Tuesday, August 31, 2004

69. H.S.

Batman does not know it yet, but I'm out there, waiting and watching. Fate has provided me with a most remarkable window into his secret world, one he has no idea even exists. Soon, very soon, I shall open that window and slip in, undetected.

Monday, August 30, 2004

68. Dick

Holy shit--I just spent the last three days and nights in various forms of long-term restraint, unable to sleep or eat most of the time, often unable to move... and I am more turned on than I've ever been in my entire life. I'm sure that wasn't the point of the weekend's training exercises, but I suddenly understand why Batman has spent so much of his existence seeking out such extreme situations. Coming so close to complete annihilation and then breaking free is the most amazing sensation I've ever experienced. Granted, these were controlled conditions set up by Batman and I was never in any real danger, but my mind started playing some wild tricks on me all the same.

At the end of the final session, when I could barely move, he insisted we wrestle--because, he says, the most active hand-to-hand combat usually comes at such moments, when you've just escaped a deathtrap and the only thing on your mind is taking a long crap and getting a good night's sleep but the villain is still at large. He lunged at me, knocking me to the floor. It felt so good to just lie there that all I wanted to do was pass out, but he kept screaming, "NO! NO! DON'T GIVE UP! TAKE ME DOWN! NEVER LET YOUR ENEMY GET THE UPPER HAND!" His taunts were so infuriating that finally I mustered all my remaining strength and hit him as hard as I could. When I saw what I'd done and watched his face hit the ground with a thud, I freaked out and knelt beside him, pleading. "Bruce, Bruce, I'm so sorry..."

I turned him over and saw that his eyes were wide open. There was even a smile--that rarest of expressions in the bat-repertoire--on his lips. "The name is Batman," he scolded.

There's a good chance I hallucinated this next part, but I could swear he grabbed me and pulled my masked face close to his--so close that our lips were touching and our bodies were pressed into each other's--and whispered, "You're almost ready." My mouth was dry and my joints ached as we headed to the showers. It was all I could do to keep myself from jerking off as I watched him peel off his sweat-soaked suit and then stand under the jet of hot water. lathering his taut muscles. When he was done, I removed my own uniform--as slowly as possible in an attempt to hold on to the memory of what I'd been through for the last three days--and luxuriated in the stream of water.

Bruce has given me the day off, but we're back at it tonight. That's right--this has quickly grown into a 24/7 job. No more division of night and day, at least not for a long while. And it hardly matters, since I have no other job to go to anymore.

I'm in my own apartment again, and as soon as I finish typing here I plan to give Little Robin the attention he desperately needs, and then drift off to sleep until Alfred wakes me up for the evening's workout.

I can hardly wait to get at it again.

Friday, August 27, 2004

67. Dick

Haven't written here all week because I've been so busy in the Cave, training all night and working on the Tempest case during the day. (Who would have guessed that being a superhero could be every bit as tedious as being a cubicle drone? Holy revelation!) I've been spending more and more time at "Wayne Manor" lately, as everybody seems to call the joint--it's almost like I'm living there. So I've come to truly relish these rare chances to spend some time in my own space.

Camping last weekend with Peter turned out to be pretty relaxing--so much so, in fact, that I decided to try something. On our second night in the tent, I worked up the courage to ask him if he was open to a little experimentation. He sounded willing, so I blindfolded him and then cuffed his hands behind his back. Batman has always been very strict about the boundaries between our costumed lives and our daylight selves, but I just felt like maybe I could make sex with Peter a little more interesting if I made it kinkier. It's the first time I've done anything like this--though god knows my dreams are full of similiar encounters with Bruce--and the sheer newness of the experience (and my accompanying nervousness) made the whole situation pretty fresh, at least for me. (I took the cuffs off before I removed the blindfold, so he wouldn't notice the distinctive bat motif on them.) I tried to talk to Peter about it later, but couldn't really get anything solid out of him.

Batman says his own weekend was pretty calm--mostly just working in the Cave and doing the usual early-AM patrols. I'm not entirely sure I trust him, but it's incredibly hard to tell when he's lying and when he's being straight with me. Years of practice, I guess.

