from the desk of the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Reese

(be kind!  still working on this one - A.G. Davis)

November 24th

     Percy Douglas has been a mate, no associate, since uni.  We met at a bar in Manchester after a particularly nasty long night of pints, shots, and shotty social interactions.  I was with some blokes from the languishing aristocracy surviving like snake necklaces around the necks of the mercantile rich.  My title made them feel special.  I wanted a connection to their fathers, the holders of the family gold.  I would later use those connections to improve my family's fortune, ensuring my great grandchildren will want for nothing.  That's venture capitalism for you.
   
     Percy was an exception and maybe that's why he and I got along, at least initially.  He came from the Mayflower set, folks from America's upper east coast who could trace themselves and their millions as far back to 1650 - he already had enough status.  We hung out over the summer before my 4th year, his 5th.  He really didn't want to go to school as much as he wanted to gain a British accent and suck the breasts of British slappers.  We had multiple group encounters, typically three or four women at a time.  Yeah, a couple of fit blokes dropping a few grand around the bar got the attention of plenty.  Then he got called back home by daddy (he gambled more than I, usually the roulette tables while I was more of a poker man) and our contacts quickly fell into the occasional Facebook update picture.  I hadn't heard from him in over 3 years.

     So you can imagine my surprise when he showed up at my wedding.  I saw Percy shortly before the traditional first dance.  The guests were just finishing dinner.  Deetz had reluctantly gone over to chat with some of his family when I spotted Percy standing in line at the bar.  I didn't remember inviting him but was nevertheless ready to start the full process of explaining my apparent last-minute decision to follow my heart, not just my dick.

     When I came up to him, slapping him on the back customarily, he unexpectedly snarled at me.  "Percy!  So good to see you.  I didn't know you were in town."  Shit, that must of sounded horrid.  Cardiff is not London - folks don't just happen to come here.

    I initially thought my social faux pau caused his reaction.  How wrong can I be? 

    "You didn't tell me you were gay," he slurred, snatching his scotch from the bartender.

    "Most folks come to a wedding to support the couple, not to malign them," I responded, not so much angry but curious.  "I didn't take you for a homophobe."

    "Why didn't you tell me?"

    "Tell you what?"

    He gulped the double shot and shook the glass at the bartender motioning for more.  Then he looked at me like my two heads had two heads.  "Why not me?"

    "Pardon?" 

    "You heard me!" Percy nearly shouted.  "What has he got that I don't?"

     I guided the man away from the bar and some prying ears.  Plus, the music was getting louder, preparing everyone to transition from a dinner party to dance hall.  I didn't want the man to embarrass himself.  "I'm sorry Mate but you have me at a loss."

    He looked at me incredulously, shook his head again, now held low before sighing.  He eventually admitted, "I suppose it is my fault.  Maybe I should have said something . . . all those times we, we partied together . . ."  He finished the second drink.  "You're right.  How could you know?  I never said anything so why would you even broach it.  But damnit!  All those women!  Dude, how did you do it?"

    "Fuck them?"

    "Yeah!  I mean that was a lot of work to prove you ain't no fag."

    "But, Percy it sounds like your gay."

    He stopped and thought a moment then replied, "I suppose you're right."

    I didn't know what to do, what to say.  A defeatest countenance cloaked his face and tapped at my heart.  "It's a new day.  There is much less stigma.  Look at all the people here tonight.  There is genuine support out there now."

    He looked at his empty shot glass, probably contemplating another drink.  He shook his head yet again.  "I doubt my wife would be so welcoming, let alone my oldest son.  He hopes to run for Senate one day."  He put the glass down and looked at me directly.  "I was in London on business and read about the nuptials.  I have to admit to a few shots before arriving.  I just had to see you.  You look even better than when we were at school."

   I waved over Simms, the estate's butler.  "Simms, please call the car.  Mr. Douglas is returning to his hotel."  Simms nodded at Percy signalling him to follow.  I gave my friend an apologetic look.  "It was good to see you, Percy.  Deetz and I are going out-of-town for a bit but why don't I reach out when we get back."

  He smiled weakly and said, "Deetz is his name?"

  "Desmond.  Deetz's is his nickname."

  "Desmond is a very lucky man."  He shuffled away behind Simms. 

   Shortly thereafter, Deetz came up to me.  "Hey, who was that?"

   "Percy Douglas.  We went to uni together but I haven't seen him in years."  And I would never see him again.  A few months after we returned from our next mission for MI-6's Department of Alien Affairs, a mutual friend posted notice of Percy's death by suicide.

   "Why didn't he stay?  The dancing is about to start."

   "Said he had to get back.  Business and all."  First rule of marriage I think is that complete honesty with your partner has its limits. 

   "Oh well, his loss!  C'mon hubby, our audience awaits."

