By Hunter Perez

Jock is my best friend and I love him dearly, but there is one thing about him that I dread and that involves his penchant for party giving. It’s not that he’s a bad host – far from it. In fact, his parties are extraordinarily generous regarding the delicious foods being served (most of which he creates in his kitchen) or the selection of beverages made available (some of the most expensive wines and spirits I’ve ever enjoyed).

My problem is that Jock never seems to realize that I don’t fit in with his social set. The guests at Jock’s parties can be divided into three categories. First, there are the money boys – the trust fund babies, the day traders, the hedge fund jockeys and investment bankers who gather and compare their portfolios and share insider tips on the next hot stock. Second, there are the gym bros – they wear the tight t-shirts that show off their musculature while they babble about supplements, steroids and iron pumping. Third, there are the bears – the leather clad beefy guys who congregate on the back porch to smoke their cigars and talk about whatever it is that bears talk about. I’ve never been able to eavesdrop on them, hence my ignorance regarding their conversations.

And lost in this universe is little me – with no money to burn, no biceps to flex and no reason to be accepted among the bears, I am the odd man out at the party. When I try to beg off attending Jock’s parties, he is insistent that he has a hitherto unknown friend for me to meet. I’ve met several of these people and our conversations rarely go beyond the “pleased to meet you” level.

Mercifully, Jock has a beautiful piano and I possess a better than average musical ability. Thus, I am always the party’s live entertainment. Occasionally, a guest will compliment me on my playing or make a tune request – that is usually the only time someone at the party realizes my presence and engages me in small talk.

When this past summer transitioned to autumn, Jock opted to have a party celebrating the seasonal change. I tried to convince Simon to join me, but he claimed to be unable to get time off from his gas station job. I suspect he was not being truthful, but I understand – considering that I always badmouth the parties to him, why would he be eager to attend a happening that I never praised?

For this particular party, I arrived late, made myself a very generous vodka and tonic, and immediately sat at the piano to play Scott Joplin’s concert waltz “Bethena” – yeah, I was being a show-off.  As the music began, some of the guests at the party called out to me, which I acknowledged with a smile and a nod, and the graceful elegance of Joplin’s music coupled with the warmth from my drink put me in a good mood.

While I was playing, a guy I didn’t recall from earlier parties came over to the far side of the piano. He was typical of most of Jock’s pals – tall, broad shouldered, well-built and handsome. He had a deep tan, a chiseled jaw, cobalt blue eyes and a very expensive haircut. His tweed sports jacket was impeccably tailored, while his crisp white shirt complimented his gym-crafted chest. His khaki slacks hugged his thickly muscled legs – I know it is a cliché, but they looked as if they were painted on. And he had a large, ostentatious wristwatch that probably cost more than my annual earnings. He looked as if he would be welcomed by both the money boys and the gym bros in their respective circles, but there he was watching little me.

I smiled slightly and nodded to him, then I returned my gaze to the piano’s keyboard. After about 20 seconds, I looked up again and he was still there, staring intensely at me with furrowed eyebrows while the right side of his mouth curled into a lopsided grin. I couldn’t read his expression and began to feel uncomfortable with his attention. I went back to studying the keyboard and allowed a minute to pass before looking up at him again, only to discover he was still fixated on me.

After the piece concluded, there was a light applause from the other guests but none from this guy watching me. Suddenly, Jock showed up – he wore a tight pink sweater and jeans, looking very preppy.

“Billy Boy,” Jock said loudly while putting one arm around his guest’s shoulders while using his other to point at me. “You finally get to meet Bingo.”

Billy Boy’s half smile broke into a full grin and he laughed, though I detected no jollity in his amusement. “So, that’s the famous Bingo who saved your life?” he said in a deep baritone laced with a slight Dixie twang.

A few seconds after hearing him speak, a strange sensation seized me. I knew that voice all too well – it was a long time since I heard it, but it was impossible not to recognize it. I took a closer look at the guest and tried place the face to the voice. The face I recalled was heavier and bearded, with long hair down to his shoulders. The body I recalled was bulkier and not so dapper in appearance – torn overalls or dirty jeans and a ratty t-shirt rather than tailored finery. And the eyes I recalled were more lackadaisical when I used to look into them.

“Billy Boy and I were in the Army together,” Jock told me. “I told him all about that night when we first me and you saved me from those thugs outside the bar. I owe my life to Bingo.”

“Quite the little life saver,” Billy Boy chimed in, his broad smile reverting to a smirk.

