Weekend at Garrett’s – Part 07

© 2023 Bostonleatherman

…“I see.”

You knew you’d need to spend the better part of the afternoon preparing a Bolognese for Garrett once you got home from the market with everything, so you’d better get going, you told yourself. You’ll need to be quick about your foray – you knew the sauce must simmer for a while once it’s prepared and you didn’t know what time Garrett wanted to eat. You didn’t need any more demerits by not having dinner ready when he wanted. Garrett awards you points that you can ask to redeem for various reasons – things like having a smoke, using the toilet, having restraints be removed for a time (or at least loosened), being allowed to eat at the table and not on the floor out of a dog bowl. Things like that.

The system is known only to Garrett. You never know what he’ll decide deserves some points and how many you’ll get, nor do you know when he’ll move some to the debit column for a reason that you didn’t know was under consideration. And his point value is fluid; sometimes a smoke will cost you two points, other times five. Once it was ten. Hence your desire to conserve where you can.

Another reason you were in a hurry to get the marketing done was that the weather was unseasonably hot and humid. You love hot summers, but the forecast for your visit was approaching a record. It would be a slog back and forth to the market, especially carrying you-don’t-know-how-many bags on your return. The kitchen would heat up as you cooked and the closet Garrett made you sleep in did not have a vent. The only air in there is what came in under the one-inch gap between the floor and the double doors, which thankfully had about a 1/8” gap between them when they were closed. You wanted to stay in the air conditioning as long as you could.

But the real reason you wanted to make short work of your errand was the leather shirt, pants, and boots Garrett made you wear this afternoon. One of the deals this weekend is that you would be in leather 24/7. And to be clear – you were the one who chose to bring no other street clothes with you this weekend.  Your jeans and shirt were still soaked, so by default all you had to wear to the market was the gear Garrett set out for you. You asked Garrett if you could change into some of his street clothes while you were out and he said…

“Sure. But it’ll cost you a hundred points.”

“A hundred points!?! That’s ridiculous! I can’t afford to lose that many!”

“Watch your tone, boy.”

[ugh] “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. But a hundred points – I don’t think I have many more than that.”

“One-oh-seven to be precise.”

Seven points for smoking, toilet privileges, fewer restraints… Any one of those could deplete your balance and then where would you be?

“But who knows, you might be able to earn points back.”

“How many? For what?” you asked eagerly.

You knew it was futile to ask. Garrett just lifted his palms up, shrugged his shoulders and gave you a smirk. And so, you chose to save your points for the important things and grabbed your phone, wallet and mirrored sunglasses before heading out, geared as you were, into the midday sun. But not before Garrett removed your mirrored sunglasses.

“You don’t need these.”

He took your sunglasses and swapped them with your leather miner’s cap.

“The brim should help keep the sun out of your eyes.”

You hadn’t given enough consideration to the reaction, or your reaction to the reaction, that your appearance on the street would draw when you weighed that against what you’d be forced to give up once you ran out of points. Every person you passed on your walk stared at you as you walked by. The comments some people made as they passed were not intelligible. But you had no problem understanding the giggles and outright laughter in some cases that you heard behind you. Seeing a man in leather in the evening might be one thing, but seeing one midday on a steamy, hot Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer was another. You had no shades to hide behind and you were mortified. You picked up your pace to reduce your exposure to people on the street but that only made you break into a sweat even faster than you undoubtedly would have. You stared straight ahead and focused on the market that you knew was three blocks ahead.

The rush of air conditioning you felt upon entering was incredible. You stood inside just beyond the door for a moment enjoying your bliss. Until you weren’t. “OMG, do you see that guy?” roused you at about the same time you started to feel a chill from the effect of the market’s heavy air conditioning on your sweaty body. The chill quickly turned to cold. A shivering leatherman in a grocery store… great. “Alright.” you told yourself. “Get what you need and get the fuck out of here.”

You found the produce, herbs, meat, and pasta you needed after some uncomfortable wandering in the unfamiliar store and went to the self-serve checkout; the fewer people you had to look in the eye, the better. You decided to pack it all into one heavy bag – gone were the days of plastic bags with handles, so you doubled it for safety – and made a hasty exit out into the heat and humidity. The sun on your black-clad body felt good, though you knew it wouldn’t last. Smirks, stares, and giggles met you again on the street and you quickly crossed it to what you hoped was a less congested sidewalk. It wasn’t. Was being able to smoke and use a toilet this weekend more important than the shameful experience you were now forced to endure? Ultimately, yes. You tell yourself that this will soon be over and you will once again have protection from public humiliation when back in the safety of Garrett’s apartment. And to that end, you narrowed your gaze and kept it focused on the long view in an effort to shut out those nearby. If you don’t see them, they don’t see you. They don’t see you, then there’s nothing for them to make fun of. But you knew that didn’t really work. The humiliation you feel is still there. Up ahead, less than two blocks, was Garrett’s apartment building. I’ll be out of this soon, you thought!

<<DING>> <<BUZZ>> A text message. Damn it. You shifted the bag of groceries to your left arm and worked your phone out of your back right pocket. Your pants are tight and a little clammy from all your sweat but you finally freed your phone and saw a message from Garrett:

[out of fiji grab 4 at mkt]

“Motherfucker” you think.

[almost there can come in drop bag off and get drink of water]

[I know]


[and no]

[get 5 drink 1 on way bak]

[wtf] You think better of that, delete it, and text him [k]

[g boy]

Really? Motherfucker. You turn and trace your steps back to the market. The bag of groceries is getting heavy and you’re in a full sweat again. Motherfucker. You face all new observers on your way back to the market. But their disdain and ridicule are the same.

You feel the cold upon entering the market but waste no time this go-round. It’s right to the bottled water section. Or so you think. You thought you remembered which aisle it was on, but luck is not in your favor today. You end up two aisles off. Once you find it, you grab five litre-size bottles of Fiji water and juggle them carefully on your way to the self-serve checkout. Which now has a line, of course. Fuck. Is there no end to your indignity? Apparently not, because a couple of teenage boys are behind you in the line and start harassing you.

“Hey, fag.”

You ignore them.

“I said, ‘hey fag.’”


That sinking feeling starts to grow in your gut. Are these kids gonna try anything? While you’re about their size, there are two of them and only one of you. Your humiliation morphs into something else. At least you have the protection of a crowded market. They wouldn’t try anything here. In broad daylight. Would they? Just as one of the checkouts frees up, you hear

“YO, FAG!!!”

You feel several people stop in their tracks and look at them and then at you. Fight or flight? You consider dropping everything and sprinting back to Garrett’s. That won’t go well, arriving without the full order from Garrett, but mostly because you’re in tight leather and boots, already sweating, and it’s 90-something degrees outside. Fuck.

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