Bottoming Out

I used all my strength to open one eye.  The world was a blur.  I opened the other eye.  Everything was just as unfocused, but now I saw things in pairs.  Something told me that this is not a good thing; probably the pain that enveloped my body from my throbbing head to the soles of my feet.  Yeah, the only "soles" this god has any more are on his feet.  Normally I would laugh at that, but it hurts too damn much.  Fuck, it even hurts to smile.

I finally recognized that I am in Evan Hopewell's bed on Libra X.  Don't get any funny ideas.  It's not like that at all.  I think it will be a while before I can get "like that" with anyone, especially Evan.  No, you haven't missed a story.  I'll tell you about it, but first I have some tea to drink.  Evan has brought me a cup of green tea with lemon and honey.  He told me that at least one part of my body would feel better.  I wasn't sure he was right; I wasn't sure it would stay down. It probably did because I knew if I upchucked, Evan would have had to clean it up, and I would choke before I'd make him have to do that for me, too.

"You OK buddy."  He is always such a cheerful little fucker.

I wanted to scream 'No I am not OK! I'm in pain! I'm in agony!'  But I knew he knew that.  Evan is pretty damn perceptive.  I shook my head, "yes." "How'd I, we, get home?"  How long had I been out, has to have been some time?  Why was I calling his apartment "home?"

"You don't remember, do you?"  That same half-crazed and still-loving look.  "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Pain?"

"Anything before or after that?  Pain is a pretty general description of the entire evening.  You need to get more specific before I can start telling you the part you don't remember."

I stopped and drank my tea.  I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the events that I actually could remember.  It's pretty bad, I don't know if these things took place last night or a week ago.  If I could have just lifted the sheet and peeked down on my naked body, perhaps the wounds and bruises would have given me some indication; but I didn't want to look.  Maybe I just didn't want to see Evan laugh when I looked at my battered body. 

He took the cup from my hand and pulled the blanket up, tucking me in.  I have never met someone who can love like he can, even me, even now.  What did I ever do to deserve a friend like him?  I mutter something I knew he didn't understand and fell asleep.

I have a vague memory of Beka Valentine.  We are standing outside, it is cold and beginning to drizzle rain and she is wearing this little white tank top that barely covers her cute perky breasts.  Inside the white stands out against all that black leather and out here it offers no protection against the elements.  I remember taking off my jacket and putting it around her shoulders.  I didn't take my arms away but held her loosely.

I really like Beka.  She's a true warrior woman.  She's intelligent, creative, loyal, brave, you know the whole litany.  Evan says she has a wild and crazy side, too.  Yeah, sometimes we talk about women.  After all, we're living together here on this celibate planet.  Two men who like their sex wild and open.  Here we can just talk about it.  Sometimes I get too aroused, think about grabbing him and fucking that cute little ass, but I know he would just smile, say thanks, and feel guilty the next time he saw one of his fellow librarians.  Despite the immediate pleasure of the physical act, I do not derive pleasure from making him feel uncomfortable, so we just talk. 

Back to Beka and that night.  She had been playing pinball with Rommie when this strange woman walked up.  Not going to fuck with you about her either.  She reminded me of Xena.  I felt it as soon as my eyes hit her, in my cock.  Here I was trying to think about Tyr and figure out where we were going next and in walks this leather chick who reminds me of Xena.  I didn't need this.  Believe me, I do not thrive on pain.

No, I don't remember how much I had had to drink.  It had to have been a lot.  I'd been sitting there at the bar watching Tyr with that D'Arc chick handcuffed to his arm.  Two Nietzscheans with handcuffs between their bone spurs.  Do you know how damn erotic that is?  Try rubbing cold-polished stainless steel on your dick some time, or on your partner's dick.  He'll tell you.  If neither of you have a dick, I can't really tell you how to test it; but I am sure you can figure something out.  Trust me, it's hot.

Joan D'Arc is certainly one impressive looking woman -- nice rack, nice ass, smooth black skin, and soft black hair.  She's everything he could want.  Even a member of his own pride, or at least that is what she tells him.  Anyway, he's holding her hand and stroking her ass, and I am just sucking those drinks down as fast as I can.  I keep hoping she'll have to go to the john, but the first two times he fucking goes with her.  It's that kind of a place.  No one cares.  But me!

He finally unhooks her and lets her go on her own.  I guess he figures he'd better talk to me before I get any drunker.  Get it over with.  Tell me about the baby and that maybe they are getting married, I don't know.  At this point I know it's over and I really don't care what he tells me.

