the other side. Talking to me doesn’t make you a submissive.”

“You spanked me,” Samuel whispered in a strained voice.

“Yes, I did, and I spank the submissives in the household. I see where you’re going with this. Because I spanked you, you’re a sub scenario. That’s not how it works, kiddo. I know it looks like that, but being a submissive in a relationship is something you must choose, and you are in no way prepared to choose. What you and Jonah were doing isn’t even remotely related to what I do with Sheldon or what Tilden does with Luke and Mike.” Milton didn’t add that Tilden would chase a man out of town who laid one of his boys over a table and strapped him with a belt.

“I don’t want to be spanked.” Samuel spoke so softly that Milton almost didn’t hear, and he could have pretended that he hadn’t heard.

“You can ask for that,” Milton said very gently, tucking the fair head tighter against his chest. “I don’t spank my colleagues at work no matter how many times they are late for a departmental meeting or how many times they manage to spill coffee on my papers or worse on me, but they also don’t throw things at me or curse me without far worse consequences than a spanking. Samuel, this goes both ways. I won’t spank you, but you can’t brat to this degree. Do you understand what I’m saying Samuel?”

“I have to be good,” Samuel said faintly.

“You’re always good, Samuel. You’re allowed to disagree with me; you’re allowed to be angry with me, but you can’t brat. Do you understand what bratting is?”

“It’s doing something wrong.”

“No, it’s not,” Milton said with enough force that Samuel’s head shot up his blue eyes round and damp with unshed tears. “Do you remember what we talk about earlier, about you being late?”

Samuel nodded, his hair dropping into his eyes, making him look younger and even more vulnerable. This kid certainly looked the role of the submissive. An artist couldn’t capture a more fitting image of a boy being scolded by a dom, and this kid might not even be a boy.

“I punished Sheldon because he chooses to live as my boy. In our arrangement, he will be disciplined if he disobeys. This is an arrangement; it’s a choice we both made, hopefully with a full understanding of what was involved.” Milton didn’t bother to add that he wasn’t sure any couple had a full understanding until they hashed through a few disasters. Sheldon had said yes that first night with only a vague understanding of what it would be like to hang upside down and vulnerable over Milton’s knee. Milton was sure Sheldon at that time had no understanding of the comprehensive nature of their future arrangement. It had been, as many of Sheldon’s decisions were, a choice of quick, impulsive thought. Would Sheldon have said yes understanding all the ramifications? Would any boy agree the first time, truly knowing what would happen later? Submission for a tumble in bed or for a few hours at a club was a far different animal than full time submission. There were sacrifices for both parties; sacrifices that weren’t understood or believed until two people set off on the bumpy and winding path of a power exchange. 

All these things that Samuel couldn’t possibly know. Milton had studied Texas; he understood the culture as well as any foreigner could. In general family structure was still on strict patriarchal lines. Samuel’s mother would have deferred to his father. It wouldn’t have been negotiated or debated; it would have been expected. Samuel as the younger, smaller, and less educated partner would naturally take the submissive role with Jonah; it was the only model he had. It didn’t mean he wanted to be a submissive, no more than a hundred years ago the dearth of women in the professional fields meant that they didn’t want to be lawyers, doctors, or accountants. Society wouldn’t let women make those choices; just as the culture of Texas took those choices from Samuel.

Milton stroked Samuel’s cheek with two fingers and kissed the tangled hair. Would Samuel ever understand this was a choice now? Or would Milton be better to steer Samuel hard to the submissive side, to teach him to be a good and safe submissive. With the right dominant he could probably be happy and maybe happier sooner than trying to sort through the confusing and frightening choices. Did Milton have a right to play God that way? They were pushing Jonah hard to the submissive side. Why not do that with Samuel? But Jonah gave out very strong signals, and unless they had all temporarily lost their mind; Jonah was a world class boy, most likely a boy in the Sheldon and Blade tradition which was going to be eye opening for Samuel. Jonah was an easy man to push to boydom; he practically had submissive flashing over his head in neon lights. A dominant pushed, and he grabbed onto him like a man in the desert who had found the oasis that he’d thought was a mirage was actually real.