The only other noteworthy event this past week came during my session with Dr. T. Once again, I rambled on about all my made-up adventures, and this time I looked up and saw that he was staring straight at me, and then noticed that--once again--I was incredibly horny. I had the strangest, strongest desire to just unzip my pants and start jerking off in front of him. The funny thing is, the next thing I remember is leaving his office; most of the rest of the hour is a blank.

(Wow, I just sort of zoned out just now; I was typing away, and then I found myself wandering around my apartment in a stupor. Weird. I'd talk to Bruce about it, except that I haven't told him anything about Tanhoger, and I don't plan to.)

This coming weekend promises no tent-sex getaways. No days off at all, in fact. Batman and I will be spending the next three days in a kind of marathon training session: all day, all night. He wants me to get used to the rhythms of his work, which very often does not follow a convenient schedule. (After all, when you're in the clutches of your arch enemy, you don't exactly get bathroom breaks or three square meals a day.) The whole fact that he's teaching me this stuff suggests that maybe he's considering sending me out into the world soon. Just a hunch--as with everything else in his world, he makes all the decisions. I'll have to wait and see.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

66. The Riddler (continued)

The remainder of our time together consisted of the usual traps and torments for old Batsy--a little hot wax here, a little time on the rack there--only he was barely dressed for most of it. Other than his mask, belt, boots, and gloves, his costume was in tatters, and I loved the look of him like that. If only the citizens of Gotham who worship him as a hero had been able to watch him crawl on all fours from one of my puzzling devices to another! He spent each night locked in a cage not much bigger than a suitcase--hard to conceive of his strapping frame smushed into such a tiny space, but he made it fit. What a guy!

We'd agreed to wrap things up by noon on Monday, so I pulled him out of the cage late Sunday night and subjected him to one last round of games. We were both about to burst at the seams when I ordered him into the bedroom, pushed him onto his stomach on the bed, chained his wrists and ankles, and started pumping away into his asscrack. Just when I was on the verge of explosion, I pulled out and let my cream fly all over his bare back. As icing on the cake (as it were), I brought my index finger into the moist puddle which had gathered on his skin and drew a large question mark.

"See you soon, lover," I teased, and then left the building. Based on past experience, I'm guessing it took him just under two minutes to free himself and another two to pack up and head for his famous "batmobile." Good thing he's got tinted windows in that car, or else the other drivers on the road at 5 AM would have seen quite a sight: the famous Batman wearing next to nothing, bruised and beaten, his backside drenched in the cum of his favorite arch-villain. And I'm pretty sure they would have caught quite the traces of a smile on his face, too.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

65. The Riddler (continued)

I slapped a black leather dog collar around Batman's neck and attached it to a long heavy chain. Before he had time to catch his breath, I dragged him across the room to my next surprise location. He was damn hard to drag, thanks to the extra weight his suit had taken on in the tank (and, of course, that magnificently muscled bod of his). As he slid across the hard surface of the floor, his suit caught on a nail or two and tore in several revealing locations.

Back in the old days, when we first starting playing, he used to put up quite a fight, full of bluster and bravado: "You won't get away with this, Riddler!" he'd brag, and "I'll make you pay for your crimes!" That sort of thing. But not this time. This time, he was mostly quiet beyond a few grunts and groans (which sounded as much like pleasure as pain if you ask me). I kicked him a time or two to see if that would inspire a retort or two, but no go.

"Whatsamatter, Catwoman got your tongue?" I teased. I'm sure he knows that it's way less fun for me when he doesn't put up a fight; I feel like I have to do all the work, and I don't even know if he's enjoying it or not. The only thing I could figure out to do was reach down and pull on his mask.

That got a rise out of him. "NO," he shouted. "We have an agreement, remember? The mask stays ON." I backed off, happy to know that he was still capable of resistance. I turned my attention to his wet suit, digging my hands into the rips and tears and pulling at the material until there was almost nothing of it left to cover his body. I did it slowly, relishing every moment. He really
does have a magnificent bod, all muscle and sinew and hair, and I straddled him in order to get closer. I ran my fingers over various ripples and ravines of his flesh, as I've done so many times in the past, and he tried hard not to look excited by my touch.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

64. The Riddler

Batman was a good little puppy and walked straight into each one of my traps this weekend in exactly the correct order. First came the snare, which wrapped around his ankle and held him upside down from a tree outside the shack until he cut himself down. He landed with a thud, RIGHT on the patch of twigs covering a nasty hole in the ground, which was absolutely FULL of mud. It took him a while to crawl out of that one, and he was one big muddy mess when he finally made it to the front door. The doorknob gave him one hell of a nasty shock but after twitching and falling to the floor for a minute or two he kept on going, just like the trouper he is. He doesn't give up easily; that's why I love him so.