Instead he engages in his silent treatment.  He was never a man for idle chitchat.  I've always liked that. I congratulate him and he has no idea what I am talking about.  She hasn't even told him she was pregnant.  He asks me how I know and I make up some silly lie about hearing it from Beka.  I know, I always know.  I can tell by looking at a woman, especially a Nietzschean woman, something in the smile.  It's an "I've got him now" look that I really hate, what they don't know is that I think I have a better chance of getting him back.  Most men, not sure about Tyr.

When she comes back he takes her drink and turns it over on the bar.  He glares at her with his huge chocolate eyes and a full pout on his lips.  It's a look I love; I want to kiss him.  He's acting superior even with her, even though she's not told him; he's going to pretend he didn't learn it from me.

"I wasn't sure. I figured I'd know for sure next week. Until then," she lies to him.

He said nothing about telling Beka; he knows I lied about that. 

He kisses her on the lips and gives her an understanding hug.  He is happy.  She might not be the happiest woman in the universe, but he has wanted to father one of her black children for a long, long time.  He's told me that, while we were in bed together, while I was fucking him.  I wanted to tell him to be careful what you wish for.  I wanted to tell him to shut up.

I'm sorry, I've gone on and on about Tyr.  As if you can't guess, I am in love with him.  But that really doesn't explain how I got in this shape in this bed.  Just sort of explains why I let my self get so damn drunk, which was only the beginning of that night.

Anyway I saw this leather gal rubbing her hands on Beka's butt, trying to get a good feel while all Beka was interested in was playing pinball.  Beka probably had some idea how I feel that night, because she's fucking both Dylan and Evan, and tonight they are giving every indication in the world that they are going to fuck each other.  'Cept Dylan and Evan have been together so damn long that they really don't care who the other one fucks, which is a good thing, because Evan fucks everybody.  Don't know how Beka felt about this, never asked her, we aren't that good of friends.

Anyway, I took her outside, to talk in private and the first thing I know I am kissing her.  Soft gentle kisses, I don't know if I am crazy or drunk.  I don't know if she is going to laugh at me or hit me.  She seemed as puzzled as I was.  I've barely talked to her the two years I've known her, and here I was laying my big soft warm ones on her.  I know I am a good kisser.  I know she had to like it.  But she's smart enough to know I was up to something.

So I told her what I wanted.  In my rough, out in the open, not holding back way I told her that I think it would be fun if she suggested to that leather girl that the three of us go back to someplace and have a little fun.  I give Beka a lot of credit; she didn't deck me.  Maybe she read the look on my face that had to have been total desperation.  She shook her head "no" and said something about Rommie. 

So we go back in, and I had another drink, or two, or five.  I didn't go back to the bar but hovered around Beka, Rommie and this leather chick.  I tried to play pool with Evan and Dylan, but when I told Evan how cute he looks in black leather, he knew I was drunk.  Fucking Dylan was actually laughing at me.  Making some comment about never seeing me in this state.  I saw him talking to that Wren chick wondering what they were talking about. 

She actually notices me.  Looks me in the eye and starts talking.

"I'm scheduled to do a show for this group tonight.  Dylan says you might be interested in helping."

I look at her with a total blank unknowing look.  I have no fucking idea what she is talking about. 

"Leather show.  Whips, toys. . . . " The words pass in a blur.  I can't comprehend what she is saying to me.  I shake my head, not sure if it is "yes," "no," or "I don't understand."  It should be the last one, but I'm not sure how you shake your head to indicate that.

"You my dear girl have no idea to whom you are talking."  I want to roar.  It doesn't come out at all.  I am almost afraid that if I roar I will vomit.

"Yes, I do.  That's what's going to make it even more fun.  What do you want me to call you when I introduce you?  I won't use your REAL name."

I have no idea what she knows, what Dylan or Evan may have told her.  "What are you trying to prove?"

She puts her hand on my shoulder.  "I know you are in a place tonight that is full of pain.  It isn't going to go away on its own.  Maybe I can help.  If you can let go, surrender to me, I can take you to another place.  You know the place I'm talking about.  Maybe in that place, physical hurt can override your real pain.  It's worth a try."  She speaks softly, yet I hear her above the roar of the bar.  I know she is talking about something I cannot, never have been able to, understand or comprehend.  The fine line between pleasure and pain and when that line is crossed how  . . .

Oh fuck, I said "yes."

"Iolaus."  I cry out. 

"Evan."  He smiles back at me.  What does he care what I call him when there is no one else in the place to hear? 

