Indiscreet Box Set

Chapter 4-2

He visited his mom once a week, which was often as Mary permitted and had never, ever, given Irene the impression that she was a burden or was anything other than his beloved mother.

The burden fixation came from Mary. He found out for the first time in the doctor’s office that his mother was a borderline schizophrenic and had taken medication for years. It puzzled him, because the doctors referred to a series of hospitalizations that he could not recall after his dad died. His mind skittered away from that then as it did now, leaving nothing but a shiver and a quiver of fear.

He knew Aunt Mary’s game. The more cash Mary bled from Brian, the longer Irene would stay with Mary, enabling Mary to continue leeching money from the government as an at-home caregiver as well as from Brian. He was in a double bind. If he reported Mary, she threw Irene out. Mary was a mean b***h on her best days. Brian was in constant fear that an unappeased Mary would make good on her threats to throw his mother out to the street. That would leave Brian to face putting her in a home for the indigent.

Those nursing homes were the type of places where they warehoused the elderly poor quite like the ones he visited when he first came back from school. Brian read newspaper exposés that reported institutions where they tied the patients to chairs and placed them en mass, in front of a blaring television, which the management passed off as recreation for the residents.

Others were reported for medication mishaps resulting in serious injury to the residents and this was an everyday occurrence. Mary played on his fears, calling Brian with constant demands that he up the ante for room and board.

He spent the last year paying all of Irene’s outstanding bills and meeting Mary’s ever-increasing demands. A few more pay checks would bring him enough money to pay the necessary fees to get Irene established in a decent assisted living facility.

It came as no surprise that the cost of care in a nice home with a small apartment would be actually less than he currently paid Mary. When Irene was settled, with his company medical and prescription plans in place with minimal co-pays, he’s have it almost all together. He had even begun to think about a very cheap used car, and later, an actual apartment. Dreams of condominiums and electronic toys had long since fallen by the wayside.

As had his dreams of finding a lover. Brian’s eyes started to water.

What lover would be willing to share my bleak life? Realistically, my mother could go on like this for years, and she has no one but me to foot the bill. That is it, that is why my mind cannot move away from Mom. Today I found the man who will be the love of my life and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.

The tears rolled off his cheeks and down his chest.

Sometimes, alone at night, Brian would masturbate, fantasizing about his own idea of Prince Charming. After today’s lunch, Prince Charming gained a face and a name, Donald K. Drummond.

His first sight of Donald Drummond had left Brian with an erection so fierce, he hid it behind the clipboard he carried. The man stood over him with the outline of a half-hard c**k dressed right under his navy suit pants.

He realized what he had interrupted. Mr. Drummond had been getting it off in his private bathroom. Then he looked up and saw the man himself. Donald K. Drummond was huge, broad shouldered, with a trim waist. He was well over six feet, Brian had to crane his neck. His hair was chestnut brown with deep auburn highlights and his eyes were a piercing emerald green. His jaw was strong, but his mouth was wide with thin lips. His aura of complete command wooed Brian and his kindness soothed. He was so near to Brian’s ideal lover, Brian began to shake. He could not even think straight. All he could do was peek out at Donald Drummond from under his lashes.

Brian could still feel Donald’s caress on his cheek, and even the memory of his strong, powerful hand stroking down the side of his face still made his long slender c**k stick up like a hot fire poker. When Donald spoke, Brian fell right into his lap, literally, and he had wanted to stay there.

The caring, open man looked to soothe his troubles. The idea that Drummond actually cared about what happened to Brian was what broke through the iced casing around his heart for the first time in years. He decided he would trust him with the truth.

He knew this man would keep his promise to care for Irene.

However, what Brian glimpsed at lunch brought him to the floor. They drove in a Mercedes SUV to the Chambersburg section of Trenton. Donald parked in a small lot on the corner next to a non-descript stucco building with a small sign indicating a Spanish restaurant. Donald opened the door and they stepped inside. The décor astounded him. He felt transported to a café in the heart of Spain.

The waiter greeted Donald by name and seated them in a booth toward the rear of the restaurant. Once seated, Donald removed his tie and opened his shirt at the collar turning up his shirtsleeves.

He couldn’t stop staring. Donald was a Bear, an openly gay man, who was oversized and hairy; his body was Brian’s idea of perfection. His imagination ran wild. Bears usually hung out in biker and leather bars.

Donald Drummond was a Bear in a suit…decidedly ironic, yet magnificently s****l. He felt the tether and the hook sink right into his heart.

He was very familiar with the world of Dominance and submission.

He pictured himself cuddled up, burying his face in Donald’s furry chest after Donald had warmed his ass with a spanking. He pictured them rubbing off, c***s held together by Donald’s large hand, his hairless chest and oh, so sensitive n*****s abraded by his own Bear and Master, Donald K.

Drummond, of Drummond Real Estate. The idea of Donald, the business mogul, was electrifying. The suggestion of Master Donald was the stuff of his most fevered dreams.

Donald ordered for both of them and the waiter set down a plate of four seasoned lamb chops grilled to perfection accompanied by a vegetable medley steamed with just a hint of lemon and saffron along with a side of crisp Spanish potato chips and Spanish rice. Brian hadn’t eaten a meal like that since college. Fine dining was not high on his priority list of late. All he had to do was pick up the utensils and dig in to the feast.