The big lug was so dirty by this point that he must have appreciated the trapdoor that plunged him into a giant tank of water. I know I, for one, enjoyed watching him swim around, gasping for air, until I arrived at last to greet him.

"Looks like you've solved the riddle of why I've had to resort to robbery," I told him. "All this equipment is very, very expensive. But it's worth every penny of somebody else's money to torture you." I doubt he could hear me, but I know from past experience in these kinds of situations that he's an excellent lip reader. He pounded on the glass to be set free, but I could plainly see that he'd already located his rebreather, or whatever he calls it, and could hang out in the tank for at least another half hour before his oxygen gave out. I decided to let him stay in there as long as possible, tormenting him with riddles even though solving them provided not a single bit of useful escape advice. (Q: What kind of fish can't swim? A: A red herring!)

Just when it looked like he couldn't take another minute in the water, I scooped him out of the tank and watched while he lay on the floor, gasping for air, his costume sopping wet and clinging to his body even tighter than before.

"Hi, sweetheart," I said with a smile. "Welcome home."

Friday, August 20, 2004

63. Bruce

I have deciphered the last of the Riddler's clues; I know where he wants me to meet him, and when. (I do not dare write this information down, for fear that it will be intercepted by Alfred or Robin.)

I have given Dick the weekend off. I cannot risk him intervening. I am, I have come to realize, ashamed of my relationship with Nygma in all its complexities, of the feelings he produces within me. The fact that he -- like so many others from my circle -- has crossed over from roleplay in the realm of fantasy to committing actual crimes in the real world is appalling to me. Fortunately, his crimes thus far have not been major ones--but I hold myself responsible all the same. And, I must confess, the very thought of walking into another of Nygma's traps in the near future excites me enormously.

I dearly wish I could leave this world of villainy I am now a part of, but it is with me forever. One day, I fear, it will be my undoing.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

62. Dick

Talk about excellent timing: First Batman tells me he's giving me three nights off--Friday through Sunday--then Peter calls with an offer to go camping this weekend. I'm not big on camping (unless you count dressing up in red and green tights and calling myself "Robin" in a rich guy's basement), but I'm up for it.

Can't help thinking Bruce is up to something... trying to get me out of his hair, maybe. He seems to be on the verge of a breakthrough with the Riddler (or maybe the Tempest?) and I don't think he wants me around this time. I don't know how I feel about that... but I do know I could really use a little time in the woods with somebody who isn't a major closet case.

Midway during yesterday's session with Tanhoger, I started daydreaming about my experience with the Tempest, and--I'm amazed to say it--I got really hard, thinking about being tied up like that, helpless in the hands of that madman, struggling against my bounds. .. Naturally I didn't breathe a word of it to the doc, and I hope he didn't notice the bulge in my pants.

I haven't managed to tell Bruce that I'm seeing a shrink. It's still a huge waste of money for me to keep seeing Dr. T, given that I can't talk anymore about anything that really matters to me these days. But every time I think about quitting, I just... I don't know how to put this, but I feel ... drawn to him. Almost in the same way that I do to Bruce. I'm even starting to find him cute: that bald head, that goatee. I don't know if he's gay or straight, but I picture myself by his side, being kissed and held by him, and then ... can't say it. It's too fucked up. I want so badly to show him myself in my Robin outfit, but of course I don't dare follow through.

It's a shame, too, that Peter will never see me in it, either. The last time he saw me he complimented me on the way I've filled out lately, and asked if I've been working out. I thought quickly and told him I was doing it for his sake. Which isn't exactly true, but then the little white lies I've found myself telling right and left ever since I started working with Batman just keep stacking up. Sooner or later, I fear, they're bound to catch up with me.

