The Human Cage

Chapter 1 Dale caught sight of Walton Manor through the spotted and scratched window of the taxi. At last, he thought. The journey had been a long one and knowing it would soon reach its conclusion made him immensely happy, if only because it meant he could escape the confines of the cab and the overpowering stench of its driver’s stale body odour. He scooted across the cracked and worn vinyl seat and wound the window down to better see the impressive structure and its picturesque surrounds. “Hey Mister, put ya seatbelt back on. Come on! Ya want me to get a fine?” bawled the pot-bellied taxi driver. “Who’s going to fine you?” Dale replied, ignoring the order and leaning further out the window. “This is private property.” The taxi driver shook his head and muttered something in a foreign language. Dale closed his eyes. The breeze tousling his hair had an almost meditative effect and it sure felt good to fill his nostrils with clean, fresh country air. Already he could feel the stress of his trip disintegrating, its ashes blowing away in the wind, trailing behind them in an invisible cloud. When he opened them again, his uncle’s grand manor house was looming large and the sound of tyres crunching on brushed pebbles filled his ears. Finally, they stopped with a screech of the hand brake and a lurch at the front steps. “How much?” Dale asked, lifting his right buttock from the seat to retrieve the wallet from his back pocket. “Let’s call it $80,” said the driver, looking into the rear-view mirror and holding his hand out. Dale leaned through the gap in the front seats and pushed four twenties into the driver’s hand. At the same time he noticed that the meter read $75.80. Bastard! But he wasn’t going to haggle over a couple of dollars. He probably would have told the old guy to keep the change anyway. He was in that kind of mood. After clambering out of the cab Dale hurried around to the back of the vehicle. “Can you pop the trunk?” he called out, realising the driver had exhausted his supply of customer service on the long drive out. He could hear his step-mother’s voice, ‘No such thing as service these days.’ And she was right. The lid of the trunk sprang up with a bounce. Dale reached in and lifted out three suitcases, each one heavier than the last. Did he really have that many clothes? Unusual for someone whose uniform was usually a T-shirt and a pair of old denim jeans. “What’s all this noise then?” Dale spun around. “Uncle Tomas!” “Ahhh, call me Tom. We’re both adults.” They laughed and Dale threw his arms around the man he had idolised since childhood; the man he had known as uncle, although there was absolutely no family resemblance. There had always been an air of mystery surrounding him, something unspoken and bypassed when questioned outright, but that just endeared the man to him more. “It’s so good to see you,” Dale said, beaming. Tom didn’t reply. Instead he stretched his neck back a fraction and scrutinised the handsome young man in his arms. His pale blue eyes scanned Dale’s face, quite obviously drinking in every feature. “You certainly have grown up,” said Tom, his eyes refusing to take a rest. Dale felt his tanned cheeks flush. His heart began to quicken and he averted his eyes from his uncle’s pale, sculpted features. “I guess I have,” said Dale, releasing his arms and pulling away from the embrace. “Not so fast,” said Tom. “I haven’t seen you since you were fifteen or sixteen. I want to enjoy this moment. “He scratched Dale under the chin. “And what’s this? Whiskers. How rugged.” Dale replaced his arms around his uncle’s torso and rested his cheek on the man’s broad shoulder. He allowed himself to relax into the hug. His nostrils caught the faint scent of cologne, a manly, woody fragrance, but only a hint of it. His uncle’s body was warm and solid and it wasn’t long before he realised he could feel his uncle’s c**k against his thigh. Was it hard or just large? He couldn’t make up his mind. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. However, the more he tried not to think about it, the more his attention remained on the organ pressing against his leg. Even worse, he could feel his own c**k beginning to swell. “So where’s my room?” he said, stepping back. “Let’s grab your bags and I’ll take you up. Joseph is preparing drinks for us, but I think we can manage three suitcases between us. You remember Joseph, don’t you?” Dale nodded and followed his uncle inside. The soles of their shoes echoed in the great entrance hall as they walked across the black and white marble tiles towards the staircase. Everything was much as he remembered it…the apple green walls that always reminded him of summer and the elaborately carved ceiling roses from which oversized chandeliers hung, the potted palms standing like sentinels in glazed white ceramic pots along the walls and the crimson carpet which cascaded down the stairway like a river of blood, held in place by golden rods. It even smelled good, thanks to the massive hand-carved crystal vases overflowing with abundant blooms that stood in nearly every room of the magnificent house. “You still love your flowers then?” Dale noted. “That’s right,” Tom replied. “Got to love flowers.” As Dale climbed the stairs he tried not to stare at the way the muscles of his uncle’s perfectly rounded arse cheeks moved beneath the thin fabric of his trousers, though it was difficult not to. Tom was clearly wearing nothing but a G-string underneath and his perfect model of a male butt was directly in Dale’s line of vision. He could see every detail, including the way the seam sat, tucked neatly into the crack of his uncle’s arse, and the dark shadow beneath, which could only be arse hair. He found himself picturing his uncle’s naked arsehole, deep pink, puckered and surrounded by thick hair, and for the second time in a few minutes he felt himself getting hard, though this time his c**k grew to full mast. When they neared the top of the stairs, Tom glanced over his shoulder. “Not far to go now,” he said. Dale smiled but couldn’t look his uncle in the eye. Had this tall, athletic man noticed his erection? The thought had barely evaporated when he caught his uncle stealing another look. Dale blushed. If Tom hadn’t seen it the first time, he certainly had the second time. Dale was grateful for the silence that ensued and when he was sure that his uncle had finished looking he adjusted himself, pushing