Date: Wed, 17 May 2017 14:32:42 -0500 From: Jeff Moses Subject: Staring Yep, it's fiction. A little kinky man-boy sex. If this stuff is illegal where you are, or if it offends you, I'm sorry, but you've been warned! No resemblance to any specific person is intended. Nifty needs money! Or stories! Click the donations link at the top of the page for details. Authors retain all rights to their stories. Play Safe! Staring "Oh, boy! I intended to keep this room private. My own fault, I guess, for failing to check the door latch." Staring. Awed. A brief move of the hand, as if grasping. Eyes close, then open to be sure. It is warm enough to be naked. Unbuckle belt--What? NO! Turn. He is watching, arms folded. Watching. Smiling. Black jeans. Gray t-shirt, sleeves tight on the arms. Smiling. Head tilted, as if waiting. Talk? Mouth dry. "Sorry if it scares you, Tommy. Are you all right?" Answer. Answer! "Is this shit real?" "Yes, it's real. Go ahead. Touch it." Chain. A little rust. Cuff. Heavy. Heavier chain hanging on the wall. A collar. Near the floor, a pair of smaller cuffs. I want--do I dare? He is quiet in the doorway, framed by stone. Turn to the right. A table? No. Step closer, one step. A rack! Old wood, smooth. Polished, dark with darker streaks. A winch at the other end. It works? "I got the crescent wrench. Let's get back outside and get to work on that lawn mower." Answer, dammit! "Is it real--I mean, does it all lock, and everything?" "Yes. It's real." "If I...can I ... would you mind if..." Shit! Spit it out. "I want..." He shrugs, smiles. "Go ahead. It doesn't lock without the key. I gotta take a leak. Be right back." How did he know what--okay. Look closer. Watch my hands lift it. The collar is heavy. Closes. Opens easily. There's a keyhole. Just rest it on my collarbone. It's cool. It opens and closes perfectly. There. Hold it shut. Take my hands away, and it stays shut. Reach for the shackle hanging to my left, put it on, push it against the stone wall so it closes. Now the shackle on my right. They're heavy. It would feel like this. Shit! I've got a boner. "Well?" He's back! He's just Mister Foster, just the guy who pays me to cut his grass."It's...neat." Don't look at my crotch, man! "I know. A little weird, but neat. I can close the irons around your ankles, if you want." "Just close them?" "Nothing gets locked." He's smiling. "Unless you want me to." "Okay." Should I let him? Why am I even thinking that? He's moving toward me. He's kneeling. I close my eyes. "Spread your legs out some. Good. That should do it." The irons on my ankles are heavy too, resting on my shoes. I should be naked. Don't say that, don't think that, don't imagine that. Don't. There are more chains hanging from the ceiling. From a bar attached to a hoist. You could hang there. Naked. Stop thinking that! Goddam hard-on! "Ready to get to work?" I wonder what it would feel like if I pulled. The cuff on the right arm. Shit! It fell off. Struck the wall like--oh god, did I break something? "I'll take off the leg irons. The hinges are a little stiff." No! "Okay." It's his stuff. "I didn't mess anything up, did I?" "It's fine. Happens all the time." He does it with other guys! "How many...I mean other guys...?" "A few friends. I've been working on the room for a long time." I bet! "It's neat." "I'm glad you like it. Shall I help you take the rest of the gear off?" NO! "Yeah, I guess." His hands are cool. He's just looking at me. Smiling. "I've got the wrench. That grass isn't getting any shorter." Do I have to leave? Does he want--He's leaning against the door frame. Sweat on the gray shirt. It's tight across his chest. "I was like you, I think, Tommy. I always thought this kind of stuff was cool. Looked for pictures in books and places. Wanted to have it. When I grew up, I got some. Got a lot, actually, as you see." Yeah. I see, all right. He claps his hands and I jump. "Back to work!" Yeah. All the way up the basement steps, all the way to the yard, I keep seeing that room. "Look down here, Tommy. Those nuts--just get them loose." He's handing me the wrench, squatting by the side of the mower. His back is so...wide. "Tommy? Earth to Tommy." Get on it. What the hell's wrong with me, all of a sudden? *** "Grass looks great, Tommy. Here's your money. And any time I'm around, if you want to come back, mess with some of the other stuff, just ring the doorbell, okay?" "Thanks." Move! Turn around. Go home! Jack--take a shower, cool down. "Tommy? You okay?" Nod. "Yeah. Just..." Just what? God, I'm a dork! "You want to come back inside? You look like you need a drink of water, or something." "Yeah! Yeah, that sounds good. Water." The house