Date: Sat, 5 Dec 2020 00:08:15 +0000 (UTC)
From: ropingtop@aol.com
Subject: My sub Vinny - installment 1

DISCLAIMER:  This story has absolutely no connection to the movie with a
similar name. Nor is there any connection to the celebrities mentioned
early on.  They are there solely for context.   And now, let's begin our
story.  Hope you enjoy it.

This is the story of my sub vinny and I.  How I met him, how I got to
know him,  seduce him,  bed him and deflower him, and eventually, make
him my sub.    In fact, if you knew him, you'd probably call him Vince,
or Vincent.  vinny is what I use when we're home.  I use it because he
hates it.  But I get to use it because, well, I think it's cute and , I
make the rules.

A little background.  I grew up as the kid who you always thought could
be a bully.  I wasn't, but , well, let's just say if kids identified as
DOMS (and they may today.  Things change so fast), I'd be one of those.
I always was. Somehow, I could always pick out the passive one, in any
group.  And I was clever enough to exploit that, in ways that got me
sexually excited in a way that never really changed.
I'm bigger than average, but not all that much bigger.  I came into my
height early though, and I was 5'10", my final height, when I was 14.  I
was never fat, but always "stocky" as they say, and still am.  You know
the type of kid:  you look at him and you never think  "quarterback," but
you think  "linebacker" or, the position I played in intramurals,
center.  One of my favorite parts of football was breaking through the
offensive line, and sacking the quarterback.  THAT was HOT.  I told you I
was clever, right?   Well, I always figured out a way to hold the tackle
just a second or two too long.  I did that when I could tell  "this guy
needs to be put in his place. "  I never got called for a penalty, never
got a fist thrown at me.  Even then, I knew.

My early "boyfriends,"  if you could call them that, all leaned toward a
particular type:  tow haired, or blond,  pale skin, usually blue eyes,
chunky, maybe a little intellectual.  My first two (yeah, I was a slut
then too), were Eddy and PJ.  I wouldn't say we dated but, well, read
on.
I met these boys when my family moved into a new part of town.  There was
a group of kids, around the same age as I was.  We went through the usual
"initiation" of my being ignored, then welcomed.  The first one to
welcome me, was Eddy.  Blond, chunky, green eyes , and big, sweet lips.
He saw me  reading a wrestling magazine on my front porch one day.
"Hey, you like wrestling Dave?"
"I do.  Big fan. "
"Who's your favorite?"
"Oh, I like all the villains?"
"Really? I like Chief Jay Strongbow."
"I like when he gets pinned.  "
"Think you could pin me?"
"I don't know.  Should we find out?"

And there, in the middle of the street, Eddy and I were wrestling.  It
really wasn't a fair fight.  I could tell after about two minutes that he
was a pushover, and so.. I pushed him over.  I pinned him.  He asked for
a rematch.  I pinned him again.
"OK Dave, now you gotta use a submission hold."
Well, I cheated.  Kinda.  When I had him on his back, I looked at him and
grinned.
"I bet you're ticklish."
"NO I'M NOT.  LET ME UP YOU BRUTE."
He knew what was coming, and it did.  I tickled the shit out of that boy,
until he yelled  "I give.  I GIVE."  I let him up and tried to move to
hid my hard on.  I just said
"You know, if we had a real ring, now I'd be tying you in the ropes and
taking advantage of you."
"I'd get away."
"And I'd bring you right back."
He wanted to wrestle every day after that.  EVERY SINGLE DAY.  During
summer vacation, at any time during the day, he'd challenge me.  I'd beat
him every time.  When school started and it was still warm enough to play
outside,  after school and before dinner.
Things got touchy when it got colder.  Our house had a big basement, and
my bedroom was downstairs.  We'd wrestle there.  His voice was loud, and
when I was tickling him after pinning him one day, my grandmother came
down the stairs.
"Oh, you're just playing.  I thought someone had gotten hurt. "  She
offered us cookies, which we declined, and went back to our "match."  I
told Eddy
"You know, if you keep on being that loud, I may have to do something
about gagging you."
"Yeah, well I'll rip it out unless you tie me up too."
Next match, he seemed to be extra loud.  Out came the tape, and the
ropes, and soon, Eddy was my hogtied captive, and I was tickling his feet
until he cried.