In the meantime, though, it's just me and my lover in a tent out in the middle of nowhere for three glorious days.

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

61. The Riddler

Ah, the wait is MURDER. It's been aaaaages since my last encounter with my favorite playmate. I've tried to make the most of the time, riddling about, but it's so very very HARD to keep myself busy, just sitting here and counting the hours. And so I've taken a little time off from my usual word games to compose the following ditty. Hardly up to my usual standards, but I must conserve my creative energy for the frolic ahead:

I've been sending him clues
One by one by one
Having my jollies
And having my fun
The day's almost here
When the work will be done.

He'll be in my clutches
He'll scream and he'll shout
And Batman will know
Beyond any doubt
That my traps will hold him
And won't let him out!

Monday, August 16, 2004

60. Batman

Robin has made impressive progress since his return. His physical strength has increased, his reflexes are good, and he has fine instincts when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. He will need much more work with weaponry before he goes on patrols, however.

His prior computer skills have proven adaptable to his new job, and he appears to be on the verge of a breakthrough in the Tempest case.

Meanwhile, the Riddler continues to taunt me with puzzles and word games of all sorts, left at the scenes of various petty crimes. This is not the first time he has crossed over from roleplay to real-life villainy, and I must remind myself that he knows more about me than the average criminal, given our prior relationship. I must be on my guard at all times when dealing with him.

Friday, August 13, 2004

59. Dick

Several more long nights of training since I last wrote here. The general pattern is this: we spend a couple of hours warming up and going through various exercises together, then Batman heads out to work on the Riddler case while I stay in the Cave and follow leads on the Tempest. In the comics, the good guys usually just take on one bad guy at a time, but here in Gotham things don't seem to be that linear.

Wednesday afternoon I had my weekly appointment with Tanhoger. I didn't have to deal with the issue of why I missed last week (ie, I was tied up and about to be killed by a masked madman) because when I walked in, I told him I was doing much better, didn't think I needed the drug he'd prescribed anymore, and was ready to terminate therapy. We spent the whole hour talking about that... and as the session went on, I felt this really weird sense of helplessness--like I still needed him more than I thought I did. He didn't say much at all, but looking into his eyes, I felt something akin to the way I did when Batman returned into my life earlier this week. I guess I just have this thing for self-assured older men. Anyway, I know it's just transference, but it was still pretty powerful all the same. So, against my better judgment, I changed my mind and said I'd see him again next week--and he says it's too dangerous to quit the meds cold turkey, so I'm staying on them, too.

On a related note, I have no idea how I'm going to handle things with Peter now. I'm supposed to get a night off from the Cave at some point in the next few days, but now that I'm officially an employee and not a volunteer, things seem a lot more formal. Plus, as Batman has pointed out, "crime doesn't take a break; neither do we." But I think he's willing to cut me some slack every now and then. We'll see.

Nothing overtly sexual between me and Bruce yet. I can't help thinking he's using my obvious attraction to him to keep me hooked--but then again it just seems so painfully obvious that he's a big old closet case, and the way he held me the other night couldn't have simply been a ploy.

Shit, my life is a soap opera in tights and masks. (Speaking of masks, I really have to talk to Alfred about mine--all it does is cover my eyes! Batman's cowl truly does disguise three quarters of his face, but anybody who knew me could take one look at "Robin" and recognize Dick Grayson underneath that slender strip of blackness. On the other hand, Bruce has made it very clear that I'm NOT going out in uniform again for a very long time.... so maybe we can clear that up in the meantime.)

Not even noon yet, but I'm heading back to sleep. Only got a couple of hours in before the phone rang and woke me up. My "hours" at the Cave are getting longer and longer, and I'm starting to get homework assignments--additional exercise regimen, reading, etc.

I can already feel my old life as Dick Grayson, Party Animal, slipping away. To be replaced by ... what, exactly? Beats me.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

58. Dick (continued)

I know this is all supposed to be about catching bad guys and making the streets safe for women and children and all that boy-scout stuff, but I gotta say that wearing that new outfit for the first time and staring into my partner's admiring eyes made me horny as hell. In that moment, I didn't give a shit that the Tempest was still out there, or even that he'd nearly killed me a few short days ago, or that there was fresh danger lurking around every corner in the form of dozens of other adversaries. I felt like my body was pure electricity, like I was invulnerable. If you'd ask me to leap over a tall building in a single bound, I'd have found a way to do it.