is so normal. Neater than our place, of course, 'cause there's only one person living here. Air conditioner feels good. Just follow Mister Foster into the kitchen. "Here you go." "Thanks." Just drink the water. He's right. I am thirsty. "I was right! You were thirsty. Want another glass?" "Yeah." Don't look at his crotch! Watch him put ice in the glass, fill it, hand it back. I wonder if he played football in high school, or something. He's looking at me. Drink! Finish the-- "Whoa! Slow down, Tommy!" He takes the glass while I cough. Our fingers touch. "Sorry!" "It's nothing!" He squats, wipes the spill with some paper towels. He moves so...Puts the wet towels in the trash. Picks up his glass, finishes it. His Adam's apple. "Hey, Tommy? Do you want to take another look downstairs?" YES! "Sure. Yeah, okay." He follows me down the stairs, steps past me, unlocks the door. I'm in the room again. "Does...do you ever use this stuff on anyone?" Me. NO! Stop thinking like that! "Sometimes. We're not alone." WHAT!! Stiffen, look around, into the dark corners. He laughs. "We're alone here, don't worry. I mean in the world. There are a lot of people in the world who feel like us. Like me, anyway. I think it's exciting." "Exciting?" "Yeah." His voice is soft. "Like you want to touch it, see how it feels." He waves. "Please, go ahead-- touch whatever you want. It's pretty rugged stuff. It's meant to hold struggling people, so it's not going to break." Still, careful. It's heavy. Solid. Real. I could--people could struggle. They would be helpless and it would happen. It? What? What would--Who would--him? Maybe. Who do I imagine--I shouldn't think like this I want to lie down on the rack. Just lie there. For just a minute. The wood is cool, smooth, making me shiver to touch it. He's watching me. Just watching, standing by the door. "Go ahead and climb on if you want." How did he know? He's in my head! I don't know what to do. Should I say something? He's not saying anything. What the hell, why not? It feels so...solid, I guess, underneath me. Cool. Lay down. Just lay down. "How does it feel?" "Fine. Like lying on the floor, kind of." "I laid down on it the first time and I fell asleep. I locked my feet and my left arm and fell asleep." "You locked yourself?" Just stare at the ceiling, dark, shadowed. "It's more exciting that way. For me, anyway." "What if--if you lost the key, or something?" "I keep it tied to my wrist, so I can't drop it. And I make sure there's enough slack. Like the shackles on the wall? I made sure I could get one hand across to the other hand, so I could unlock it. I do what you did with the unlocked hand, so it feels right. That was pretty quick, figuring that out, by the way." "It was sort of simple. I mean, it's obvious." "You have a knack for it. A lot of people wouldn't have figured that out." Put my hands over my head. Stretch. It feels good. Is it supposed to feel good? "Chiropractors have a sort of rack they use for spinal adjustments. But you don't get pulled by your arms. And it's not for torture or anything like that." Quiet. Should I say something, ask for...what? Just stare at the ceiling! I can feel him moving. He's closer to the rack, toward my head. The soft voice. "In the old torture chambers, they just used shackles. I guess they broke a lot of wrists and ankles that way. I got some special leather cuffs so that doesn't happen." Can I see--"Yeah, I guess that could break your wrists, huh?" He nods. "Not many people want real torture. Just a sort of suggestion of it. Maybe see how much they can take. Or maybe just the possibility, you know? Like it could happen, except the guy won't really do it." The guy!? "The guy?" "Well, whoever you're doing it with, depending on. I mean, if things were locked. Like, if you let me chain you to the wall or put you on the rack, you'd have to trust me not to hurt you more than you want." He knows! He knows, he knows, he knows and my dick is standing right up there. Sit back up, quick. "I didn't mean to scare you, Tommy! Did I scare you? I'm sorry." Yes but "No! I just, it's nothing. I just...It was dumb." "Nothing dumb about it. It is scary! People like to borrow some of this stuff for Halloween, because it's scary. People like to be scared, you know. That's why there are horror movies." "Like werewolves and Frankenstein and stuff." "Yeah. You know how there's always dungeons and torture chambers in those movies? Why do you think that is?" "Because it's for the story?" "But the detail! The close-ups and the scary music!" "And funhouses, sometimes, like with the ride and stuff jumps out and scares you?" "Exactly. People like that stuff. I like it. You like it, don't you?" Yeah. "Yeah." "If you want--when I was your age, I used to imagine really being helpless in a dungeon, what it would be like. You know what I mean?" Yes! No. Don't answer. "Of course I had no way to actually...and I was sort of ashamed of feeling that way. Like it was a sin, or something. But it's not. Feelings are just, you know, feelings. It's okay to have feelings." For chrissakes don't say anything! "I don't--I mean, yeah, okay, I imagine stuff like this--like that. But I could never let anyone see me." "Because you have a hard-on?" Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! "It's okay, Tommy. That happens. Happens to me, too. Just the way our bodies work. Nothing wrong with it. It just means you really, really, REALLY like something. That it's sexy. Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt, or something?" "I'm okay. I just--" "You're not ashamed of your penis, are you? It's okay. It's okay down here because it's just us! I admit it: I've got a hard-on, too, sort of. Can you see how my pants bulge? Just like yours, right?" It is! They do! "Yours is bigger, though." "Who cares? I bet yours gets pretty big. Do you jack off? I do, sometimes. I even come down here and do it." "I...maybe I should go." "Okay. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Come on." He holds his hand out. I grab it to pull myself up and off the rack. His hand is warm. "You can come back whenever you want, if I'm here." "I gotta go." Yeah! Go, before he sees--What the hell--I feel weird. "Hey, slow down, Tommy. Breathe. Breathe. Slow down and breathe. I don't want you fainting on me. You okay? Stairs are over here. Don't run. Just breathe: in, out, in, out." He laughs. "You remember how to breathe, right?" Up the stairs, turn to the hall, walk to the front door, following him, watching the way his butt moves. He opens the door and sunlight pours in. His smile's nice. We both laugh. "Thanks for showing me the...stuff." "Any time. Grass looks great." Outside, the sunlight is ordinary. Everything is ordinary. It was a dream, or like a dream. All over, behind me. That room. Beat off in the basement at home, remembering. It's cooler down here. Same sharp smell, sort of. Imagining. What if? Would he do it? I mean, could I trust him, like he said? Imagine if...beat off. *** I'm standing on his front step, sun hot on my back, staring at the doorbell. Ring it? Take off? Maybe he's not home. Here goes. I can hear a chime sound in there, just barely. Not home, I guess. "Yes? Oh, hi, Tommy! How've you been?" "Fine, Mister Foster." My heart's doing that racing thing. "Good. I, um, can I, I just, I wanted to ask..." "You want another look downstairs?" "If it's okay. I mean, if you're busy--" "You've been imagining things, I bet. Want to see if it could really happen?" It's true. He's in my head again. "Yeah." I have been. Just a look, for a couple of minutes is all. "Just a couple of minutes. Okay?" "Come on in." It's not like my house. It's the oldest house in the neighborhood, they say. Looks like a movie set, maybe, all kinds of wood, and books, and paintings. Some weird paintings, drawings, more like, but with paint. Not real, really, but like you copied something real but not exactly, more like you remembered stuff. Like the dungeon, like when I try to remember the dungeon and there's so much I didn't see, or something, like pieces of it but not all of it. "Here we are." The lights! Was it like that? "The lights. They're like candles, huh?" "Yeah. I hid the bulbs, so all you'd see was the flickering. It's real creepy, that way." "Yeah." He turns on the regular lights. "Of course, I have to be able to see to clean things." Am I going to ask him? Gotta decide. Breathe. "Mister Foster? Can you, could...is it all right if I..." God, just say it! "You want me to leave you for a little bit?" "Yeah. But..." Breathe. "Locked up?" "I'm not sure I understand. What do you want?" His voice is very gentle. I must be babbling. "Could you lock me up and leave me alone? Just for a little while?" "Of course, if you want. Would you like to lie on the rack, or use the stocks over there?" "I think the wall, again. Like the other day, but locked." "Sure. Let me just grab the keys. Go ahead and close what you can. I'll do the ankles, though. It's hard to do those when you're right up against the wall, like that." He said that before. Right wrist first. It's easier that way. Collar. Kind of tricky with one hand. Push my neck back, closer to the wall. Got it. Get the shackle for the left wrist. "Want me to get that for you? Just hold out your wrist. Okay if I lock it? You sure you want me to--" "Yeah. Lock it." Watch