Arms Wide Open

The vibrating buzz of my cell phone alerted me to the first text message almost two weeks ago. I had been anxiously waiting for word from Brian since he left for Tokyo on Kinnetik business the day before. Since there was a 14-hour time difference, I figured he would probably contact me initially by cell phone anyway, to let me know he arrived safely. But it was WHAT the message said that intrigued me:

Walk over to the lamppost at 5th and Broadway Streets. Stand under the light just as you did that first night. EXACTLY at 11:30 p.m. You'll receive your first instructions there. B

What the fuck? What kind of game was my partner playing with my head THIS time? Well, whatever it was, I was so curious by then that I had to obey his mandate.

As he requested, I arrived at the lamppost at 5th and Broadway early, at 11:25 p.m. As I stood there, the light shining like a beacon on my face, I could almost feel Brian walking up to me, asking if I was going "any place special." For a few minutes, I imagined his dark, piercing hazel eyes practically devouring the virginal 17-year-old who stood there terrified and yet excited at the possibilities that might occur. Smiling at the memory, I felt my cell phone vibrating at precisely 11:30 p.m. Laughing to myself, I eagerly pulled the instrument out of my pocket and flipped it open to read the next message:

Good boy. I can still remember how incredible you looked under that light. Just like a ripe peach waiting to be plucked. Somehow you had me hooked from the first day, you twat. Now here's your second set of instructions: Tomorrow walk to the ice cream shop at Water and Bridge Street. Pick up a pint of Vanilla Bean ice cream at 1:00 p.m. Forget about the fucking carbs. B.

I snorted. Like I was the one who worried about carbs. Okay, I wasn't sure what type of game Brian was playing, but I decided to enjoy it. The times lately when Brian was playful seemed exceedingly rare, and it was a side of him that I always enjoyed tremendously. He always appeared to be so intense lately, mainly because he was trying so hard to make Kinnetik successful. According to Ted, it had exceeded even Brian's wildest dreams, but in his constant striving for perfection, he never thought it was quite successful enough. I longed for the day when Brian would decide that maybe it was more important that we have more time to spend together, rather than having more money than we both knew what to do with. So for whatever reason, while Brian was acting in this nonsensical way, I decided to just relish in it.

February 2

The next day, I promptly took the subway over toward the ice cream shop that I had talked Brian into visiting the last time he came to see me. I didn't hold out much hope that he would actually EAT any ice cream, but my roommate had assured me this was the most fantastic ice cream on earth, and sure enough, once I tried it, I thought I was in heaven. They make it the old-fashioned way – something about making it in pots with lots of thick cream. However they did it, it practically melted on your mouth and tasted like no other ice cream I had ever had. One taste and I was totally addicted. Of course, the only thing I could think about was feeding it to Brian and receiving ice cream kisses in return. Part vanilla, part Brian Kinney. Yummy.

With that vision in mind, I eagerly arrived just before 1:00 p.m. and as ordered, purchased a pint of the vanilla bean. Walking outside the shop outside to have a seat at one of their benches, I couldn't wait to dig into the creamy concoction. Just as I was about to lift the spoon to my mouth, however, I felt the familiar vibration of my cell phone once again. Groaning slightly in disappointment, but nonetheless looking forward to hearing from my partner, I quickly set the lid back on the carton and flipped my phone open. Sure enough, there was another text from Brian:

Enjoying your carbs, Sunshine? Right now, I'm imagining you sitting naked on top of me on my chaise, feeding me that fattening gruel by the spoonfuls, in between your sweet Justin ice cream kisses. Of course, you would drip that fucking shit all over me. Bad boy – you'll just have to lick it up, won't you?

I groaned again, this time not for the same reason, though. Damn man – only he could get me horny in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Trying desperately to think of something to quell the hard-on he was giving me, I steeled myself for the rest of his message, praying he didn't get me even more turned on:

Here's your next clue, Sunshine, if you can put the fucking carbs down long enough to read this!

Sheepishly, I looked down at the spoon that I had absentmindedly snuck back out and was stabbing into the ice cream, hoping to take a small bite as I read the rest of his message. Was this man a mind reader, too? Sighing in resignation, I put the spoon down to finish reading the rest of his message:

That's better. Here's your next instruction: Tomorrow, I want you to go to the Central Park Zoo at exactly 10:00 a.m. Look for the two monkeys near the front entrance. You'll recognize them because they look just like us – they'll be fucking themselves senseless. Sweet dreams and nighty-night, Sunshine. B

Huffing, I thought, sweet dreams, my ass. Thanks to you, I'll be lucky if I get ANY sleep tonight. Well, I thought, I might as well enjoy the ice cream. Now plunging my spoon into the dessert with aplomb, I didn't stop until I had finished every delicious drop. Frowning afterward, though, I fleetingly regretted my actions, wondering if the next time I saw Brian I was so fat, he would tell me I resembled an ape rather than a monkey and would refuse to fuck me at all…..