“You haven’t made any choices, Samuel. You hid, and you modeled your life on the only relationships you and your partner had ever seen, not healthy relationships, especially in Jonah’s case. Maybe none of this stuff works for you. You might long for a quiet house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and a husband who wouldn’t know a paddle from a bread board. That’s not a wrong choice. It’s not who we are, but it’s a legitimate choice. Just as there are men who choose to live as slaves, who enjoy being chained to the bed and randomly beaten. Blade actually might like that type of arrangement, but I’m not up for it,” Milton said with a wry grin. “Kink, no kink, what kind of kink should all be your choice. I can’t make that choice for you; Jonah can’t make that choice for you. You alone must make that choice. We will all help you. We’re a safe bunch to take different lifestyles for a test drive.”

“I tried bratting today,” Samuel said very softly, his cheeks flushing red.

“And you didn’t like it much?”

Samuel blushed again, this time all the way up to his hairline. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t that good either,” Milton said with a slight smile. “I have plenty of beautiful boys who I regularly put over my knee. There’s no shame to tell me you never want to go there again.”

Samuel gave Milton an odd half smile, almost a look of longing or maybe it was a look of relief, or maybe of embarrassment talking about the whole thing. It had taken years to force Sheldon to a halfway intelligible talking stage, and he wasn’t carrying the burden of either Samuel or Jonah.

“I can’t read minds. You are going to have to tell me what you want. I know that’s hard.”

“I can’t,” Samuel mumbled.

You can’t talk about it? You can’t be a submissive? This young man was a thicket of unanswered questions. “You will learn.” Positive and simple if only it were as easy as those three words. “I think we’ve had enough of this for the day. Let’s go swimming.”

*****

Samuel was in a pair of Sheldon’s swim trunks; as least they weren’t the ridiculous Speedos, he’d seen in the calendar in Blade’s room. They were long, almost to his knees, and a nice inconspicuous beige. Something he’s seen men in Texas wear, nothing flashy.

Samuel didn’t want to go swimming. He hurt; he was embarrassed; he’d rather curl up on the bed and wish they would all go away for the day. It was like living in a hive; people were always everywhere, and he had to respond to them. Milton hadn’t insisted; he’d only asked. Or Samuel thought he was asking; maybe he was insisting. It was so damn hard to tell. Milton was nice. What a useless way to describe someone, but Samuel didn’t have all that education. Four syllable words rolled off Milton’s tongue as if everyone talked like that. Samuel wasn’t a college boy. He wasn’t any of these things all these guys were. They were happy and confident. They knew who in the hell they were. They weren’t a loser from Texas who’d let his partner hit him, who couldn’t even understand what Milton was talking about.

Samuel caught the towel that Milton tossed at him and trailed the big man out of the room. He’d been promised that this swimming thing was something special. Samuel had been in indoor pools before. They were always steamy, sort of like a greenhouse with the misters turned on, and stank of chlorine. He liked the river where he grew up when there was enough rain for more than mud and rocks. Texas was hot. Anything with water in the summer was good.

Samuel almost tripped over his own feet, staring at the pool. It looked like they were outdoors in a lush tropical paradise, but Samuel knew they were on the third floor of a New York high-rise. Only the first six floors were The Forest. The rest was an office tower with a law firm with long important sounding names in the title and a banking firm of some sort. Jonah had found a pamphlet in the table drawer this morning.

“I told you it was nice.” Milton said in Samuel’s ear. “Sheldon’s over there. Let’s go join him.”

Sheldon was racing through a mixture of trees, elaborate fountains, and booby traps of falling water. He was chasing a young man whom Samuel didn’t know and who was clothed in nothing but a gold collar, a pair of jeweled nipple rings, and an impossibly tiny swimsuit of nearly translucent material. He had a water pistol and was firing random shots at Sheldon who was trying to douse him with a bucket of water.

“A little wild for you? The quiet side is on the right,” Milton said.

Samuel looked to the right through the foliage and bright blooms of a row of potted bushes to a quiet pool surrounded by large presumably fake rocks and interesting and revealing sculptures. Sculptures that would have had the police and the news media at your doorstep in less than five minutes in Texas. Beside the sculpture were two men, oiled and glistening in the artificial sun, sprawled against each other in a languid pose of satisfaction without a stitch of clothing between them.

“Clothing’s optional,” Milton said in a tone that made it sound like he was discussing a train timetable. “The only real rule in this area is no bodily fluids and therefore no sex.”

“Oh.” Samuel knew his voice was high, squeaky, and shocked. Milton was a professor. He held a respectable job, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with this public debauchery. “Has Jonah been here?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure Gordon will bring him. Gordon and Landon both swim laps for exercise.”

Swimming seemed to be the last thing on anyone’s mind. This was too public. Last night he’d been dressed. Here Samuel felt naked with only the swim trunks covering his still hot rump. He was freshly spanked, surrounded by men who knew what the hell they were doing, who thought this was normal.