his hand. Watch the keys. Watch him lock the other wrist. Then he gets down to lock my ankles. Breathe. "You're going to do the collar, right?" My voice sounds weird, I think. "Collar's the last thing. It means more. The collar is special, I think." The collar is special. It's not like I could get away with my hands and feet shackled. But he's right. The collar makes it...what? I raise my chin and feel it close, feel him lock it. Why are my eyes closed? "Everything feel all right?" "Yeah." God, yes-- "Okay. How long do you want me to leave you? Five, ten minutes?" "An hour?" "Nope. Too long for your first time. I'll give you ... No, I won't tell you how much. Keep it mysterious, okay?" "Okay." "You're sure nothing's too tight, or anything?" "I'm okay." "Do you want me to leave the overhead lights on, so you can look--" "No. I like the candle-y stuff. That's neat." He walks away, turns, hand on the door latch. "Last chance--once I close this door, you're in here for a while. You're absolutely sure?" He's standing in the doorway. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure." Regular lights out. Door closes. For a couple seconds, it's pitch dark. Then my eyes adjust. Latch clicks, loud. Did he lock it? Am I locked in the dungeon, too? What difference does it make? I hear him climbing the steps, I think. It's quiet. Like I'm deep in the ground. Just the flickering lights. Like the movies. I can see the rack, and those other chains hanging from the winch. See how much I can move, if I really try. Wow! He's right! Can't balance on one foot! Lean forward, so my arms are pulled back, push my head forward so the metal is pressing against my neck. I really can't get out. It's really locked. Shake my arms so the chains hit the wall. Pull hard, until the cuffs start hurting my wrists. Shit! They're really on there. On me. It's for real. I fucking can't get out. Anything could happen! Mister Foster could do anything he wanted to me! Stop it. Breathe, like he says. I should have left a note at home, or something. Why didn't I think--what would it say, though? 'Went to get chained up in Mister Foster's dungeon?' God! I wonder if he saw me last summer, messing with those stupid toy handcuffs, pretending I was locked to the telephone pole. Just standing right out there in the alley. It was big enough to sort of hug and rub--God, my cock. The tip's jammed right against my jeans! I feel the zipper, like it came through my underpants, and I can't get to it or even open my pants or anything. Why didn't I think of that? What would I say, though? Unzip my pants? Pull down my underwear? Make me naked--oh shit, am I cumming? Oh fuck! It's all sticky. I wonder if it got through my jeans. My underwear's soaked. God, it's running down my right leg. God, I'm a mess! And I can't do anything about it. I can't do anything about anything. I can't do anything! Breathe. How long has it been? He said five or ten minutes, maybe. Okay, it's been a couple of minutes, easy. Maybe three or four? So say it's five minutes. That's all. Five minutes. Shit, when I jack off at home it can take me ten minutes, unless someone's coming or something. But it wasn't ten minutes, was it? I just tugged on the chains a little. Say, okay, three minutes. Maybe more, but say three minutes. I mean, he didn't look at his watch or anything before he left the dungeon, so maybe thirty seconds before he started timing? So five--no, I said it was five minutes like, a minute ago, maybe. So maybe four minutes to go. Just four minutes, say. Unless he cheats, or forgets, or has to take a piss or something. Or what if he's crazy and he never lets me go, just leaves me here! Maybe I should--no! Cool it. Breathe. Don't freak. Don't freak out. He's got to come back. He said between five and ten minutes. Or maybe more. Keep it mysterious, he said, I think. He said an hour was--shit! He was right about that. If I had an hour to go it would be like I had more than fifty-five minutes left, or something. But he could have an accident! Fall down the stairs, say. Or go to the can and trip on the bath mat and crack his skull open, and I'VE GOT TO GET LOOSE! HELP! HELP! I'VE GOT... I've got... Shit! I could break my wrist, he said. My left hand hurts like hell. And both my ankles-- "I heard you. It's okay. I'm here, Tommy. Just slow down, relax. Can you hear me? Are you with me?" He's here! "Yeah. I'm ... I freaked, is all. I'm okay. I thought--you're okay, right?" "I'm fine, as long as you're okay. I'm going to unlock your ankles, understand? Just relax. Count to twenty, or something. Relax." "How long did you leave me? How long was I--" "Six minutes. There. Your ankles are