February 3

By now I was feeling like one of Brian's so-called Stepford fags, dutifully following through on his instructions about where to go, where to be, and at what time. But he knew I couldn't say no to him, so stereotype or not, I proceeded to carry out his next mandate.

Arriving at the zoo just before 10:00, I walked through the front gate, looking for the fabulous, fucking monkey exhibit. Sure enough, right by the entrance was an expansive monkey habitat displaying a pair of capuchin monkeys furiously "getting to know each other better," totally oblivious to the sometimes shocking stares of patrons, the mothers especially seeing a duty to cover the eyes of their impressionable children. Smirking, my mind wandered instead to Brian and me during one of our marathon fucking sessions. On the bed and couch, of course, but also on the floor pillows, the kitchen counter, the shower, in the elevator, at the center poles, and anywhere else we could obtain some type of footing. We were nothing but versatile.

The ever-prompt Mr. Kinney phoned in at precisely 10:00 a.m. I was beginning to enjoy this game, I decided. Flipping the phone open once more, I read his latest message:

Those monkeys have nothing on us, Sunshine. Except having tails would put a whole new spin on our fucking sessions. What we lack in tails, though, we make up for in enthusiasm. Here's your next message:

Go to the top of the Empire State Building tomorrow at precisely 2:00 p.m. Keep your eye out for the next text. B

Tails. Hah! I had to laugh at the idea of Brian Kinney strutting around, a long, bushy, auburn tail protruding from his lean ass and swishing between his legs. Of course, as absurd as that seemed, that thought curiously made me again horny as hell. Damn that man! Once more, I sat down at a nearby bench and tried to think of something, anything that would dampen my obvious hard-on, hoping in the mean time that I did not get any disapproving stares from the same mothers worried about their children being corrupted.

February 4

Waiting to catch one of the elevators to take me to the top of the Empire State Building, I felt fortunate that I had such a flexible schedule, since my lover was seeing fit to turn me into a out-of-town tourist, visiting various haunts at all times of the day and night. But at this point I couldn't have resisted obeying each message even I wanted to – I was too intrigued. Inexplicably, however, he was refusing to actually answer my calls to him at all right now, even though he had managed in succeeding to make me so horny that I was desperate to hear his voice to jack off to. I could only hope that whatever game he was playing, it would be over soon and whatever was waiting at the end would be worth all the frustration.

I finally managed to catch the next available elevator, impatiently hoping I would make it to the top before the designated 2:00 p.m. By now, he had me so convinced that he could read my mind and somehow see what I was doing that I was afraid to be late. Bouncing lightly back and forth on the balls of my feet, I subconsciously held my breath as I watched the floor numbers ticked by.

Barely reaching my goal just seconds before 2:00, I waited impatiently for the phone alert. I wasn't disappointed. Exactly at 2:00, I felt the familiar pulsation and reached in my pocket to dig out the phone. Opening it up, I enthusiastically read my partner's latest greeting:

Ah, Sunshine. That's just how you make me feel when I'm on top of you. Like I'm on top of the world. Take your time and look at the world just waiting to see your talent. When you're done looking at gay Paree, as you take the elevator back down, think of the all the times we fucked in the elevator at the loft. I only wish there were as many floors at the loft as there are at the Empire State Building. 102 floors would equal at least 3 or 4 fucks per trip. With that entertainment, they'd be paying US admission.

Okay. He had done it again. Just the thought of being fucked senseless by Brian several times going down and up in the elevator made me hard once again. Thank goodness for those large freestanding binoculars on pedestals. You know, the kind that conveniently hide obvious erections. Puts a whole new meaning into erector sets.

Eventually getting myself under control, I glanced down to read the rest of my partner's message:

Tomorrow I want you to go to the massage therapist at Wallace and Nunner at precisely 8:30 p.m. Ask for Diane. What, did you think I would get a man to DO it? That would rub me the wrong way. Nice try, Sunshine. Later – B.

I smirked. So now he thinks he's a comedian, does he? Good thing you didn't give up your day job, Kinney, I thought. But, then I realized that I've never had a massage. Man or not, this should be an interesting experience.

Exiting the attraction at street level, I grabbed a hot dog from a nearby vendor. Walking back to my apartment, I anxiously waited for what the next day would bring from Brian, the would-be comedian with the bushy tail and the carb-laden ass.