Confessions of a Bootlicker: tying up loose ends

 Well. No one has yet responded to my survey, and so I'm going to just do things as they pique my interest. For today, there was a story that never happened, something I wish had happened, that I wanted to talk about.

Some day, I'm going to put all these stories into a book. Would you buy the "Confessions of a Bootlicker: an autobiographical fantasy"? I think I'm getting close to having enough for a book.

Today's confession almost happened, and the almost is something that I really regret. What if I had gone through with it?

As usual: The names are changed, the faces made up, and the events are (partly) fictional, to protect the innocent/expose the dirty.

Confessions of a Bootlicker: Clubbing in college, tying up high school

            It was still early in my college career. I’d had a bit of fun with Jade already, and she had introduced me to some of the wonders of the goth world. She suggested that I go explore that a bit more. And by ‘suggested’ I mean ‘ordered’ and even ‘threatened’ me if I didn’t do it.

            So I got some friends together, and we drove down to Philly, to go clubbing. It was a long drive, made longer by the butt plug I was wearing. The plug didn’t actually make the trip longer. But every time the car hit a bump, every time there was a sharp turn that made me move in my seat, it would remind me of its presence, and also remind me that my other friends in the car had absolutely no idea I was wearing it. Most of them had no idea I’d even played with Jade.

            By the time we got to the club, my opinion on the butt plug had actually changed. Initially, I’d been very opposed to it, especially considering the size of it. But once we started walking around, I was really grateful for the size. What would I do if I’d been wearing the smaller one, the one that sometimes slid out on its own? I needed the big one, if only to be sure that it wouldn’t slip out while I was walking around. Or while I was dancing.

            Entering night clubs, especially the goth-industrial ones, are like walking down an animal’s throat.  It starts with a bouncer making sure you aren’t armed, though all the spikes and chains you’re wearing probably make that a meaningless effort. Then you pass through the door and you hear the growl of the music rumbling somewhere down the hall. A few steps closer, and the music starts to push its way through your ears, tendrils sliding down into your brain. You get closer and closer to the dance floor, and the music starts to pump into you and through you. You get digested, pulled into the system of the club, and you start to move whether you want to or not. The bass pumps your blood for you, the sound crashes against you, and the beat makes your muscles move.

            You can try to resist, and most people do, eventually. Sooner or later, your own exhaustion will let you off the floor. But that first moment, that first desire, there’s no point in struggling. At least, there wasn’t for me.

            Everywhere I looked, someone was living out my fetish. Boots up to the knees or higher, leather skirts, pants, shirts—so much leather I almost couldn’t breathe. There was tattooed skin everywhere I looked, and piercings glittering in the flashing light. It was more intoxicating than alcohol. Everywhere I looked was a mass of writhing bodies like living sex, and the only thing I could smell was musk, sweat, and leather.

            When I finally dragged myself out of the belly of the beast and went to get a drink, to try to replenish some of the life force that the dance had demanded, I noticed someone calling my name.

            His name was Kevin. It took me a minute to register who he was and why he looked so familiar. We went to the same high school. He was two years older than me, but our paths had crossed a few times.

            I’d been lucky enough, and I say that with all possible sarcasm, to be put into a kind of group therapy club. They put me in it because they thought I was depressed, or because my parents were divorced, or whatever other reason they never explained to me. Kevin had been in that group too.

            We got to talking. He brought up the group first. “I couldn’t believe what a waste of time that was,” he said. “I don’t know how you did it.”

            “What do you mean?” I had to shout to be heard, but then, so did everyone. “You were there too.”

            He laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “But I was so high I could barely walk.”

            I laughed at that.

            “I’m serious,” he said. “I used to shoot up before school, then again at lunch. It was the only way I could make it through the day.”

            At first I was surprised by this revelation. Then it all kind of clicked. Kevin had always been so ridiculously skinny, barely more than knotty joints and taught muscles; there were jokes that he was a heroin addict, but those jokes were all dismissed because he wasn’t ‘cool’ enough to be a drug addict.

            It’s amazing how stupid high school kids can be.

            Turned out Kevin did more than heroin. His actual drug of choice was LSD, which he said “made all the bullshit in high school more fun.”

            While we were talking, his girlfriend Amber came over. She was tall, almost as skinny as Kevin, and stunning. She wore tight leather pants laced up the sides, tucked into a pair of boots that were so perfectly shaped to her legs that I could almost see the outline of her muscles. Her corset made her waist so tight I could practically wrap my hands around it without any gap, and the collar on her neck drew attention to the perfect shape of her collarbones.