He kept his eyes down as an almost subliminal act, the only feast he saw from underneath his lashes did not lie on his plate. It was the body of the man across the table. He longed to kiss those honed abs, suck on the hard n*****s while rubbing his face on Donald Drummond’s chest. He wanted those strong arms holding him up with his legs wrapped around Drummond’s tight ass. He wanted the burn as Donald pounded into his hole. He wanted Donald to gather him up in his arms and carry him to share a bath after an intense lovemaking session. He wanted Donald to tie him up. He wanted Donald’s bare hand curving around his buttocks, reddening both cheeks.

Hell, he wanted to be Donald’s boy with all of his heart and soul. He longed to give him service; he longed to show him love.

Donald had to call his name several times to regain his attention, because Brian dove so far into his fantasy. He hoped the small stain on his Dockers did not show. Yet, he knew it had.

Maybe it would serve to give Donald notice that Brian found him attractive. Breaking away from his reverie, Brian shoved off the bed and walked to the dresser in frustration.

Goddamn, Brian thought to himself, banging his hand on the dresser. Now I’m fantasizing about a fantasy!

He was in no position to dream. It was as his mother often said to him while he was growing up, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” Brian was a beggar at Donald’s table, and he couldn’t hold up his head if he had to live on sufferance, even if it were Donald’s.

It was what his father said and did before he died that kept Brian wary of wealthy men like Donald. Brian’s father said, “You are not a man unless you can care for your own, son. Be sure you can support both yourself and your family before you take on any other obligations. If you are beholden to the woman you marry, you will be a kept man all your life.” Brian was only six at the time, but he had memorized every word his father ever said to him.

His father had cared for his family. He left two rather substantial insurance policies, one for his Aunt Mary and one for him and his mother. Aunt Mary invested her principal in a conservative annuity that allowed her to live well, if not lavishly.

Irene, on the other hand, had invested in every crazy Ponzi scheme that came down the turnpike, including the last one, which left her penniless, and working as a waitress. Luckily, the money for college was in trust. Aunt Mary, who was the executor of his father’s will, insisted on that. He stretched the amount by working, and sent what he could to his mother every month. The work he found right after his first year had paid well. It enabled him to stay in the dorm, take summer courses, and send money home.

Brian had discovered he was a sub in college and enjoyed the life. He planned to join one of the quality clubs in the area, once employed. The membership fees for subs were not as onerous as they were for Dom’s, however, it was another dream on hold until whenever. What he felt now though, was not a dream for whenever. Brian had fallen to the O’Shea curse. One look and Brian O’Shea/Murphy was in love with a life sentence.

“Donald would make a bitchin’ hot Dom,” Brian thought. It didn’t matter if Donald K. Drummond was a Dom, a sub, or a bum. He was one man he would do most anything for, and the one so far out of his reach, it was laughable even to fantasize.

He got his can of Coke and took another long gulp. He looked at the peeling paint and wallpaper. Sometime after the waiter served dessert, a Spanish flan, so smooth it melted in the mouth and awakened every taste bud, Donald offered Brian a job as his personal assistant. Foolishly, he jumped at the chance. If nothing else, it offered him an opportunity to be close to Donald every day. He didn’t have the fortitude to refuse.

The room began to heat up in the mid-afternoon sun. He wished for a small fan to move the air around. In reality, this place is a firetrap and needs to be condemned but I can’t knock it, because I can’t afford the freight anywhere else.

He went over to the window and looked at the sky. It was clouding up. Sometime soon, one of those harsh summer thunderstorms that New Jersey was famous for would strike, and the rain would cool the roof and thus his room. Other than that, the window above his bed was the only source of air in the room.

He lay back on the bed, wishing for a fan.

The electricity was so unreliable that Miz James had forbidden her tenants to purchase or use any fans, hotplates, or other electrical appliances. Brian suspected the place violated every electrical code in Trenton, and if she blew the grid, the fines would put her out of all of her “illegal businesses.” Living in the James Boarding House, Brian received an education on the underbelly of Trenton Society. She received a cut of the local drug trade, prostitution, and bookmaking. She had her fingers in all of the illegal activity in the Clinton area, up to and including “collection” work and assassination.

His mind wandered back to Donald. How was he going to work with Donald K. Drummond every day, and not fall at his feet and beg to suck him off to show him Brian Murphy, the sub, didn’t babble, had perfect balance and grace, and would serve him faithfully for the rest of his life for just the chance of notice? Brian felt that if it were up to him that would be exactly what he would do, but it is not, and he couldn’t. This fantasy was over, period. He did what he usually did, he coped.

Come Monday he began his new position as Special Assistant to the CEO. How that had come about, Brian could not fathom. When they left for lunch, he was going to Information Technology, and then over coffee, Drummond asked him to be his personal assistant. Drummond said his new job would be keeping Donald’s financial affairs in order and up-to-date.

He was to organize the information and put it into a graphical format geared to instantly spot trends, positions, and cash flow of Donald’s personal assets and investments. It was something he was good at doing. Brian just hoped his drool didn’t short out the computer, or worse, cause Drummond to realize his nerdy new assistant was in love with his boss. Brian fell asleep slowly stroking himself off to the memory of his dream “Daddy’s” chest.