Apartment 1209

surprised. He’d never called me anything like that before.
    He laughed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t believe your luck.” He waved the flyer before me. “Ryan Holloway is the sexiest fucking leather daddy in this city. He owns this place,” he said, stabbing the flyer with his index finger. “Obviously.”
    Since I continued to stare at him, dumfounded, he went on. “Holloway’s is the hottest BDSM spot in town. There are back rooms there to beat ALL back rooms. And I should know.”
    I sat down in the booth, feeling panicky rather than lucky at the moment. The image of the Ryan I’d had coffee with last week didn’t mesh with this new information. “Maybe it’s not the same guy.” I said, taking the flyer from Frank and looking at it more closely.
    It was definitely him. There could be no mistake.
    Frank laughed again. “You had no idea?”
    I shook my head.
    “How did you meet him?”
    I told him about losing my key and how nice Ryan had been, inviting me in for coffee and later, blatantly asking me out.
    “Oh. My. God. Half the fags in this city would piss their pants to get a chance like that! You are one lucky guy, Henry.”
    “Henry, can you get Table Six for me, please?” Sarah, the manager, interrupted our chat.
    “Sure. I’m almost done here,” I said, stuffing the flyer in my pocket.
    “Frank, they need you in the kitchen,” she mentioned, not noticing his military salute when she turned her back on us.
    Our eyes met and Frank leaned close. “Don’t worry, Ryan’s a pussycat. Even though he eats boys like you for breakfast.” He winked and left me to my task.
    I felt my cock harden as my insides turned to jelly.
    ****
    When I got home that night I stripped off my clothes and sat down on my bed, laying the flyer out beside me. I could hardly believe I’d sat at this man’s kitchen table and had a cup of coffee with him. He looked even hotter in this photo than he had that day. My dick got hard under my own touch quickly as I stroked it and stared at the image on the recycled paper.
    I wished I was the boy in the photo. I desperately wanted to be that sexy young man at Ryan’s feet, willing to do whatever he desired, wanting to be told what to do and how to do it. God knows I didn’t have enough guts to take any initiative myself. Maybe this was the answer. I was good at doing as I was told, at school and at work. Why would a sexual relationship be any different?
    I realized I would be happy to kneel before him, totally naked if he wished. Maybe he’d make me suck his cock until he came down my throat.
    I moaned, stroking my dick faster, using some lube from my bedside table to enhance the process.
    Maybe he’d tie me to his bed and fuck me proper, the way I’d wished someone had done years ago. I’d say “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir” —I’d be so good for him.
    I breathed harder, pulling so fast now, imagining him tying me up and picturing that warm smile. In my head I heard him say, “Come for me, Henry,” as I climaxed, shooting a massive load across my bed.
    ****
    And here I stood, outside his door— scared shitless but wanting it so bad there was no turning back.
    He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if he was home. It was Sunday afternoon, but maybe he was at the bar already? My nervousness began to subside into disappointment when the door opened.
    The Ryan I knew stood there, in bare feet, wearing a faded pair of jeans and an American Eagle T-shirt.
    “Henry!” he said, warmth spreading over his features as his eyes lit up.
    “Hi.” I smiled in response but felt the nerves return. “Sorry to bother you.”
    He laughed. “Are you kidding? Come in, come in,” he said, holding the door wide and backing up. “I worried you’d forgotten about me.”
    I stepped inside his apartment for the second time, looking around to see if I’d missed any hints about his lifestyle. I noticed most of his furniture was made of leather, but it’s not like I’d missed handcuffs draped over the sofa or anything.
    “No, Sir,” I said, then froze. I glanced at him to see if he’d noticed. He looked at me, surprised, as his smile widened.
    “Well, I’m glad. Have a seat. No school today, I take it?”
    I shook my head, sitting down on his brown leather sofa. My hand, of its own will, reached out to stroke the soft fabric.
    “Would you like something to drink? I’ve got beer, wine, Coke.”
    “Um, is it regular Coke?”
    He nodded. “I