“No one will touch you here,” Milton whispered in Samuel’s ear, wrapping his arm around Samuel’s shoulder. “Have fun. Ogle some of the guys. I won’t make you stay here, but I think we should at least get Sheldon for getting you in trouble. He hasn’t seen us yet. Milton pulled Samuel around a lattice fence covered in climbing vines and filled four buckets from a trough full of water. “They refrigerate this water. It’s just above freezing.”

They slipped around a narrow back path and were soon concealed in the shrubbery where Sheldon was still chasing and tossing water in a lopsided battle with the young man with the jewelry. Sheldon ran past their hiding spot, eyes on his quarry, when Milton sprang up and in a quick motion dumped a bucket of icy water over Sheldon’s head.

The screech was deafening. “Milton!”

“Samuel, quick the other buckets.”

Samuel had always been a good boy. He’d never even dumped a cup of ice down someone’s shirt in high school. Sheldon spluttering and shaking the cold water from his hair was an irresistible target. Samuel heaved the bucket. His aim wasn’t as good as Milton’s, but he still hit the redhead’s chest. The second bucket splashed on the dancing legs.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Sheldon yelled and lunged at Samuel.

“To the pool. It’s warm.” Milton grabbed Samuel’s arms, vaulted over some decorative railing and flower pots and leapt in the pool, dragging Samuel with him. Samuel surfaced, coughing water out of his lungs to see a man in green shorts and shirt, blowing a whistle at Milton, one hand on his hip and irate expression on his face.

“I couldn’t resist. I haven’t done that since I was nineteen,” Milton said apologetically. “I’ll be more careful of the indoor landscaping next time.”

“The top's in trouble,” Sheldon said gleefully, sitting on the pool edge, his feet dangling in the water. “You should give him a timeout or a couple whacks across his butt.”

“Your boy’s right. I should give you a time out, but I’m feeling lenient. I’m only issuing you a warning.” The lifeguard, or Samuel assumed he was a lifeguard, pulled a yellow stretchy thing that looked like a hair band from his pocket. “Put this around your wrist. It lets the others know I’ve spoken with you. I’ll take it off in thirty minutes if you behave.”

“Yes, sir.” Milton slid the bracelet over his wrist and the lifeguard walked off satisfied.

“In trouble again,” Sheldon said with a click of his tongue. “What’s a boy to do with a top who can’t even keep himself from being chastised by a hunk that’s a decade or more younger?”

“Boy,” Milton roared, pulled Sheldon into the water, and leaped on his shoulders, sending them both under in a mini tidal wave of water.

Samuel watched; he knew he probably had a stupefied expression on his face and his mouth agape just waiting to catch a fly, but here were too entirely adult men leaping and plunging like overgrown children. Samuel had seen Milton in his jacket and tie, every bit the stern but kind professor, and now he was acting like a maniacal porpoise. Sheldon was different; he always had an underlying sense of fun or craziness. Childish some might call it. Samuel had seen Sheldon throw temper tantrums worthy of a two-year-old, but it wasn’t a lack of maturity. Sheldon moved easily in these circles in a relationship that Samuel was only now beginning to realize how little he understood. Sheldon had tried to explain it when they’d been out today, but Sheldon could easily have been speaking Japanese for as much sense as it had made. 

Samuel had tried it today. He swirled the water around with his hand. He’d been ashamed, upended over Milton’s knee. Milton had been kind, generous beyond belief. Samuel had almost thrown Milton’s computer. He’d been the reckless child.

“Help me. I’m getting killed here.” Sheldon grabbed Samuel’s wrist and pulled him into Milton’s wake. “You’re a fellow boy. Save me from the big bad top.”

Was he a fellow boy? He’d let Milton spank him; he’d been late intentionally when he at least sort of understood the consequences. 

“Don’t just stand there,” Sheldon shouted. “Jump on him. He’s already dunked me a dozen times; payback is only fair.”

“Samuel, it’s OK.” Milton’s arm was around Samuel’s shoulder, his touch and voice gentle. “Don’t, Sheldon.”

Sheldon caught the edge of the pool, his slick chest rising out of the shallow water. He had stopped immediately, but even Samuel could see the unasked question in his eyes.

“We were playing, Samuel,” Milton said gently. “Drown the dominant. It doesn’t mean you’re a boy to join in on Sheldon’s side.”