I gulped quietly. It was him, that voice was not something I could forget. And I realized that he knew I recognized him. I was not eager for this encounter to go on, but I had no exit plan.

Mercifully, Jock turned and nudged Billy Boy, motioning to someone behind me.

“Excuse us, Bingo,” Jock said. “Billy Boy’s in town to speak with angel investors for his new venture. Ralphie just walked in and I want make an introduction. You know, Billy Boy’s great idea and Ralphie’s money will make a killer coupling.”

Jock guided Billy Boy from the piano and they left without looking back to me. I rose and went to the bar to make myself an even stronger vodka and tonic, and then went back to the piano, took a long drink, began to softly play a mix of old show tunes. And I remembered when Jock’s friend was in my life – except back then, he was Big Bill.

It was about five or six years ago, before I met Jock – and before he renamed me “Bingo” – and I used to spend my spare time and money on escorts. The guy in question promoted himself as Big Bill and his advertisement on the escort website promised clients: “Are you ready to have Big Bill, the Redneck Bully, put you in your place?”

At first, I would hire him for silly scenes – I’d be handcuffed behind my back and he’d flex and pose and rub against me, teasing me endlessly about my inability to touch him or myself.

“Hump my leg, little piggy,” he’d laugh in his thick Southern drawl as he thrust a thick thigh into my groin, causing me to rub up and down on him while I whined to be uncuffed. It was an hour’s demented fun and I enjoyed his company – he was cute, perhaps a bit corny in pushing his Dixie voice to a Mayberry extreme, and I always savored when I’d finally get uncuffed and be enveloped in a bear hug with his thick arms.

As time went on, our sessions evolved with more scenarios. I bought a time safe and gave him permission to either uncuff me or to lock the handcuff keys in the safe for a couple of hours, at which point I would need to wait and then unlock myself in his absence. I was able to free myself from such a predicament, but he never left me locked up – he claimed he couldn’t be comfortable if became stuck and couldn’t get help. Another time, I would spend most of the session on the living room floor, face down and handcuffed, and he’d sit on my couch with his boots on my face and back while he watched a ball game on television and reminded me of my status as his foot rest. We once did the a similar scenario while I was handcuffed and locked in a hall closet as he watched sports on television – I would listen to the broadcast while trapped in the dark and fantasize about being in his arms while watching television. I would also attempt to decipher his whispered phone conversations he made while the game was in progress. It was a lot of fun.

Starting in the late spring and going into mid-autumn, Big Bill would come by my place every two or three weeks. During that time, I made a few attempts to learn more about him. But except for claiming an Arkansas upbringing, he offered no clues about his life outside of his escorting. I respected his privacy and never pried further.

When Thanksgiving rolled around in late November, I left town and spent the holiday week in Las Vegas. For once, good fortune came my way and I accumulated a ridiculous amount of cash from my casino forays. I don’t recall ever being happier – and even the dreadful traffic from the airport to my apartment didn’t spoil my good mood. But when I got home, Big Bill texted me: “Can I speak with you for a minute?” I invited him to call and he rang me within seconds.

“Buddy, can you please help me?” he said in a pained voice – I never heard him sound so anguished. “I got laid off before the holiday and I won’t be getting severance. And I won’t be able to collect unemployment for at least a month. My rent and car payment are coming up next week and I can’t cover my bills. My family can’t help and no one else I know is around to help.  You’re the last person I called, and I didn’t want to bother you because it is the holiday. But is it possible for me to do a call with you tonight?”

Big Bill’s one-hour sessions were only $200, and I couldn’t see how that would cover his expenses. “What would you charge for an overnight session?” I asked.

“Overnight?” he echoed, perhaps surprised at my suggestion. “I don’t know, no one ever asked for an overnight. What do you think is fair?”

Being packed with Las Vegas winnings, I was in a generous mood. And the prospect of having Big Bill for the night seemed like a carnal dessert to end my profitable week.

“Well, I have a few extra bucks in my pocket,” I said. “Would $2,000 work for you?”

Big Bill let out a long and anguished cry. “Oh, my God, thank you. You don’t know what this means for me. When can I come over?”

“I just got home,” I said, glancing at the clock. “It’s seven now – can you be here at eight?”

He came 15 minutes early, but I sort of expected that. He was more somber and sheepish than the usual bombastic “redneck bully” who would march in ready to play and he thanked me several times for seeing him. I finally learned what he did for a living – he was a personal trainer at a gym in another town – and I received a quick rundown of his abrupt job loss the day before Thanksgiving.