PJ - Ah, PJ .  After the group had accepted me, I saw him on his own
stoop, reading a great big book.
"Hey, who's that kid?  I never saw him ."
"OH PJ  Paul Joseph.  He's more of a nerd than fun.  He sits outside
because he likes the sun."
PJ was also one of those kids that you'd call chunky, or even chubby.  He
had very straight blond hair, and blue eyes, a big smile, and a big pair
of round glasses.
I went over to him one day.
"Hey, you've been reading that book for a while.  What's it about? "
He looked up and smiled.  "Oh, it's Greek mythology. I love reading about
this stuff.  You read ?"
I did, so I told him.  "Let me get a book.  Maybe we can read together.
"
He smiled even bigger.  "Yeah, I'd like that.  Not many of the kids like
reading."
So, when I wasn't beating the crap out of Eddy, I'd hang with PJ or, as I
started calling him, "PEEJ."   One day he asked me
"Hey, do you think Zeus was really the strongest one of the gods?"
"Nah.  I'd vote for Poseidon."
"Poseidon?  NAH.  I'd vote for Apollo."   And there was my cue.
"Well Apollo, Poseidon challenges you to that most classic of Greek
combats:  wrestling."
He puffed out his chest.  "Let me put my glasses down.  They're
expensive, and I don't get much allowance.
He was even sweeter looking without the glasses.  And sweeter still when
I had him on his back and asking  "So Apollo... you gonna give up?"
When he answered "NEVER," I said  "Ok, pretty boy.  Let's see how hard
you can laugh."
PJ was even more ticklish than Eddy.  I jo'd lots after we had gone home,
to thinking about the games I had played with those boys.
BUT... the first time I ever came, with a boy, was with Eddy's bigger
brother:  Bobby.  Bobby was sort of a bigger version of Eddy: stronger
too, and not nearly as ticklish.  He came by once.
"So, I hear you like to wrestle, and you're kind of the champ."
"I kick your brother's ass every day.  I don't know if that makes me the
champ."
"My brother's a wimp .  You gotta take me to be the champ."
Well, I lost that first match, but I insisted on a rematch.  Once I
learned that Bobby wasn't ticklish, I had to figure something else out.
And I did:  in some of the Greek myths, there were stories about how, if
you got a weapon into the spot where a guy's head met his neck, you could
immobilize him.  One of my teachers at high school (an old closet case,
who liked thin, pretty boys), used to use that on students. He never used
it on me:  I was too big.  But I watched him make these boys helpless.
On rematch with Bobby, I used it.  And I won.
"Good match" he said as we got up.
We were playing not more than thirty feet from my house.  I asked if he
wanted a soda or something.
"SURE." He said.  I took him down to my room and he was admiring all my
books, my magazines, my posters.
"You're quite a collector.  And you really love wrestling."
"I do.  I wish I WERE a wrestler"
"Two out of three? " He asked , and we went at it.  It was a tough,
sweaty match, because he knew I was aiming for his shoulder.  He kept me
away for a while, then he slipped.  Just like in a Greek myth.  And I was
in. I had him.  He went down. I straddled his chest , pinning him down,
and... to this day I don't know what came over me:  I bent down and
kissed him.  He kissed back   There was a little more rolling around on
the floor, and my 14 year old penis just seemed to burst.  His did too.
"I gotta go," he said, hurrying to get up and wrap his sweatshirt around
the stained spot on his pants.   I told my grandmother that I had cut
myself and blood had stained mine, so I left them to soak in the sink.  I
don't think she believed me, but hey, it was possible.
I never saw Bobby after that night.  And Eddy came around less and less.
 Then, one day, my stepfather got a better job and we moved.  I never saw
either guy again, although one of my sisters told me that Bobby
eventually got arrested for shoplifting, and Eddy was working as a grease
monkey in a gas station.

And now we jump forward a LOT of years.  My grandmother was gone, so was
my stepfather.  I had come out to both of them before they died, and they
were cool with it.  My grandmother actually asked me some pretty direct
questions about what gay men did.  I gave her the general info:  I didn't
tell her what I  did because, well, SHE WAS MY GRANDMOTHER.

You've read enough stories about gay romance in high school, closeted
athletes, yadda yadda.  It's all true and I won't give you another one of
those.  Instead, I'll tell you that my Dom inclinations got stronger.
When I was at college, I learned more about it, and at law school, I
learned about bondage.  Hell, I think every second guy at law school was
into bondage.  My mentor was.  He explained things to me like bandana
language (does anybody use that anymore),  and gave me books to read,
told me what bars to go to and which ones to avoid, and gave me constant
grief about my developing "type  :  a type that has stayed with me.