Samuel looked down at the water. The sharp waves from them horsing around had settled to quiet eddies lapping at the pool edges. Milton had known. Was he a boy? He didn’t want to get spanked again. Sheldon had said it reset everything, made him feel better. Samuel had seen Sheldon last night. It was...It had been beautiful, the enchanted smile on Sheldon’s face and the moans and yips, not colored with regret but filled with joy. It hadn’t been like that over Milton’s knee, and it had never been that way with Jonah.

Samuel loved Jonah. He knew that; it was one of the few things he knew. But were they a couple like Milton and Sheldon or even Mace and Trent? Samuel had never seen Mace and Trent do anything, but there was something, the way Mace looked at Trent sometimes or Trent’s quiet steadiness when any one of the men called boys was on edge. It hadn’t been that way with Jonah. Samuel knew that now, but it hadn’t been the way they insinuated either. Insinuated--he’d been around these men too much using words like that. Jonah had always said he was bright enough for college, but they’d never had the money. It wasn’t like here where Sheldon was Milton’s spouse and entitled to all the privileges. They couldn’t hold hands in public or say I love you on the phone. To be found out... Samuel didn’t want to think about it. These men with all their easy confidence. They didn’t understand; they’d never understand.

Samuel felt a hot tear slide down his face. He wiped it away. He wasn’t crying again; he’d done enough of that today.

“Sweetheart.” The kiss on Samuel’s forehead was warm, possessive, and inappropriate for a public place. Samuel blinked and tried to stop the scorch of hot tears down his face. They were in public; he was a man.

“Cry. He has the best shoulder east of the Mississippi. I should know.” Sheldon’s smile was real, not pitying, not trying to hide his distaste at the wreck of a man in front of him. He thought this was normal, fucking normal to be an emotional wreck in public.

“I want to go back to my room,” Samuel croaked out in a voice he knew was far from normal.

“No.” Milton’s denial was flat, absolute, the sound that Samuel had heard him use with Sheldon more than once. “This is bratting, boy. Quiet, introverted, no noisy turmoil, but bratting never the less, and brating boys don’t get to hide.”

“No.” It was a useless response. Samuel couldn’t muster any force. It was sickly and pathetic. Samuel braced himself. He was arguing with Milton, pathetically like a teddy-bear caught in a rain storm, but arguing never the less.

“Samuel, you are bratting right now. It doesn’t mean you are a boy.” Milton’s voice was so quiet, so calm. It was impossible to ignore that big man in front of him, his dark eyes warm and serious even as he squinted to see without his glasses. “I can brat occasionally. Tilden copes with me with his quiet lectures and endless cups of tea, or Gordon grabs me and finds his cane. It doesn’t mean I’m a boy. It means I need something at that moment. I am a top, and right now I think you desperately need a top. Give me a chance to share your burden. Give me that right, but you must give it to me. I won’t take it from you, and I’ll give it back when you’re ready.”

Samuel found his head nodding. He didn’t consciously move his chin up and down; it just seemed to be happening. Milton’s arms were around him, and he was folded hard into the wet and lightly furred chest.

“It’s my problem now. Come swim with me.”

Samuel couldn’t resist the steady tug on his arm. He didn’t want to resist. What had he just done? What had he given Milton? Did it matter as the warm water lapped against his belly, as Milton gently pulled him along? Samuel shut his eyes and let himself float. He was here now; this was his world now, all of it from the men with the scary jewelry to the boy with the red hot ass over someone’s knee. Oh my God! That was him. He’d said yes.

“Don’t think too hard.” The hand that ruffled Samuel’s hair was gentle, but the quick toss over the broad shoulder and the dunk into the deeper water wasn’t. “Hang on, boy.” Milton laughed as he tossed Samuel into the air and let him drop with a resounding splash.

Samuel spluttered and splashed. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Really, boy.” Milton laughed. “Come get me and make it more fair.”

Suddenly that was all that mattered, dunking Milton, dunking that teasing top. Samuel scrambled for him, hanging on to those broad shoulders and trying to tip Milton backward. He crashed into the water; Milton was still resolutely upright.

“Top one, boy zero.”

The whoop was deafening as Sheldon slammed into Milton’s chest. Milton came up coughing and wiping water from his eyes. “You’re in for it now, boys.” Water was everywhere; anyone with any sense beat a retreat, but Samuel grabbed for Milton’s arms and Sheldon tried to scale the top’s neck. 

This was fun, Samuel thought as he was tossed into the water. Fun. Had he ever known what that meant? Fun, he repeated to himself.