I threw myself into the night's training exercises with an energy far beyond anything I'd been capable of in the past. Looking back now that I've calmed down a little, I realize that all I probably wanted to do was get another chance to roll around on the ground with Batman, our bodies pressed into one sweaty, mobile mass. But I told myself it was all about making myself a better crimefighter.

After all, it's my only job now. That's right: In addition to the suit, Bruce told me he'd start paying me for my services. He asked how much I got at the old place, and doubled it. Part of me thinks this is a really bad idea --having a sugar daddy is not my style -- but the broke part of me points out that I don't have too many other alternatives at the moment.

I didn't get home till nearly 5 a.m., by which point Batman had been back out on the streets for two hours. (Some old friend/foe of his called The Riddler has been planting clues for him lately, he says.) Before he left, Bruce said he'd draw up some groundrules in the near future. Great. Can't wait to see what that entails. But I'm grateful to have a job, and maybe having something in writing will help future misunderstandings.

Alfred drove me home. There's talk of giving me a car of my own--nothing fancy enough to draw attention, just a set of wheels so I don't have to wait to be chauffeured around town. Anyway, it wasn't exactly the end of the evening I originally had in mind (instead of getting laid, I may well have gotten screwed), but I can live with it. Believe me, I can live with it.

Oh, shit--look at the time. Training starts up again in an hour. Plus I've got an appointment with Dr. T tomorrow. That should prove interesting...

57. Dick (continued)

We stood there together in silence for a long time, and the longer he held me, the more I felt my recent reservations about him melting away.

Suddenly, he loosened his grip on me. "Come out to the car," he said, his tone abruptly changing. "I've got something for you. In the Cave."

This wasn't exactly what I was expecting to hear next, but then I've already said I didn't have a clue where we were heading.

"Meet me on the usual corner," he insisted, sounding a little too much like his old self: all business, always in charge. And I went along with it.

We made it to the Cave in record time, and he led me into the main room. There it was: a red-and-green Robin suit, modelled on my original makeshift version but infinitely more durable. A utility belt to rival Batman's own. Boots, gloves, and -- to my chagrin-- a cape, bright yellow on one side, jet black on the other.

"It's yours," he said. "Try it on."

"Bruce, I can't--"

He glared at me, and I wasn't clear whether it was because I'd called him by his other name (goddam fucking rules) or because he genuinely wanted to see me decked out in this thing. It didn't really matter, because, truth be told, I wanted to wear the suit. I'd been having second thoughts about my resignation for the last few days anyway, and ... well, this outfit was awesome.

I ducked into the changing room and shucked my street clothes in a flash. The new duds clung to my body like a second skin; wearing them, I felt like I was truly at home for the first time. Alfred must be a genius, because I don't know how he managed to fashion clothes so snug yet so comfortable, while still providing so much protection. (Jeez, I sound like I write for a cross between Vogue and the Gall's catalogue.) Suiting up, I knew there was no way I could pass up the second chance Bruce was clearly offering me. I walked back into the main part of the Cave and assumed the stance of all comic-book crimefighters: legs apart, arms akimbo, fists at my waist. I was beaming--and hard as a rock.

"When do I start?" I asked.

56. Dick

Just waking up after a VERY late night. (That's one advantage to not having a day job anymore.) Still not entirely sure if what happened a few hours ago was a dream, or not.

It's been a few weeks since Bruce--er, Batman--pulled his peeping tom bit at my apartment window, so once again he scared the shit out of me when I noticed him perched out on the ledge last night. Midnight, as usual. Thank god I was alone; then again, he's pretty good at disappearing, to put it mildly.

I let him in, and watched as he landed on my floor in that incredibly sexy outfit of his. "Dick--" he started to say.

That was a first. (One of many last night, I don't need to add.) Not "Grayson," just "Dick." Almost as if we were friends instead of ... whatever we are. Whatever we've been.

But instead of finishing his sentence, he just, well, grabbed me. Reached out toward my shoulders with his big gloved hands and held me. There was a strange mix of nervous affection and misplaced aggression in the gesture, which made sense in the moment since he's probably way more used to delivering punches than embraces. He looked me straight in the eye and for the first time I had the chance to study his masked face up close without pretending it was an accident.