   I sighed as dancing is one of my favourite activities and the one I am least capable of, or so the love of my life tells me. 
   

from the diary of the 12th Earl of Glamorgan, Angus Reese

October 22nd – 2:45 am

This is the second time I’ve had sex with a man.  Well, maybe the third if you count the blowjob tonight in the back of that gay bar.  What was that place called?  And who has full out fucking after being attacked and nearly killed?  Deetz saved my life.  He took on all five of those bodybuilders – who thought I’d be friendly when they saw me in the bathroom - threw them around like a ragdoll in the hands of a rageful three-year-old.  I’ve known this man since childhood and I was typically the one defending him.  But years of reclusive living and martial arts training all over the world has made his muscles tight and his body lean.  He’s lying here next to me in my bed at family’s London townhouse, Churton Place.  And I want to touch him – make sure he’s real, this is real, and if how I’m feeling is real.  Does that make me homosexual or bisexual? 

And what about that blowjob, eh?  You know, I’ve had my fair share of exhibitionistic sexcapades – backs of limos, single-engine planes, even driving on the Autobahn.  They have all been satisfying, thrilling even.  This was different though.  Other times things would end with predictable release and relief.  This time though, it was so amazing, I wasn’t sure it didn’t happen to someone else and I just watched.  I felt vulnerable and powerful all at the same time. 

I insisted on going out tonight.  I lied to Deetz and to myself – saying I wanted a kick, a bit of a laugh.  I told him, I’ve had gay friends, but we’d never been to town together.  Since the first time Deetz and I fucked, a short while ago in his sister’s cottage back home, I was curious, no eager, no hungry to have that orgasm again.  Before this, sexual pleasure was like a slot machine where the house always wins.  Could it be that all the women I’d been with were selfish cows bending over so compliantly because it was what was expected of them?  Some were probably just ignorant, having never thought of what would pleasure them.  And for all their bragging, most blokes are just as sexually blind.  I, however, can’t cower behind such foolishness.  I’ve been schooled.  Mistress told me my mate had to be ‘someone born to serve’, ‘someone who gets pleasure from taking care of me but won’t let me get away with my shit’ and be ‘a check on my power’.  Is the son of my father’s valet my soulmate?

Deetz and I almost didn’t go, between trouble finding a suitable club and his sexy casual outfit that was acting as his body’s psychedelic highlighter.  I think the jeans were thanking him for the privilege of hugging his skin.  Then there was the beige silk shirt that barely contained all his tattoos and the brand on his back that lights up like an electronic menorah when he cums.  Deetz is a Jew with Druid blood whose lips and tongue make you feel like Bella Lugosi’s most willing victim. I get now why five o’clock shadows are so appealing to women.  Not only do they convey potential danger but add a secondary sensation when he kisses my neck.  So, I insisted on going so I didn’t jump him in the middle of the kitchen during dinner with the rest of our investigative crew.

Fast forward to loud beats, low-shelf booze, and brutal porn on the multiple screens.  I asked, no begged him to ‘show me where the fun is’.  He took me to the spot – I remember the name now, The Dungeon.  It was a nearly enclosed part of the alley behind the club, lit with black light bouncing off psychedelic paint swirled haphazardly across the plastered ceiling and concrete floor.  Pipes were erratically secured horizontally and vertically along a maze of walls - a wide, winding passage that smelled like 14-year old yearning.  The plumbing seemed nonsensical until you noted the people and objects chained to people that were secured to those pipes.  “I should have brought my handcuffs,” I think Deetz said.  The live show of men fucking and sucking one another in every position but fully prone all around me wasn’t what made me hard.  It was when Deetz lifted my hands above my head.  “Tie, tie, tie,” I know he said while pushing my wrists against a horizontal post.  I responded like Pavlov’s dog as the command was a familiar one from my time with Mistress.  The best training for a future Dom was to serve as a Sub.  I enjoyed the hell out of those three years. 

Deetz has these weird kinda psychic powers.  He senses your emotions by touching you or something you’ve recently touched.  Pressed against that wall, his hands rubbed up and down my torso like an MRI taking slices of my soul.  He paused at my hips then broke out in a huge grin.  His brown eyes formed ebony balls as he kissed me while undoing my fly.  His lips were playful, lightly pressing then darting away.  He reached past my fly and cupped my balls, rolling them gently in his warm hand.  I lifted up on my toes then came down to give him more of them.  He stopped kissing and closed his eyes, exhaling then leaning back slightly.  Then he opened his eyes and stared at me as if the secrets of the universe had just arrived in his mind like an urgent email.  He squatted, pulled out my cock, and started licking it like I was his favourite flavour Tootsie Pop. 