See, somewhere along the line, I lost interest in the chunky blond boys.
I began to develop a real obsession with hot, older looking guys, who
were solid, and... bald.  Some archetypes if you want them:  Stanley
Tucci;  Chris Meloni (well, DUH),   Ed Harris (what I wouldn't have given
to have Ed Harris underneath me, JUST ONCE).  I wasn't a fan of Jason
Alexander, but if there had been a thinner , taller version of him, I
would've run off with him faster than you could say  "minoxidil."

Now, this is all by way of background as I explain Vinny.  After law
school, I found a really good job, made a shitload of money, and bought a
house in the suburbs.  It meant driving to the train station every day,
and a half hour ride into the City, but I liked the place. I stayed there
for years.  Mortgage payments were tough when I was a beginning
associate,  easier at senior associate, and by the time I made partner,
they were a breeze.  I lived right near a lake, and I could watch the
ducks for hours.  And that was a good thing because, "out in the sticks"
as I was, I was lonely.

One day, I got to my train, and it was exceptionally crowded, so I didn't
get in my usual car.  I got in a different one, and I saw a seat.
Someone was in the first half of the seat:  a thin, balding guy who,
frankly, objectively, was a mess:  cheap suit, wrinkled, a tie that
probably cost him no more than 6 bucks, a button down shirt that probably
cost no more than 25,  a moustache that had never seen a barber, and an
almost totally bald head.
I was in love.  Or, as my mentor would have corrected me  , "No Dave, you
were in lust."  True.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
He looked up.  His voice was deep, and low.  "Oh, no, absolutely not.
Help yourself. "
"Thanks .  appreciate it.  If you want the outside seat, please .
"No no, it's ok.  I like sitting on the inside."
He went back to the papers in front of him.  He was an attorney too. Not
surprising.  Sometimes, this train was called the "JD Local."  It would
have been unethical for me to look at what he was working on, so I buried
my nose in a book (I refused to take work home.  Still do).  I drifted
into the story, and then I heard that voice.
"Excuse me.  My stop."
"Oh, of course .  Sorry.  Let me get up."  As I did, the train jerked.
and he fell back.  I instinctively took his elbow so he didn't fall.
"I didn't mean to be physical but."
"No.  Thank you.  I coulda been hurt.  " He gathered his stuff, and said
"take care," as he left.   As he was getting off the train, I saw that
his wallet had fallen out.
"HEY  MISTER..." I ran after him but the doors closed before I could get
his attention.  We hadn't exchanged names or anything like that, so I
didn't know who he was:  only his train station.  Well, an attorney who
doesn't travel with business cards should be sued for malpractice, and I
found one in his wallet.  His name was Vincent (I'm leaving out the last
name), and his business address and phone number were there.  No personal
information.
Any attorney worth his salt can get that information pretty easily, and I
did.  I called him from my home.
Hey, Vincent, I'm sorry to disturb you like this.  I'm Dave.  The guy who
sat next to you on the train today.  Listen, you dropped your wallet.  I
have it.  I didn't take anything. If you call me, maybe I can get it to
you."
I got a call twenty minutes later.
"Dave, it's Vince.  Thanks for the call. I was actually at the police
reporting it."
"Well, I'm glad I've got it and  it'll be simple.  How can I get it to
you?
"I can pick it up if that's  ok.  Can you give me your address?"
"No problem Vince.  "  I gave it to him.
"That's not far.  I'll be there in about ten minutes.
He showed up in a ratty cardigan. He had taken off his tie, but was
otherwise exactly as I remember him.
I opened the door.  "Hey. Here we go."  I handed it to him.
"Thanks Dave.  I really appreciate this.  You know, I feel like I should
do something .  Can I maybe buy you a drink or something?"
Be still my beating heart.
"I can do that.  Maybe after work sometime?"
"Yeah, that'd be great.  " I pulled out MY business card and wrote my
personal number on it.   "Use either of them."
"I will. Hey, by the way, how'd you know my home number?"
"Oh, it was easy to find.  I just used one of those search engines.  You
seemed like the kind of guy who'd be worried, so I didn't want to wait to
call you at work tomorrow."
He smiled.  "Yeah, I am that kind of guy.  I really appreciate this."  He
offered his hand to shake.
"Dave, I'll check my calendar and call you tomorrow.  I promise."
"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."
Indeed, the only place I was going was to my bedroom, to masturbate.
And he did call the next day.  We made a date for a week later at the
Oyster Bar.
Interested in knowing more?  Stay tuned.