"Ok, I remember agreeing to do some sort of show with that Wren chick.  You know, the one who looked like Xena."

"Yea and acted ten times worse than the Alternate World Xena the Conqueror.  You sure know how to pick them buddy."

"What happened?"

"You honestly don't remember.  You must have been damn drunk."   "It should have been obvious even to someone of your limited intelligence that I was, you should have stopped me."

"Me, stop you?  What sort of magical powers do you think I have?"

I laugh.  It hurts in my ribs, in my back, in my groin.  I can't laugh.  Even if Evan is so goddamn funny. 

"Do you want me to tell you, Harry, or do you want to watch the video?"  I'm not sure he is serious about the video thing.  I don't remember consenting to have a video made, but then I don't remember much at all.

"You bought the video.  Wasn't that expensive?"

"Not when you compare it with the fun I am going to have watching it with you.  Maybe some of the librarians would want it for the video archives."  I'm not sure if he is teasing.  Evan is like that, you can't be sure.

The video comes on the big screen in his room, and there we are in lifelike splendor. The first indication of how drunk I am is that I am wearing chaps.  Heavy black leather chaps.  Don't get me wrong, chaps are perfectly acceptable garments if you are riding a horse through heavy brush.  You want to protect your legs and you don't need leather under you getting all sweaty; but as a fashion statement all they say is "fuck me in the ass."  Don't get me wrong, sometimes I like being fucked. It is just that when I allow someone to fuck me, I like to know him well enough so that both of us are naked.  I am not an "easy access" type of guy; I like my sex long, hard and personal. 

I am also wearing a black-leather studded-collar and nipple-weights.  No wonder my chest feels so sore, both inside and out.  She makes me turn around exposing myself to the crowd.  I seem to be pretty content to do so, I guess I am a little Narcissistic when it comes to my body.  I strut, and flex, and pose.  I still look good, even if I am the bottom.

She cuffs my arms and legs to an X-shaped cross in the front of the bar.  I know most everyone is watching us.  I wonder if Tyr is watching.  Maybe he is in the fucking john with his PG girlfriend.  I know then I must have wanted him to see me, but now, knowing how I end up, I am not so sure. 

She brings out a cat-o-nine-tails and struts around the stage showing it to everyone.  It is a nice one, long leather strips and a woven leather handle.  I know some chicks who use colored ones. The red and purple ones are OK, but I draw the line on pastels.  I've even seen one where the handle looks like a cock, so it can do double duty as a dildo. I guess, that's just in case you don't get off on whipping someone.  Those humans can be so damn creative.  Wren's, of course, is very traditional.  I wouldn't have had it any other way.

She begins to work my back with long slow whips.  It is almost relaxing.  She knows this style of whipping is not going to hurt anyone, especially me.  Got to watch out for guys who have a whip that looks like this only with metal tips on the lashes, those can do serious damage.  She continues to stroke, working up more speed.  I am almost turned on watching myself.  She is good, damn good.  My backside is red, but no worse than if I have had a good hand spanking. 

She puts down the cat and picks up a long thin rod, a crop maybe.  I can't tell from the video if it is made of stiffened leather, thin wood, or maybe something synthetic.  Those can hurt.  The worst is a metal rod; it can cut skin easily.  Pimps used to use coat hangers or car antennas on their whores, in one thin line, so that it just left a small scar but hurt like hell.  She hits and it cuts some, making gashes and X's on my back.  I do not bleed.  I wonder if she was prepared for that, wonder what Dylan had told her.

She quickly changes and demonstrates an assortment of paddles and whips.  I can't tell you which ones hurt, because I can't remember.  I can look at my face but cannot read if the pain of one is more intense or just a progressive effect of previous beatings.  She removes my chaps and strips me to just a small sack covering my cock and balls.  I am grateful for some measure of dignity.  She actually uses a few whips on my chest, thighs, and even my side flanks.  She knows how to draw the line, but the audience must be watching in fear or in hope that she might slip.

So far though, it's just your basic whip and paddle show.  Nothing that should have really hurt me.  I've done this before, Ipf and me usually.  He's the bottom cause he loves it, but once in a while we would switch just to make our audience squirm a little.  I know that I can take a hell of a lot of hitting and slapping before I hurt like this.  I still wonder what went wrong.