I pulled out my handcuffs from a desk drawer and presented them to him. “Let’s play.”

I turned my back to him and put my hands behind my back. Within seconds, the handcuffs were clicked tightly behind my back, then his beefy forearm put my neck in a headlock. “Yeah, little piggy, you need the Big Bill experience.”

For the next two hours we went through our usual shenanigans – I humped his legs, rubbed against him, went down on the floor to worship his boots. There were a few new moves thrown in – a hard leg scissors torture with my head pilloried in his thighs, chokeholds that rocked my body into orgiastic frenzy, and having Big Bill carry me on his broad shoulders around my apartment while he patted my backside. It was crazy fun and we laughed so hard that our sides hurt.

As time went on, he asked how I wanted to spend the night with him. At first I wanted to be uncuffed and snuggle with him, but another idea took precedence.

“Can you please tie me to a chair and let me watch you sleep?” I asked.

Big Bill looked at me strangely, then laughed and tousled my hair. “If that’s what you want, little piggy. But once you’re tied up, you ain’t getting out until morning.”

Big Bill pulled a chair and put it at the foot of the bed, ordering me to sit on it. I sat gingerly with my still-handcuffed arms around the chair’s back. I recommended some belts from bathrobes hanging in my closet and telephone wires in a desk drawer for my bonds, and I asked if I could be gagged. That question raised a guffaw as he pulled a large red and black bandana from his pocket that he stuffed in my mouth and tied tightly to the back of my head. The fabric had a raw taste that was intoxicating.

Within a few minutes, Big Bill located the bathrobe belts and telephone wire and I was immobilized in the chair. He disrobed into nakedness and straddled the chair, pushing his hairy chest into my face. I inhaled wildly through my nostrils over his sweaty scent and felt that I arrived in Heaven.

“Good piggy,” he declared. “Now, I’m gonna get some rest. You watch me sleep – and don’t you fall asleep, you hear?”

Big Bill got off me and leaped on my bed. He made himself comfortable beneath my pillow and blew me a kiss.

“Good night, little piggy,” he called out. “I’ll leave your night table light on, so you can watch me. And maybe I’ll untie you in the morning.”

Big Bill was asleep within a few minutes – he snored in a light wheeze. I sat trapped in the chair and felt waves of warmth enchanting my emotions. I tugged at the handcuffs, pulled against the restraints to my ankles and chest and bit hard into the bandana that gagged my mouth. Part of me wanted to break free from my bonds and crawl all over Big Bill with greedy abandon.

But part of me also wanted to stay restrained. In my mind, he was a perfect man and I was not worthy of being treated as his equal. My groin rocked furiously as I viewed him being so close to me, yet out of bounds for any in-depth contact. I loved being his prisoner for the night and my gaze of salacious hunger slowly morphed into a vigil for a man I imagined to be at deity status – I could worship, but from afar and without the freedom of physical expression.

Big Bill was mostly peaceful in his slumber, occasionally turning over for more comfort in his unfamiliar bed. Once during the night he sat up and squinted to see me – he puckered his lips for a kiss, laughed slightly and went back to sleep. I was thrilled that I could witness that and more thrilled that I could do nothing physically but witness his attention.

When he finally yawned into awakening, the night table clock said it was four in the morning. Big Bill sat up in bed, stretched and then flexed his biceps – he knew I was awake and I nodded happily while trying to talk through the bandana-gag. He slowly rose from the bed, stretched his naked body in slow motion, then ambled to me. He tweaked at my nipples and my nose, laughed and rubbed his hands across my hair.

“I hope little piggy enjoyed the show,” he said as he slowly began to free me. Within a few minutes, I was standing before him, all bonds released.

“This was a lot of fun,” I declared. “Can I hug you?”

Big Bill wrapped me in his great arms and lifted me into the air. He kissed me chastely on the lips and nuzzled into my neck. When I was placed down, I grabbed my cell phone and made a transfer of $2,000 to Big Bill’s online payment account.

“I hope this helps you get over the tight spot you’re in,” I said.

Big Bill’s cell phone pinged, and he viewed the message of the cash transfer with a mild smile.

“Quite the little life saver,” he said softly, looking to me somewhat sorrowfully. He hugged me – not in the wild playfulness of earlier, but in a light and almost embarrassed grasp of thanks. I offered to make him breakfast, but he politely declined and quickly put on his clothing, whispering thanks as he left.