the offending erection up against his belly so the zipper of his fly hid the bulk of it. It was an old trick he’d learnt at school. It had come in handy for those spontaneous teenage erections that always seemed to pop up just before the bus pulled in at his stop or immediately before being called on to deliver a presentation in class. They walked down a long carpeted corridor. The walls here were apple green, too, and displayed paintings of naked men in exotic landscapes. Lean, young men with defined bodies, some smooth and others with lightly-haired torsos, reclined lazily on rocks by gently flowing rivers, or f****d amongst the lush foliage of some anonymous jungle. In another painting a handful of muscular warriors were dancing wildly around a fire, their erections lit by the orange light of the flames, and in another a group of naked and semi-naked youths were working under a hot sun, bronzed and muscled, their brows beaded with sweat. The images were raw and earthy. They appealed not only aesthetically, as art, but as something he could imagine himself getting quite lost in if given the chance. “I hope my little collection doesn’t offend you,” said Tom. “My taste isn’t everyone’s idea of fine art.” “No. No, it doesn’t,” Dale replied, a little too quickly. Finally, Tom came to a stop in front of a white door with a polished brass doorknob. “Here we are,” he announced. “Your room. My room’s just here and the bathroom’s at the end of the corridor. There are other bathrooms, of course, which you are free to use, but this one’s the most convenient.” Dale nodded and followed his uncle into the room that had been prepared for him. “Very nice,” he said. “Spacious too, although anything would be spacious compared to the student accommodation I’ve had to endure for the past five years.” “Aw. The things we have to do to get ahead in life,” said Tom, slapping Dale on the back. “Now, you have the run of the place. I have no secrets.” His uncle’s smile broadened. “And it’s the perfect place for you to work on your thesis. Just let Joseph know when you’re working so he doesn’t send the maid up and disturb you.” “Thanks for letting me stay here, Uncle.” “Call me Tom. Remember? It’d make me feel much more comfortable.” “Okay. Sorry. It’s hard to break the habit of a lifetime. Anyway, thanks for letting me stay. I appreciate it. And so do Mum and Dad. They said to say hello.” “Don’t mention it. It’ll be good to have you around for a bit.” Tom ruffled Dale’s hair the way he used to when Dale was a boy, his touch firm and masculine, and producing an unexpected reaction. Hormones. He could feel them flooding into his blood. His c**k, which was still semi-hard, twitched within the confines of his pants. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” Tom said as he walked over to the door. “That should give you enough time to freshen up and settle in.” Dale thanked his uncle and started unpacking. He found that the built in wardrobes had dozens of vinyl-covered wooden coat hangers, which was just as well since he’d forgotten to bring any. He removed the few carefully packed collared shirts and his jeans, smoothed them out and then hung them up, and placed everything else—his large collection of T-shirts, underwear, and socks—neatly into the drawers of an antique tall boy. He put his laptop on the desk by the window and pushed a bag containing his books and research notes underneath. He liked everything in its place, neat and tidy and uniform. It was an unfortunate side-effect of being born a Virgo. Dinner was informal. They feasted on deep-fried butterfly prawns on a pilau of rice for entree, cold roasted chicken, fresh garden salad and homemade pasta for their main, followed by passionfruit cheesecake, a platter of exotic cheeses, espresso coffee, and wine. “I can’t believe you eat like this every night,” commented Dale agog at the quantity of food that had been laid out for them. “I’m surprised you’re not the size of a house.” “Special occasion,” Tom explained. “Doesn’t happen every day. Besides, I have the metabolism of a thirteen-year-old. Never put on weight. And running a property as large as this one isn’t exactly a walk in the park. But enough about that. Tell me about this thesis you’re writing. What’s it about? Have you started it yet?” Dale suspected his uncle was only being polite and gave him the abridged version, explaining only that it was anthropological in nature and that it had required a great deal of research. To tell the truth he was actually quite sick of having to explain it every time someone found out he was writing one. “I’ve done all my research and interviews. Most of the data has been collated. My chapter plan is pretty detailed so that’ll make things easier, although, of course, all that’s liable to change once I get started. But that’s the hard stuff out of the way. I basically just have to write it up. Nevertheless, I’ll be glad when it’s all finished and I’ve submitted the damn thing,” he said. “It all sounds very impressive,” said Tom taking a great gulp of red wine. “I’m sure everyone’s very proud of you.” The ornately-carved grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed eleven o’clock. Both men were tired and agreed they should drink up and retire to bed. After saying their good nights Dale went to his room, sat on the edge of his bed and removed his shoes and socks. After flinging them onto the carpet he stayed where he was, almost too tired to be bothered getting undressed, yet the idea of sleeping in clothing he’d been wearing all day did not appeal either. He hoisted himself to his feet with a low moan, as though it was all too much of an effort, and undid the belt on his trousers. He pulled the zipper down, stepped out of them and then took his underpants off, giving his c**k a couple of tugs to release it from the nest of dark blonde hair it had been pressed into. He flung his black and white striped T-shirt across the end of the bed and as he did so, caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror standing in the corner by the window. His time at the gym had definitely paid off. At twenty–three he was lean and toned. His naturally thickly-haired chest was neatly clipped and his low hanging nuts had been freshly shaved that morning. He turned to one side and then the other, admiring himself for a few moments, not noticing that behind him, out of range of the mirror, the bedroom door had opened.