She has three heavy leather belts.  One she puts around my chest, a second wider one around my waist, and a third thin one around my hips, with the strap running between my cock and my balls.  At first she just has me pose, then she starts pulling them tighter.  She has this little winch thing that she shows the audience.  I can imagine a few of them cheer.  She continues to tighten the belts.  The one at my waist gets smaller and smaller. It is like I'm wearing a corset; I can't believe my waist can get so small, wonder where my internal organs are moving.  The one on my chest must be hampering my breathing, maybe even breaking a rib or two.  I probably felt like I was having a heart attack.  I am amazed that the one on my groin is giving me an erection -- on yes, she has stripped me for this particular activity.  So much for dignity! 

Several women from the audience come up and touch my cock.  I suppose she is selling this as a remedy for the "limp husband" syndrome.  Fortunately no one I know does this, even that D'Arc woman.  Maybe she's still handcuffed to Tyr and he knows what it feels like.

Finally when it looks like I am about to pass out and cum at the same time she loosens the belts.  Back on the cross again, legs spread.  I can tell from the way my head slumps to the side, that I don't really care what is going to happen next.  Maybe I had gone to that "place", if I did, I don't remember.  So much for the spiritual aspects of S & M!

She has this dildo, a huge purple dildo, and she is holding it near my ass while the rest of the crowd gasps.  I am sure she is not careful about lube.  She hooks it to a belt around her waist and goes at me from behind.  I see her playing the crowd, turning slightly so that they can get a better view.  She uncuffs me and drops me over a small stool.  Everyone can see now, watching the purple go in and out.  I am not sure I am breathing, but I must be.

She unhooks the dildo and turns for her bows.  I see faces in the crowd as I collapse on the floor.  I see Evan run to the stage.  He carefully lifts my head and holds it in his arms.  The next thing I see is that we are gone, in a blue flash.  Bet she didn't bargain on that when she picked me.

"You do that, or I did I?"

"I can't do that, so you must have had just enough spunk left in you.  I don't know what you were trying to prove."

"Me, either, don't think I was successful."  I lay silent for a few minutes.  At least I know that my pain is explainable if not justified.  "Do you have more tea?"

"Sure, Harry."

I drink another cup.  One thing about being a god is that you heal quickly.  I can feel the bones mending and the bruises fading.  It will be a long cold day before a leather girl like Wren can do any permanent damage to me.  I close my eyes and try to remember or to forget.

I wake up again and Evan is sitting at the table reading some book. 

"You're a popular guy, he says with a smile.  "Want to see your messages?"

I nod my head yes and look at the same screen where the video had played a few hours before.

Wren, dressed in jeans and a peasant blouse, hair nicely braided.  Cleaned up she looks even more like Xena.  "Good show!  You and I could go far. Hope you got to that place you wanted to be. Got to let me know how you did that blue dissolving thing, with that we could play the big time.  Let me know, big guy."

Dylan, dressed in his high guard uniform, with a smiling Beka at his side.  "Sorry, I thought it might help pick up your love life, know it did mine.  Call me if you need anything, bro."

A picture of a bouquet of white calla lilies. "Hope you are feeling better, Trance and Harper."  So it's Trance and Harper now.  Cute kids.  Hope they are happy.

There is no message from Tyr.  Only more Nietzschean silence.  At least every time he thinks of the night he learned he was going to be a father again, he will think of me in that state.  Wonder what that will do to his joy and happiness?  I'm going to miss him.  I don't think I am going to stop loving him for a while. 

There are some people who think they know me who could have expected this.  Mostly women who sit around debating, as ancient clerics once debated how many angels could sit on the end of a pin, whether Xena and I ever had sex.  I'll tell you right now.  We did.  It was good. She may have forsaken love, or she may have fallen in love with someone else.  She said she didn't love me. I didn't believe her.  I still loved her. She died. I still loved her.  'Nuff said. This sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it? 

I do not thrive on rejection.  It doesn't turn me on.  Quite frankly I'm just like everyone else in this beige colored universe. I can't believe someone once said it might be turquoise, but at least he was smart enough to let people know when he made a mistake.  I thrive on LOVE.  Get it LOVE!  Yea, some of those old Norse guys convinced Xena you could forsake love for power, but when it is all said and done POWER doesn't do much for you when you are lying alone on a cold, dark night.  When you fuck someone who doesn't care one way or the other your balls may be empty, but your heart is still congested.  You need love to empty out your heart.

The pain didn't make it go away.  I never got to that place.  Evan brings me another cup of tea and a couple of Graham crackers.  I laugh, that little fucker thinks of everything.

March 2002

Author's note: The Graham cracker references is a little obtuse.  I tried it out on my friend Peggy who turned out knew the story but didn't remember it until I told her.  For those you who don't know it try: http://www.straightdope.com/classics/a2_053.html.

The End