Angus was right, of course - as usual. “I’ve never seen such sadness and longing in someone’s face as I did you while you masturbated into that screen.” He sighed deeply then sucked in cleansing air. Letting it out slowly, he continued, “Mate. All you had to do was ask, tell me and I will be here, come like I have now. I will always come, we can always be here for one another. But, I need you to ask, tell me. I don’t have powers like you. I can’t read your mind. I need you to give me your thoughts. I won’t assume them again.” Have you ever noticed how the truth hurts more when it comes from someone you know loves you?
Okay, here’s the background. I am a seminary student at a school in Wyncote, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles north of central Philadelphia, U.S.A. Why is a Welsh Jew studying in America instead of Europe? It is a long story, having to do with my sister Ciara’s connection to the leader of this small but powerful progressive Jewish denomination – one that stems from the idea that evolved from its spiritual leader, Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan, that “the past has a vote, not a veto”. Although Reconstructionists have roots in the States, its welcoming, egalitarian theological approach that believes "[i]nnovation need not entail the destruction of tradition; on the contrary, change is an important part of keeping a tradition alive, as it has been throughout Jewish history. As the world changes faster, Judaism must be reconstructed ever more quickly if its wisdom is to continue to guide us."* It spoke to me as I tried to return to faith, feeling blessed that I had found the love of my life – the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Reese.
Married at little less than three years, I sprung the idea of going to the seminary on him one night at dinner. He isn’t religious, just plays Anglican for family Christmases and Easters. But he knew that since we were kids I had my heart set on religious studies. He’d agreed we live bi-coastally for five years, he in Cardiff or London where he serves in the House of Lords, and I in the U.S. with him flying out on our private jet, the William Mason, quarterly for a bit of weekend fun. I figured that I’d be okay, we’d be okay. I was only half right.
My good friend from Detroit had warned me. “The first year of grad school, any grad school, is always the hardest,” she said. I should have listened and planned. But I’m Desmond “Deetz” Mac Innes who prides himself repelling any emotion in a single swipe. How could a human being could be so wrong?!
It was Christmas eve – I found out that it is a lonely time in America, even for us Jews. I lived off campus but most of the people I studied with had left to visit non-Jewish relatives or took advantage of the brief time off to go on holiday. Angus was supposed to come but at the last minute couldn’t – some late session Parliamentary nonsense. He was deeply apologetic and guaranteed to come the next weekend but that promised did nothing for my deflated anticipation. You see, I had a new pretzel recipe as well as a revised martini recipe – two of his three weaknesses – ready along with a brand new sex toy I just knew he’d love.
Now, all I could do is stare at the Whole Foods grocery bag, an unopened Amazon box, and listen to the snow drop mournfully out of the window of my one bedroom flat. I thought of going to the gym – a good, long workout usually helps – but it was closed for the holiday. Everything was closed except a lonely Chinese restaurant and I refused to live up to that stereotype. This would not do. I didn’t like these feelings. I looked at my laptop, wondering if I could catch Angus via Skype but it was already 1am there and Angus was either dead asleep or desperately still trying to get his presentation together. Stiff upper lip and all . . ., I thought.
Then it came to me. I could make him a present. So, I opened the Amazon box, put the batteries in their proper slot, set up my camera, lubed up good, and gave a show for my hubby – he always said he liked watching me cum. I was so excited and proud of myself that when I clicked “send”, I failed to check which automatic email address of his that came up. It turns out that it went to his office where his efficient secretary, Bonnie, opened it and well, now you can imagine why he’s so mad. I doubt good old Bonnie is disturbed though for this isn’t the first time she’s caught us in an awkward position (there was that late night at his office – ah, a leather swiveled chair never felt so good!) and, as she is oft to repeat to us with a punctuated sigh, “tis been a moment since Herbert left this world”. But Angus liked to keep our decadent private life, well, very private.
So to find him the next morning standing over my bed frowning, I was mixed with happiness and dread. “Hello,” I said calmly as I put my pants on and discreetly hid the toy under a pillow. “How long have you been standing there? Right good of me to give you a key, I guess.” I glanced at my mobile on the nightstand. It was mid-morning which meant he’d left his office right away and came straight here. I looked up at him and tried my sweetest smile but it only left me looking even more guilty.
He plopped down on the bed, obviously tired. I got up to make some tea, the usual solution to every British problem. But when I came back with two mugs, he was angrier than before and I ended up resting them both on the nightstand. Then I sank down next to him, hoping this wouldn’t last long. “What’s the real reason you called me here, Deetz?”
“What?”
“I want you to admit it.”
“I missed you is all.”
“No,” he said plainly, “what am I responding to? What’s wrong with you?”
Fuck, he must have been talking to my . . . our therapist, garnered my secrets to use against me in ways that were to supposed to make me a better person and us a proper couple. It felt as if she was standing over me like a snarling schoolmaster in a Pink Floyd video. Yeah, this wasn’t going my way but down the rabbit hole I go because I love this man and only through teshuvah, repentance, can I make proper amends. “I’m sorry.”
“About?”
I groaned. He was going to make me say it, say it all. “I was manipulative. I got you here because I was lonely.”
“Right, very good.” Angus was loving this. He was teasing me, using his master status in our subtle yet elaborate BDSM relationship to make up for the control I’d exercised over him – the control that I misused to get him to make whatever acrobatics he had to do so to get here and see me. He leaned over and touched the side of his mug. “My water is cold and the tea is overdone. Make me another.”
I got up and replied, “Yes, Your Lordship.”
When I came back from the kitchen, Angus was no longer in the bed but in the shower. He came out quickly though, very clean and quite fresh, long auburn hair dripping wet, walking toward me like something out of a Baywatch episode, only without the swim trunks. When he reached me, I handed him his freshened cup and he gave me the newly cleaned sex toy. “I suggest you grease this up good. I’m not going to let you cum until I’m done drinking this.”
The vibrator is called “The Milker” for its stimulation of the prostate. It is meant to be moved in and out of the anus slowly while the faint shaking offered another massaging feature. This meant that not cumming quickly was damn near impossible. The idea of it already had me on edge. “Yes, Your Lordship,” my voice quivered as I dropped my boxers and got on the bed.
He pulled a chair and stool from the other room to the foot of the bed then sat down, leaning back while casually alternating between sipping tea and eating a granny smith apple. “Well?” he said to tease me.
He took his time alternating between eating and sipping, applying this maddening punishment. I was a heap of shaking, screeching, sweaty cum, having leaked sperm all over my thighs. He left the room, me laying on the bed, the cold air drying the sticky mixture stuck to my body and entrapping my feelings. By the time he came back, tears were streaming down my face and I was shaking again albeit for a different reason. Angus quietly came over with warm and dry wash towels to clean me. Before sitting down on the bed, he covered me with my blanket. “I’m sorry,” I finally got out.
He sat close to me and I rested my head on his shoulder. “You only have to share your fears with me. That’s what I’m here for. If you need me, don’t manipulate me. Just ask.”
I started crying again. “I didn’t think it would be this hard . . . I’m so overwhelmed . . . I feel stupid.”
When Angus left a few days later I knew that I would owe my graduation, at least in part, to him.
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