By Hunter Perez

It was around four in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and I was in my apartment flicking the television remote control in search of something to watch. I planned to be alone for the holidays and, to be frank, I was enjoying my time to myself. Then my phone rang and I saw it was from Jock.

“Bingo, can you do me a great favor?” Jock said in a voice that sounded somewhat more tremulous than his normal tone. “Can you please drive me upstate this evening?”

“Can I drive you?” I asked, confused by the request. “You know I don’t have a car. What’s wrong with your car?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my car,” he responded. “I just got a call from the hospital – Dad was brought in with a heart attack. I was planning to drive up tomorrow morning to see him for Christmas, but I need to be there now. The news of his being in the hospital sort of shook me. With the way I feel I don’t feel comfortable doing that drive.”

Jock’s father was a great guy – a career Army man with a ton of funny stories and a great sense of fun. He was a widower and Jock was the only one of his three sons who still lived within driving distance. I spent a few weekends with Jock and his father and always enjoyed the older guy’s company – he was a great poker player and we’d have marathon games that started after dinner and lasted into the early morning hours.

While the idea of driving a great distance on the night before Christmas was not appealing, Jock was my best friend and I couldn’t turn him down while he was in a state of despair. “I’ll put some stuff in an overnight bag and meet you downstairs,” I said.

Within 15 minutes, Jock’s Mercedes pulled up in front of my apartment building. He got out and switched over to the passenger seat while I tossed my bag in the back seat and took control of the steering wheel. He looked ashen and crestfallen, far from the brash, overly confident guy I’ve come to know and love. He muttered thanks in a voice that I could barely hear. I invited him to play whatever music he preferred, but he just shook his head and stared out the windshield.

It was a strange trip – Jock sat with straight posture in total silence, sometimes closing his eyes but mostly looking into the road ahead of us. I realized he didn’t want conversation so I kept mostly silent, speaking aloud only to curse at the crazy drivers who tried to cut me off. Mercifully, traffic was nowhere near as bad as I feared, so the journey went faster than I expected. When we were coming close to exit that would have taken us to Jock’s father home, he finally spoke and softly gave me directions to the hospital. As we arrived, I dropped him at the emergency room entrance and told him I would wait outside at the car.

I passed the time trying to identify constellations in the night sky while reconnecting with a cigarette habit that I was hoping to jettison. It was close to eight in the evening when Jock came out and slid back into the car’s passenger seat.

“He’ll be okay,” he said weakly. “He might even be out tomorrow for Christmas, but most likely it will be another day or so. I have to call back in the morning.”

Jock gave me the directions to his father’s home. I asked if he wanted me to find a fast-food eatery for dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry. We reached the home and I followed him inside – the place seemed so small and sad without his father’s jolly presence, and Jock moved slowly through its space, as if he was treading across a memorial.

“I think I am going to go my room and lay down,” Jock said sadly.

“I’ll set up the sofa bed for myself,” I said – that’s where I always slept when I previously visited. “If you don’t mind, I’ll make myself a sandwich.”

Jock nodded and dragged himself off to his room, closing the door behind him. I went to the kitchen and slapped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After cleaning up, I went into the living room and started to remove the couch’s cushion to unfold the sofa bed when Jock came out of his bedroom. He was only in his briefs, but there was nothing sexy about him – he was slumped and moved lethargically, and it seemed that he would crumble at any second.

“Bingo,” he said, again in a voice I could barely hear. “Do you mind if we play for a while?”

I nodded slightly, surprised by the request. “If it will make you happy.”

Jock turned and plodded into his bedroom. I followed and found the blanket of his bed pulled back and two long bathrobe belts stretched across the pillows. He asked me to take off my shirt and to lay on my back with my wrists on the bottom rung of his brass headboard. I followed his request and he took the bathrobe belts and slowly tied them around my wrists, which he fastened to the headboard. But there was no emotion or feeling in his actions – he moved in a slow, robotic pace and watched me blankly as I surrendered my wrists to his imprisonment.

Jock sat on the bed next to me and began to slowly rub the edge of his fingers back and forth across my bare chest. He gazed at me, but even as we made eye contact I couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t looking at me. I had never seen him in such a disconnected state, and I tried desperately to think how I could get him out of it.

Jock absentmindedly ran his fingertips in a circle around my left nipple. I exaggerated an exhale and said, “Be careful, you know how sensitive my nipples are.”

He stopped for a few seconds, as if trying hard to process what I just said. He then ran his fingertips to his lips and returned them to my nipples, circling them slowly before carefully taking a slow squeeze at my chest. I giggled and began to writhe with extra gusto, pulling at my bound wrists.

“You’ve got me at a disadvantage,” I whispered with a slight chuckle.

Jock’s eyes squinted at my chest and he repeated his actions, this time squeezing harder. I let out a squeal and arched my back as the pressure on my nipples radiated across my chest.

“That’s incredible, Jock,” I sang out. “Do it again.”

And he did, repeatedly, with each squeeze being harder than its predecessor. I started to laugh and rocked back and forth under his grip. He kept squeezing with his left hand while he rubbed my crotch with his right hand. My breathing took on a staccato pace and his handling of my body became more intense.

“This is brilliant,” I yelled out. “You can’t imagine what you’re doing to me.”

I looked at him and I saw the edges of his mouth began to slowly curl into a smile. His eyes widened as each rub and squeeze electrified me more.

“I swear, this is driving me crazy – untie me, you big ox, or I’ll smack the hell out of you,” I yelled out, laughing after my threat.

Jock gave out a large, sloppy laugh. “How can you smack me if you’re tied up?”

Jock let loose with a series of loud, bellowing laughs while looking at me, which made me laugh harder. And then, abruptly, he stopped and the smile fell from his face. His eyes darted around the room before making direct contact with mine. He looked lost and I quickly regained my composure.

“Everything is okay, Jock,” I said, solemnly. “Everything is under control.”

He looked at me and started to speak, but he couldn’t get words to come out.

“Everything is good,” I continued. “Your dad will be home and we can all have a nice Christmas together. You’re not alone, Jock. You’re not alone.”

Jock leaned over me, placing his hands heavily over my bound wrists.

“Thank you, Bingo,” he said, bending down and lightly planting his lips on mine.

“We can all have a nice Christmas together,” I repeated. I felt strange – he obviously had physical control over me, yet bound to the headboard I felt that I was controlling him out of his panic.

Jock kissed me again and carefully rested on top of me. “Do you want me to untie you?”

“That’s up to you,” I said, grinning. “You need to be in control, not me.”

Jock caressed my face and then placed his face on my chest, his ear listening to my heartbeat. “I love you, Bingo. Thank you for being here for me.”

“I love you too, Jock,” I answered. “Merry Christmas.”

The End