By Hunter Perez

My brother was getting married in Calgary and he asked me to attend the ceremony. When I informed Simon that I would be traveling to Canada for the wedding, he volunteered to be my plus-one and added, “This way, we can have our honeymoon before we get married.”

Of course, marrying Simon was the last thing on my mind, so I diplomatically – or dishonestly, depending how you view it – informed him the ceremony would be a small affair for immediate family only. When he started to sulk, I offered him the consolation prize of house-sitting my apartment during my absence. This was a godsend to him, as he was having problems at home – his roommate was unhappy that Simon somehow set fire to their kitchen while making toast. Well, those things happen if you’re Simon.

My week in Calgary was a lot of fun, but the journey home was torture – I had to get up at 3:00 a.m. to be at the airport for a 5:00 a.m. flight to Toronto, where I would change planes to fly home. Unfortunately, the Toronto flight was delayed for several hours, and the ride from the airport during the afternoon rush hour traffic was an assault on the senses. And all through this horrific journey, I imagined that I would find my residence reduced to Simon-fueled wreckage.

To my delightful surprise, my building was not a pile of ash. Even better, my apartment appeared to be in perfect shape. My plants were still vibrant, my aquarium was full of happy fish swimming about with nary a care in the world, and the place seemed cleaner than when I left it. (I should confess that I prefer to have a quiet truce with dust rather than eliminate it from my surroundings.) Simon even packed my refrigerator, albeit with six-packs of his favorite protein shakes and three jars of his favored brand of creatine-laced peanut butter – hey, it’s the thought that counts.

I could hear the shower running and assumed Simon was therein, so I yelled out that I was home. The water shut off and Simon yelled back that he would be out in a minute. I looked about the apartment and was amazed that everything was in order – everything, it seems, except for the presence of a door in the middle of my living room floor. I walked around this unexpected object and studied it with the baffled intensity of the ape-men of “2001” who studied the black monolith that turned up outside of their cave.

Simon emerged from the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist. His ginger-blond hair was wet and messy, and his pale upper body was superhero chiseled. His good looks sometimes helped to compensate for his other deficits.

“Hey, boyfriend,” he declared while wrapping his muscled arms around me before planting a long, hard kiss on my lips. “How was Vancouver?

I wanted to remind him that he wasn’t my boyfriend, but there were other things that needed immediate attention.

“I was in Calgary,” I said when I finally freed my lips from his kiss. “Simon, what’s that door doing on the living room floor?”

Simon looked at me with his big goofy smile. “Oh, remember I told you I was taking online courses in carpentry? Well, while you were away the class was on installing a door. So, I installed a door.”

Simon then planted another deep kiss while squeezing me even tighter. I feared that my jaw and ribs were in danger of collapse, so I freed myself from his grip.

“Simon,” I continued. “Where are you installing a door? Every space here that needs a door already has one.”

Simon cupped his hands on my face and planted a quick kiss. “Oh, I have a surprise for you, Bingo! Let me show you!”

Simon grabbed my wrist and ran with me into my bedroom, stopping before the room’s closet. In place of the door that was supposed to be there was something that looked like an old-fashioned jail cell door. I looked at this door, looked at Simon, looked back at the door, and then looked at Simon with a mute expression of bafflement.

“Remember my Uncle Louis?” he said. “He has that auction company. Well, there’s the town of Monroe that’s about four or five towns away, and they’re building a new police station. They shut down the old police station that was built in the 1930s and auctioned off the fixtures and furniture from it. But there were some things that no one wanted, so Uncle Louis let me have this door, which was from the holding cells.”

“Your uncle is incredibly generous,” I said while running my fingers along the door’s iron bars.

“And I installed it all by myself, too,” Simon added. “See, it is fully functional.”

Simon pulled hard at door to demonstrate it would not fly off the hinges. He then closed the door and secure it with the key in its lock, pulling at it again to show off his handiwork. He reopened the cell door and stood beaming with pride at his achievement. I didn’t want to deflate his sense of accomplishment, but at the same time I needed to underscore the problem he created.

“Simon, you did a great job putting this up,” I said, haltingly. “But what am I supposed to do with a jail cell door where the closet door is supposed to go?”

Simon hugged me with vigor and gave me another kiss. “Bingo, do you remember when I showed you that Connor Maguire video where he was a tough correctional officer who took advantage of a hot prisoner? I thought maybe we could try something like that when we play around. Do you think I look like Connor Maguire?”

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang. I broke away from Simon and opened the door to find Jock towering over me. He wore a backwards baseball cap, wraparound sunglasses, a sweat-drenched t-shirt and too-tight shorts.

“Bingo baby!” Jock declared as he lifted me up in his huge arms and started to rub me across his chest. “How was Nova Scotia?”

“I was in Calgary, and you’re all sweaty,” I said with undisguised impatience as his body sweat transferred into my clothing.

“Oh, I went for a jog around the reservoir but forgot to bring a towel,” he laughed as he rubbed himself deeper into my upper body.

“I’m not a towel,” I yelled.

Simon stepped closer to us and exclaimed, “You can use my towel, Jock. I’m all dry.”

Jock looked over my shoulder at Simon, grinned, and then unceremoniously dropped me. “Damn, Simon, you’ve put on muscle. If you weren’t Bingo’s boyfriend, I would rob you of your innocence.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I grumbled as I looked at the sweat stains that Jock rubbed into my shirt and pants.

Jock then walked into the living room, paused and said, “Bingo, why is there a door on your floor? Is that a faster way to connect with that hot martial arts instructor who moved in downstairs?”

