FREE FLYING HEARTS -- A collection of short stories from Tonig73

Justice For Some ...

Alex Lindquist had an ethereal beauty about him.  Beyond pale skin, ice blue eyes, long white blonde hair.  The son of a wealthy Scandinavian entrepreneur, he didn't do much of ... well, anything.  But now in his late 20's, he was wealthy, well traveled, well endowed, and well liked, for obvious reasons, and gay.  Not that that mattered much.  Other wealthy, and not so wealthy boys were lining up around the block to be with him.  

It hadn't always been that way, though.  In fact, as a teenager, as most teenagers did, he took a part time job at his fathers' upscale hotel on the coast, for pocket money, such as it was, for experience in his fathers' trade, for experience in life.  And that life experience would lead him to exactly where he was now. 

In jail. 

You see, he met a man.  The man.  The man of his dreams, and his nightmares too, as it turned out.  The most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on.  Very tall, dark and sultry, with chocolate come-to-bed eyes, and a smile brighter than his future.  He was totally captivating, and Alex had to give himself to him, like a prize for some competition won, all tied up in a bright red bow.  He didn't want the man, he needed the man.  And he needed the man to need him just as badly.  And the fact that that very thing had happened on the man's wedding eve, just reiterated in Alex's mind, that all his dreams and wishes were about to come true.  

He occasionally met with the man.  They didn't date, they weren't an item.  The man was married, for fucks sake.  When his wife was away at a conference or out of town visiting friends, she was a doctor by the way, and a beautiful woman to boot, the man would call him if he was lonely, or horny, or both.  The quintessential booty call.  Always, just that, never anything else.  Nothing more was expected or offered.  

He did get dinner on occasion, if you can call  Get yourself some room service sweetie, but I have to go.   Said with a swift peck on the cheek, and the door slamming behind him.  Not an hour before said dinner, eaten alone and in silence, glancing out of some ubiquitous hotel room window, the man was slamming his more than generous dick into his hole, while he crawled on all fours across the Chinese silk carpet, clawing and trying to get away from the insane, euphoric torture this man could inflict.  

And he had endured and relished in this insane, euphoric torture willingly, almost happily, for ten years.  He was the quintessential call boy, he knew, so he shouldn't blame Laurent for that.  But, ahh, and here was the rub.  He loved the man.  Head over heels, base over apex, ass over tit, loved the man.  Why ?  He didn't know, all he knew was that he needed him.  He filled a hole in his deviant soul, with his dirty sex and his dysfunctional need.  Both of their dysfunctional needs.  A match made somewhere along the road to hell.  A youth wasted on some amazing dick, and not a promise kept or even made.

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"Mr. Alexander Lindquist ?"  A short, stocky, surly looking man with an official looking shiny metal badge approached Alex as he ate at a restaurant with a friend.  

"Yes, who's asking ?"  He wiped the corners of his mouth delicately with a linen napkin.

"Come with me, please sir .... "  The short brusque man, and the taller but equally as brusque man were now hauling him out of his seat, his chair clattering backwards onto the floor behind him, causing a scene in the crowded restaurant.  This was exactly what Laurent had wanted.  

"What .... what the fuck ?  What is this ... ?"  

"You are under arrest for the assault of Mr. Laurent Bourgeois by proxy, actuating grievous bodily harm under section 18 of the California penal code.  Anything you say may be .... "  Blah, blah, blah.  Alex didn't hear much of the rest.  Assault ?  Laurent ?  wha ... wait.