"Dick, I -- I need you," he said at last. And then--here's where I'm still convinced I dreamt the whole thing--he drew me close enough to plant a kiss on my lips. A long, sincere one, neither a polite peck nor a lusty wet tongue job but something in between. There was something weirdly businesslike about it--that is, if bosses were in the habit of rewarding workers in that way.

A month ago I would have jumped his bones right then and there, but that was before my little brush with The Tempest and the subsequent instruction to write up a report about it all. Even so, when the sexiest man you've ever seen holds you in his arms and kisses you, your skepticism about his asshole side tends to melt away. I felt the warmth of his chest, listened to his breath, savored the feeling of his arms wrapped around my back, and realized that once again I had no idea what he would do next.

Sunday, August 08, 2004

55. Batman

He's too valuable to me. Can't let him go.

The Tempest is still at large. Other adversaries lie in wait--some known to me, others yet to make their appearance.

I can't face them all alone. He's not ready to fight, but there are other things he can do until he is.

I need him back.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

54. Dick

Celebra��������ting my newfound freedom from gainful employment by getting drunk. A lot. Spent a couple of nights with Peter last week. The sex was good but ... unspectacular. I hate to say it, but I kind of miss Bruce. I was thinking of giving him a call, but I've changed my mind every time that option has come up.

Right now I have no future. I barely have a present. And that suits me just fine.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

53. Alfred

There has been no word from Master Dick since his presumed resignation four days ago.

This is distressing, particularly since his uniform is now ready for a final fitting.

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

52. Dick

You may notice that I'm writing today's entry a little later in the day than usual.



I went into the office on Monday, afraid somebody was gonna ask where I'd been since last Tuesday or why my face and arms were now covered with bruises. Instead, I found a note on my computer telling me to see Doris in HR.

She gave me two hours to say my goodbyes and clear out. No questions asked.

I'll have plenty to talk about with Dr. T tomorrow. Like, for starters, why I didn't show up at his office last week, either. Naturally I won't be able to tell him a word of what really happened, and I have about 24 hours to come up with a logical explanation.

Then maybe I can use it for Peter, Janice, and everybody else who's been calling and e-mailing me for days, wondering where I was.

I'm so pissed off right now I could scream.

And yet...

Every time I think back on what I went through last week--the torture, the deathtraps, and everything else--I have to admit that on some level it was all pretty exciting. ("Exciting" as in major fucking hard-on, for one thing. But let's not go there for the time being.) During the time it was happening it was a goddam nightmare, but then I stop and ask myself if there's anything else I could have done with those days that would have been anywhere near as powerful.

The simple answer is no. But life has never seemed less simple than it does now.

I could use a serious break from everything that's been going on lately. And since I no longer have a job to go to--during the day OR at midnight--it looks like I'll have pllllennnnnty of time to do that.

Sunday, August 01, 2004

51. Robin

(Okay, Batman, you want me to file a report on the case? Here's my fucking report: )

I just spent three and a half days of my life in the hands of a complete lunatic, getting my ass zapped, my face slapped, and then nearly sailing off into the wild blue yonder on a goddam weather balloon. NOT MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME.

This Tempest guy is one twisted motherfucker. I'm sure that's not the clinical term for whatever he's got, but I honestly don't give a shit. I hope he fries.

Thanks for somehow crawling out of that sandbox and rescuing me in the nick of time, Batman. I don't know how you did it, but I'm damn glad you did.

I'm NOT so happy to get chewed out for trying to save YOU in the first place, and I would have appreciated a second or two of "Hey, are you okay?" when we got back to the Cave before being told--hell, ordered--to write up a report on the Tempest. In my "Robin voice," no less. Nothing like a little homework after a near-death experience.

Speaking of home, I haven't been there in days. Why not? Because I'VE BEEN STRAPPED TO A FUCKING COT SOMEWHERE. Didn't have anything to eat during most of that time; had to BEG to take a piss. And, oh yes, I ALMOST DIED.

This shit is for the birds. Count me out, Batman. I'm going home.

I quit.