I turned and told Simon to show Jock what he installed. Simon led Jock into the bedroom to behold the jail cell door at the entrance of my closet. I kicked off my shoes and followed them into my bedroom.

“Damn, this is hot,” exclaimed Jock. “I was thinking of doing a prison-scene photo and video shoot, but I didn’t have a location to do it.”

Simon dropped his towel and slipped into jeans while I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled off my socks. Jock took off his sunglasses and placed them on my dresser, then he peeked into the closet to inspect its contents.

“Bingo, do you mind if I take your clothing out of the closet for a few minutes?” Jock asked. “I want to see how this would look if it could be set up as a prison cell.”

“Go ahead, just lay the clothing on that chair next to my dresser,” I said. “I am just going to lay down for a little while – I’m exhausted from my trip.”

Jock took armfuls of clothing out of the closet and placed them on the chair while I peeled off my pants and shirt. I pulled back my blanket and climbed into bed, tucking the blanket under my chin. I watched the sweaty Jock carefully empty my closet, with the shirtless Simon lending a hand. I found this unlikely show rather entertaining – they were both tall, muscular and handsome, and watching them work was a nice distraction. I slipped off my underwear and began to rub my crotch.

“You can leave the stuff on the top shelf near the doorframe,” Jock told Simon. “That won’t be in the camera range.”

Jock stood at the opening of the mostly-empty closet and began to bob and weave like a bird – he always did that when he wanted to envision a camera set-up. He closed the newly installed cell door, opened it, and closed it again.

“Hey, Bingo, can you come over for a few minutes?” Jock called out. “I want to get an idea of how this would look with a prisoner and jailer.”

My arousal evaporated immediately. “No, I don’t want to be part of your photo shoots anymore. Just pose Simon at the door.”

“Simon isn’t right to be a prisoner,” Jock answered. “He needs to be on the outside looking in. He’d be a perfect jailer for what I’m planning. Don’t you think he looks like Connor Maguire?”

“Why do I keep getting asked that question?” I said. “Jock, just use your imagination. I want to get some rest.”

Jock exhaled with impatience as he walked over to my bed, pulled back my blanket and dug his large arms under my naked body. “This will only be for a few minutes, pal,” he stated as he scooped me off the bed, carried me across the room and deposited me into the closet. Jock closed the iron cell door and I rushed to push it back open. Jock pushed back harder, putting a broad shoulder to the iron bars while locking the door and pulling out the key. I wrapped my hands around the bars and pushed at the locked door.

“This is my home,” I complained. “Let me out of here.”

Jock held up the key before his face before shoving it into the back pocket of his shorts. “And you’re my prisoner until I’m ready to let you out. The longer you create problems, the longer you’ll be in there. Maybe all night, if you’re lucky – and knowing you, Bingo, you’ll be lucky.”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?” I yelled.

“Look on the upper shelf on the left near the wall,” Jock answered. “Remember our camping trip from last year? I saw that you still have your little portable potty stored up there. Now just behave, Bingo, and you’ll be out before your bladder rebels against you.”

I stood at the door of the newly created imprisonment, my hands clutched tightly on the bars, watching as Jock pulled out his cell phone from a front pocket. He directed Simon to stand to the right of me with his arms folded across his chest.

“Now, Simon, give me a smug smile,” Jock said as he held up his phone to photograph us. “Bingo, look over at Simon with that annoyed expression. Now, hold that pose.”

Jock clicked away with his phone’s camera as he weaved back and forth and up and down, trying different angles for his shots. He ordered Simon to strike different poses – flexed biceps, hands in his pocket, and one with a hand over my crotch – while creating more photos. After about five minutes, he turned his back to us and studied his phone while muttering “Wow!” and “Hot!”

“Guys, look at these shots,” he said as he came to the door and held up his phone. He swiped the phone’s screen to share the photos he took. I will admit that Simon looked very sexy standing shirtless in jeans – but to my eyes, I felt I was ridiculous standing naked behind bars.

“Are you going to use these photos?” Simon asked.

Jock laughed and shook his head. “No, these are just test photos. The lighting in here is a bit harsh – with the proper light set-up and filters, I could create something that’s really exciting. Guys, I’m going to rush home and get my equipment. I should also probably shower, too, after my jog. Give me about 90 minutes or two hours and I will be back.”

Jock excitedly raced out of the room, and I quickly called out, “Jock, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Jock turned around with a confused look. Simon went to the dresser and picked up Jock’s sunglasses.

“You forgot these, Jock,” Simon said while handing him the sunglasses.

Jock grinned and winked at Simon as he took the sunglasses and ran out. Simon came over and looked at me with his goofy smile and said, “I like your pal Jock.”

I took a deep sigh and shook my head with despair. “Simon, isn’t there something else that Jock forgot?”

Simon looked at me blankly for a minute – I could almost hear his brain trying to come up with an answer. I ran my index finger across the iron bars and pointed at the door’s lock. Simon’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly when he realized my dilemma.

“Well, he said he’d be back shortly,” Simon said in a faint whisper.

“Yes, but for the next 90 minutes or two hours I am going to be locked in here,” I complained. “What am I supposed to be doing while he’s away?”

Simon furrowed his brow, then smiled slightly. “Well, we could rehearse the scene he’ll probably want us to do.”

Simon opened and pulled down his pants, rubbing his cock gently with one hand while pointing with the other for me to get down on my knees. I looked at him with astonishment and began to prepare myself for a scream that could have brought down the walls. Instead, I took a deep breath, nodded, and slowly went to my knees while pressing my face against the iron bars.

“Well,” I thought to myself as Simon’s cock began to rub across my lips. “There are worse ways to kill a couple of hours.”

To Be Continued