I have endured many torments in my lifetime, but the last several days have been almost unbearable. Revealing my true self to Gustavus felt like a major step in this current process, only it was followed by ... nothing. Nothing but silence and solitude. Waiting for him to make the next move. Waiting for him to tell me what to do. Waiting for him to help me press forward. Waiting... and waiting... and waiting...
And then, last night, it happened: the phone call. "The time is here. Meet me in Room 7 in 3 minutes. And bring ... it." He didn't have to explain; I knew better than I know my own name.
I scrambled, well aware of the consequences if I were late. It felt great to be following his orders once again.
He was waiting for me when I arrived. He sat in a chair and stared as I approached him, case in hand. "Put it on the table," he said quietly. "Open it." I did so, and then looked up for his next instruction, as I have been trained to do. When he's in a good mood, he calls me an "obedient puppy" when I do this. When he is in a bad mood, there are no words.
This time, he said nothing but raised his right hand. I knew this signal very well and began to remove my clothes, my shaft stiffening as I did. This, too, has become part of the routine now: part memory of past ordeals, part anticipation of what might lie ahead. He uses my excitement as a reminder of his mastery over me. "You like this, don't you?" he teased. "You can't help yourself..."
I nodded, trying hard not to reveal what I was feeling. That was easy, since I was not even sure what that feeling was.
"Put it on," he said next, and ... I hesitated. I have put this part of my life behind me for months, and I don't want to bring it back. Honestly, I don't. I am ashamed by what I did in those days--what I tried to do, and failed to do, and the damage I brought to others as a result. I hate what I was, and I vowed never to be it again.
And yet I had no choice.