loose. Stand there, let me get the collar off." "I thought you said that was last. Do my hands, first. Please." "Sure. Here we go. Any tingling, or anything?" "In my hands? No." "Okay. It looks like you kind of scraped your left wrist, there. I'm sorry. I should have wrapped your wrists. Need to clean that off. I've got some antiseptic upstairs. Ready for the collar to come off, now? No. "Yeah. Okay." Up to the bathroom, and watch Mister Foster hold my hand, wash my wrist, put some stuff on it, bandage it. "What would they do to somebody chained up like that, do you think?" "Well, you wouldn't get much sleep, of course. And they could whip you, or put clamps on your tits and your cock, or hit your balls. Maybe put a candle on the floor under your junk." He shrugged and led me to the kitchen. "Want a glass of water?" "Yes, please." He moves so easy. But it's his house. It's set up for him because he's the boss. He sets the glass in front of me. It looks small in his hand. He's got his own glass. He sits next to me at the table. "Mostly, they probably just let you stand there and watch, while you wait for your turn to be tortured. Sometimes just waiting is the worst torment of all. I guess you saw that." "Yeah. It's weird how you can't tell anything about time, like even counting seconds probably wouldn't do it." "I can't imagine counting seconds for an hour. Counting all the way to sixty, sixty times!" "Thirty-six hundred. Yeah, I don't think--you could get mixed up or forget where you were, or something. And it wouldn't do any good unless you knew for sure they were coming back, like I did." "You have to be able to sort of hypnotize yourself, let your mind drift like you're dreaming. Not everyone can do it." While you wait for..."You'd be too scared, I think." "The rack is actually the most comfortable thing down there. Or least uncomfortable. Unless it's being used on you." I want the rack, I want--stop it! "Guys would be naked in a dungeon, huh?" "The prisoners, yeah. The jailers would be dressed. It's really weird, how that makes you feel when you're naked and the other guy isn't." "Like because you're all...like you've got no protection or anything." "In the old dungeons, they'd be cold. Naked and really cold. They'd throw buckets of water on you, too." "Shit!" "I keep this place at about 75 degrees, so you won't freeze, if you're naked." "What do dungeon guys wear? The torturers, and them." "Depends on which years and which country. Probably normal peasant clothes, maybe military uniforms, or robes like priests, maybe." Oh, fuck. Just say it. "Can I try the rack? Just to see?" Why is he looking at me like that? He finishes his water. "You want to try the rack?" "Just to see." Please, Mister Foster. He stands, and I stand and we go back to the dungeon and nobody says anything until I'm standing next to the rack, looking at him. "You have to take your shoes and socks off. And your shirt. So it won't bunch up, or anything." "Okay." Shoes, socks, one hand on the rack for balance. Pull my shirt out of my pants, up my chest, over my head. He takes it, hangs it on a hook. "Jump up on the rack so I can put the foot harnesses on." They're leather, sort of like boots but with no bottoms. And there's buckles and stuff. And these loops on each side to put a sort of clip into. "Okay, these are the wrist cuffs." They're a little like gloves, but with no fingers. Fingers are just there, sort of naked. And these straps around my wrists... Feels like somebody's shaking my hand, or going to shake it, maybe. "Ready?" I'm scared I want it. Nod. "Yeah." "There. Lie down on your back." He's hooking something to the loop things, it feels like. "Put your arms up. Back here. There you go." He hooks something to the cuffs. "Here goes." Click. "How's that feel? Anything pinching?" "No. Feels like stretching when you get up in the morning, sort of." "I'm going to crank it a little more. Say 'When' if it starts to hurt, or anything." Weird. Really weird. Click. Then nothing. Another click. Quiet. Spooky quiet. Click. Starting to hurt. Can I take a little more? Just a little--stop! "Stop!!" There's a different click and it gets just a little looser. "How's that feel?" "Okay. Intense, sort of." "I could actually go a lot further before you got permanently injured, or pulled a shoulder out of joint, or something." "Please don't." "Of course not. But I could tickle you." Oh, shit! Stop it, stop it, god I'm going to pull myself apart! "Stop. Please" gasp "st-st-st-stop!" gasp "not fun--" gasp "not funny!" gasp. "You okay? I didn't push you too hard, did I, Tommy?" Did he? Not really, I guess. "Shit! What the fuck--I never thought tickling could