            Kevin laughed when I spent the time to enjoy every inch of her body, of her outfit. I had the good grace to be embarrassed, but he waved me away. “I thought you were gay,” he said.

            “What?” That was a real shock. I was expecting him to say that I shouldn’t look at his girl, or that I shouldn’t worry about it, something like that. Gay was not the reaction I thought my taking the time to memorize the curves of his girlfriend’s body would elicit.

            “Isn’t that why you were in group? I know I was there because of the drug thing. Jeff was there because of the suicide attempt, Carey because of booze. But you were there because they were trying to ‘cure’ your gay, weren’t you?”

            I shook my head. “I’m not gay,” I said. “I’m very not gay.”

            He made a surprised sound. “Well then,” he said. “That changes everything.”

            I’d like to say that I was confused again. But really, I was confused still. “What do you mean?”

            “If I’d known you were straight, I wouldn’t have been flirting with you.”

            I didn’t point out that I had no idea that he’d been flirting with me. That seemed like it would be insulting, and I was the one being stupid, not him. “I was hoping to convince you to come over to our place.”

            He shook his head, then looked from me, to Amber, back to me. There was a glint in his eyes and a smile on his face. “Unless you still want to? Or are you ‘very straight’?”

            I shrugged. “I’ve never been with a guy,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I’m opposed to it.”

            “Great.” He smiled as if that settled everything.

            “I can’t, though,” I said. “I drove down with some friends, and—”

            He waved me away. “I’ll give you a ride home tomorrow,” he said. “That work for you?”

            I shifted in my seat and felt the butt plug. How was I going to explain that?

            Kevin stood up like everything was settled and walked off to get his coat. Amber sat next to me and leaned in close. “It’s okay if you want to leave,” she said. “I know it’s kind of sudden.”

            “It’s not that I’m not interested,” I said.

            “Have you ever had a threesome?” she asked. I shook my head. “It’ll be fun,” she said. “And you can stop us if we start getting too kinky for you.”

            I couldn’t help it. The laugh just erupted from me. Nothing I could do about it.

            Amber was confused. Maybe she thought she’d said the wrong thing, that I was completely backing out. “What?”

            “I seriously doubt you guys are going to get too kinky,” I said. Then I thought about it a second. “Actually, I seriously doubt there’s such a thing as too kinky for me.”

            She pushed against my shoulder and smiled. “I think we can try.”

            I shrugged. “Don’t hold your breath.”

            She gave me a look that would have made me hard, had I not already been sporting an erection. “Can I hold yours?”

            I smiled. “Sure.”

            She raised an eyebrow. “Can I kick you in the balls?”

            “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

            She smiled. “Can I whip you?”

            I nodded.

            “Will you do what I say?” I nodded. “What he says?” I nodded again, with only a half second of hesitation.

            “I’ll do it all,” I said. “I’ll lick your boots if you let me, and anything else that you tell me. You can beat me, whip me, punch me, pinch me; I’m pretty much wide open.”

            “Wide open?” she laughed. “Can I put something in your ass?”

            I shook my head. “Well,” I said, “I mean, you can. But you have to pull out what’s already in there.”

            She reached her hand down the back of my pants without asking, and I jumped. She felt the rubber of the plug, and pushed on it, sending a wave of electricity through my body.

            She was still laughing when Kevin came back with their coats.

            “What’s so funny?” he asked.

            “He’s a sub,” she said. “He’s even wearing a butt plug.”

            Kevin’s smile grew, and his voice grew fangs. “Oh,” he said, “this is going to be a night to remember.”

            “Just one rule,” I said, once we were outside the club and could hear each other just fine.

            “What’s that?”

            “I get to be at the very bottom,” I said. “I’m only interested if I get to submit to both of you. I don’t care if one of you submits to the other, but both of you dominate me.”

            Amber smiled, smacked my ass at just the right angle to hit the plug. “Oh, we wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said.

            Kevin smirked. “If this is why you were in group,” he said, “you should have said something. We could have had a lot more fun in high school.”

            He opened the car door and pulled forward a seat so I could get into the back.

            “Oh well,” he said, putting the seat back and getting into the car. “I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

            He turned and looked at me, his eyes practically glowing. “Won’t we, bitch?”