Psychic powers were the only way he could’ve known that is what I like – that the slow, slick feel of tongue and lips moving up and down my shaft created waves upon waves of tiny orgasms that I don’t get otherwise.  It was fucking death by a million taste buds cuz I could feel every one of his quickly grasping then letting go of micro-sections of my dick’s skin.  At one point, I was so overwhelmed by the sensations, feelings surfacing that I didn’t understand, and I started to ask him to stop.  But instead, the word out of my mouth was, please.  Then he took my entire dick in his mouth and held it there, swimming in juicy, waves of warmth until my thighs stopped quivering.  He wasn’t going to let me cum yet, just set things up.  Then, he pulled back and lonely, cool air made my erection recoil slightly.  I looked down at him, confused as to why he’d stopped.  “Hold on,” he said before diving back in.

His lips massaged my head like he’d spied on me some night while I masturbated.  Deetz let his tongue massage the underbelly while his mouth pulled on it firmly, slowly at first then increasing it until his movements matched the beat of the surrounding music.  It was the spot and configuration with some extra ingredient – he took the time to learn my needs and was enjoying the giving, signs of a true Sub, according to Mistress.  Most people want my company to get access to my wealth, my connections, or just to say they slept with royalty (remember that model and ‘internet sensation’ two years ago?).

I was near the edge but something kept me from just letting go.  Self-doubt began to surface.  This whole thing – this experiment in man-on-man love – the ride I was on seemed ripe for taking other chances.  If I was going to be vulnerable, would he be so also?  I took a chance.  I released one of my hands and placed it on the side of his head.  I looked at him intently, massaging his ear until he looked at me.  “Look at me while I do this to you.”  He inhaled deeply as I pressed his head tight against my crotch and felt him swallow my dick.  One time. Two times.  The third time and I came so hard I nearly collapsed.

I regained my composure and my breath to find him still squatting in front of me, balanced on his heels like a poster child for Southeast Asia’s tourist industry.  He was still looking at me, with a smug smile, while wiping the excess spit and cum from the corners of his mouth.  “Your Grace is satisfied?”

A challenge, eh?  I squeezed his chin and lifted his head back with a slight jerk.  Shaking my exhausted penis at him, I commanded, “You left a spot.  Clean your mess.”

He licked all around my head like a mop hunting for dirt and a pay raise.  He had me aroused again – ah, the blessings of being under 30!  This time though I was directing the show.  When I felt close, I grasped my shaft and pulled it out of his mouth.  He had fallen into some trance and kept his mouth open once I was out.  I dropped my head on his tongue, sticking halfway out of his mouth.  Resting my head there, I reached below and massaged my balls.  I nodded at him and he replaced my hands, his fingers quickly finding the intensity I like.  I came again, this time more quietly, drops of sperm rested on his tongue.  He knew what to do with it once I was done.

Deetz stood up, a bit wobbly but smiling like the cat who finally caught the mouse.  He kissed me in a perfunctory but giddy manner, like someone on their first date – more gratitude and lust than kindness and love.  He seemed pleased with himself – pleased that he had so thoroughly satisfied me?  And in some sick, royalist, man-taking-over-the world-cuz-I’m-ordained-by-the-Almighty-to-do-so, I felt a sense of power that the Roman’s must have had when they overran Gaul.  Deetz Mac Innes has opened, no touched that part of me that I’ve long to share with someone.  It was sexual desire driven by ego, DNA, and White privilege.  If I was bothered by my desires and BDSM predilections it was only that more people didn’t have the freedom I have to indulge similarly.

Standing with my dick in the wind, all I could think of was that I wanted, no needed more.  I was hungrier than ever to see this experiment, no experience, to its natural end – whatever THAT would look like.  Deetz’s gleeful eyes made me think it was time to go home and finish fucking, which we did after the slight detour into self-defence.  But when we finally got there, I tapped that ass.  And by “tapped” I mean Exxon can only dream about that session of drilling production.  Now, Deetz is asleep on his stomach, his brand still shimmering, black embers occasionally popping like watery fireworks against his skin.  His breathing is a quiet, steady hum and his eyes are moving rapidly behind his closed lids.  Is he dreaming?  Is he dreaming about me?

The sleeping man felt the eyes of his lover.  “You okay?” Deetz mumbled while turning over onto his side, his face near Angus’s thigh.

“Yeah, just jotting some things down for my meeting tomorrow,” Angus lied.  He had prepared his notes days ago.  “Go back to sleep.  We’ve gotta be up early.  I’ll need your help in the morning.”

Deetz yawned, “Yes, your Grace,” he said before kissing Angus’s thigh and turning over like the dutiful wife in some 1950’s, middle-aged marriage.

Angus stared at his best friend for some time while, his eyes lingering around the naked man’s edges and curves.  He wondered, if this continued, what would he tell his family?  His associates at the Club would look askance and give him the silent treatment.  Would he have to say something to the King and Queen?  They were his godparents after all.   Angus Reese suddenly felt something mega-rich, white men aren’t supposed to feel.

Fear.

Gotta get a dinner here!

Eating in an igloo in London!