be torture. I mean, real torture, like that." "See, the torturer can do whatever he wants to your body and there's nothing you could do. And it's not like when you're on the wall, because there's nothing on your neck to choke you." I want a collar! What the hell? "Collar me!" Did I say that? Like out loud? "You're sure?" "Yeah." What the fuck am I--he's walking away. I should tell him not to--that I changed my mind. This is really helpless he's back with a collar he sets it on my chest. "This is one of the oldest ones. Pretty heavy. You still want to put it on?" It feels funny on my chest like that. What the hell, why not? "Go ahead." Click, yeah. "Um, if it's okay with you, I think I should undo your pants. Don't want anything to get hurt down there." "Yeah. Please. Let my cock out!" "Don't cum or anything, though." "I won't." I won't I won't I won't I won't god its out he's pulling down my underpants Oh shit, he's gonna see they're all wet from--now he's hooking the waist under my balls he's touching my balls he's touching my cock no he's not please touch it no don't touch no "You okay? Don't forget to breathe." Oh, yeah. "Kind of freaked out for a second there." "You have a pretty big cock." I do? "Yeah." I guess I do, maybe. I don't know, really. It doesn't look that big in the locker room at school. I mean some guys look bigger. But everybody's soft and some of the soft guys get real big, sometimes. You're not supposed to look, but guys do. I kind of like that, secret. Hey! He's pulling my pants all the way down. "What--" "Might as well. So if you do cum, it won't get on your clothes." Oh. Yeah. "How do you feel?" How do I feel? Scared, maybe? No, that's not it. "Good, I guess. It's weird, but I feel like...I don't know..." "Like it's hot? Turned on?" Yeah! Crazy! "Hey, it's all right. Happens to me, too. I'm hard right now, in fact. Want to see?" "Sure." What! Why did I...okay, it's just like a locker room, except--"Take off your shirt, Sir. I mean, if you want--" He's pretty muscle-y. Pretty hot. What the hell? "Don't worry about looking. It's just us. It's cool. See? My cock's not that much bigger." No, it's not. It's like third grade with Wendell, comparing pricks. He's longer than me, looks like. A little. We'd have to stand--I could face him, like our cocks together-- "Is yours all the way hard? Should I make it harder?" He's Touching It! With his mouth! A blow job! This is what a blow--oh, shit! Oh my fucking--! I sound like a girl but it feels so good, like I never felt this I can't do that to me oh oh oh oh stop! "Stop!" God, I can't move! "Stop, please. I can't take any more it's so stop! Stopstopstop!" He's not stopping here I Oh. My. God! "Sorry! Got a little carried away, there. But you were so hot! Should I let you loose?" No! "Ye-no. Not yet. Not yet. Did you cum?" "No, I-" "Can I watch you? Can you get up here, or something, so I can watch?" "Sure." He's smiling, and I feel good in my gut. He's kneeling, one knee on each side of my stomach. When did he take his clothes off? He's so big! Yes! Play with it, make it bigger! Yes! "I'm going to cum!" "Yeah! Do it! Do--" All over my face and my hair, and between my arms and everywhere. Salty. Shit! I'm eating cum! But he ate mine, right? Fair's fair. I'm eating cum... *** "So you have-so guys like us have sex like this?" "All the time. That's what this room is for." "And I can come over any time?" "Any time I'm here, you can come over and we can play with ... whatever you want." "Is this, like, sick or something? I mean, we're both guys, and all that." "So?" "So!? It's like illegal, or something." "There's nothing illegal about sex as long as we both want it, and we don't hurt each other. Okay, maybe a little hurt, but only if you want it, but you know, nothing for a doctor or anything." "You sure?" "It's nobody's business but ours, Tommy. Nobody else is here. Nobody else is affected. Nobody else even knows!" "Do you think someday I might be able to make an hour?" "If you want. If it turns you on." It does. Of course it does. "There's so much..." "I only wish I'd been as lucky as you are." "Huh?" "I didn't have...I didn't have anyone like me to...to introduce me to stuff, guide me through it." "Yeah. This is like, it can't be real." "But it is. I put a lot of effort into making it real." "Thanks. For letting me, you know..." He smiles and we look at each other for a minute, and then he's looking at the floor. "One other thing. If you want to, and you don't have to. Not ever, I swear!" Uh oh. "What?" "Someday, if you want to, and after you know how everything works and all that, would you like to chain me up?" Oh God Yes!!! "I'll think about it."