I never saw him again – I texted him a Christmas greeting one month later, but didn’t get a response, and the month after I saw that his page was gone from the escort website.

“Do you know ‘Race Among the Ruins,’ the Gordon Flightfoot song?” came a voice from across the piano. “I think I’m the only person who knows it.”

I looked up and it was Eddie, Ralphie’s pleasant brother. He was standing at the far side of the piano where Big Bill was a few minutes earlier.

“Don’t know that one, Eddie,” I said. “I know ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,’ but that’s a bit somber for a party.”

Eddie giggled and waved. “Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s all great.”

After a few minutes and another couple of tunes, I stepped away from the piano. I noticed some part guest were already leaving, so I opted to follow them out. I couldn’t spot Jock to bid him good night, so I contacted my ride-share service to get me and went out the front door to await my ride home. It was a crisp and clear night, and the sky was rich with stars in constellations that I could not identify.

“All played out?” came a voice from behind me. I turned and saw Jock, looking at me with a quizzical expression.

“Yeah, I ran out of songs,” I said. “Thanks for having me over. It was a nice evening”

“And profitable, too,” Jock responded. “Billy Boy and Ralphie really hit it off. If Ralphie can get his dad to open his wallet, Billy Boy can get his venture going – and I can score a nice chunk of change for making the referral.”

I laughed slightly as I turned my back to Jock and looked down his driveway for my ride home. “Everyone’s making money – ain’t capitalism great?”

Jock walked behind me and crisscrossed his arms over my chest, pulling me closer to his body. “How long have you known him, Bingo?”

“What, Ralphie?” I said, playing dumb. “A few years. You introduced us.”

“No, smart-ass,” Jock replied. “I saw the way you and Billy Boy looked at each other when you were introduced. You guys have a history, don’t you?”

I wasn’t comfortable with Jock’s questioning. “I never saw him before,” I lied.

Jock pulled me tighter to him with his left arm while I felt his right hand brush across my crotch and into my front right pocket. “Funny, he seems to know you. In fact, he even knows your birth name. How did that happen?”

“Maybe we met once years ago when I was bartending or waiting tables and I had to wear a name tag,” I claimed.

Jock’s hand exited my pocket and he let me go. “There are two types of people in this world – those who take and those who give. For as long as I’ve known you, Bingo, you’ve done nothing but give. Once in a while, you need to take. Hey, there’s your car – I’ll call you in the morning.”

Jock slapped my backside as my ride came up the driveway. Within a few minutes, I was back in my apartment, glad to be away from the party. I turned on my bedroom light and started to empty my pockets before taking off my pants when I felt something that was not there at the start of the evening. I pulled out a small envelope – Jock must have slipped that in when he was cuddling me outside his front door. I opened the envelope and pulled out a slip of paper – it looked like a torn piece of scrap paper – and read the note that it carried.

“I’m sorry that we couldn’t spend more time together tonight,” the note said. “And I am even more sorry that I never properly thanked you for saving my life. I hope the enclosed is an appropriate token of my appreciation, and then some. Your pal, Big Bill.”

The enclosed? I looked into the envelope and there was another piece of paper – a check made out to me for $5,000. I eyes popped and I had trouble breathing for a few seconds when I looked at the sum.

“Oh, Big Bill,” I said to myself. “I bet Jock shamed you into doing this. But you didn’t have to.”

I put the check and the note on my night table and sat on my bed in confusion. I couldn’t believe what I received, from an act of a few years back that I rarely thought about. How in the world did this happen?

I laid back on my bed and looked the ceiling, reeling from the shock of Big Bill’s check. I never asked to be paid back – he offered a fun service that I enjoyed. But I was paid back, and then some. I remembered what Jock said – “Once in a while, you need to take.” I felt strange being in such an unfamiliar situation.

I closed my eyes and recalled that night from five years back. I could start to experience the scent of Big Bill’s sweaty chest, the metallic lock of the handcuffs on my wrists, and the raw fabric of his bandana tied in my mouth. My thighs tingled at the solid musculature of Big Bill’s leg as I humped him and my face could feel the bottom of his boot when he pinned me to the floor. My body tingled as the memory of that now-distant playtime entertained my senses. If I could, I would turn around and repay Big Bill with the money he gave me for another session in his company and in his custody.

“Good night, Big Bill,” I whispered as my imagination put me back in his bondage. I breathed deeply and soon fell into a deep and happy sleep.

The End