The Offer
by Wrestlr
2.
Jack was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. That did not make what was happening feel any less real.
He lay on his back in the bed, buried to his nipples under the warm, soft, clean-smelling sheets and comforter. Dylan’s body hovered over his. Jack could feel the heat of his body through the bed sheets, feel the sheer presence of the man, smell the scent of him, masculine and maybe just a little undertone of sweat?—yes, just a hint of clean, male sweat. Dylan bent, pressing his muscular weight against Jack’s through the covers, against Jack’s erection. Jack’s erection ached with pent-up demands, a haven’t cum in a week needfulness. Dylan’s mouth brushed his, and Jack parted his lips to signal his readiness. Dylan’s mouth covered his, tongue probing, sliding against Jack’s teeth, then entering. A real kiss, Jack thought, my first real kiss. Dylan’s tongue tasted of chocolate with a trace of cinnamon. The taste and feel of Dylan’s tongue inside his mouth excited him, the way that tongue teased his. God damn, Jack swore, then felt himself blush at how easily he took God’s name in vain—How does his tongue keep finding the perfect way to make the kiss feel better and better? Jack’s dick responded with the familiar need and buzz. The buzz spread through his cock and into his balls. Dylan ground his body against Jack’s through the sheets, ground his tongue against Jack’s. The buzz spread through Jack’s entire body and he began to ejaculate.
Jack opened his eyes carefully. He was awake now, feeling the last of his orgasm ringing through his body. What time was it? Where was he?
Heavy curtains—blackout curtains—obscured all but a thin rim of sunlight that told Jack it was daytime.
He remembered. The guest bedroom. Right. The bedroom door had no lock, so Jack had pushed a chair in front it last night. The chair could not stop someone who was determined to get in, but it would have made enough noise to wake him. He would not have been caught by surprise. Last night, Jack had pulled off the sweatshirt and tee-shirt, but kept the sweatpants on, remembering lessons he had learned on the street, when he climbed under the quilt and snuggled down into the soft sheets. He had known he would sleep well, not caring that it was only for one night.
Jack sat up in the bed. The chair remained in front of the door exactly as he had left it. No one had entered. Yes, only a dream, he assured himself, only a wet dream. Then—“Shit."—he felt the gooeyness around the head of his softening cock. He pushed the sheets back. “Fucking shit.” They had loaned him this pair of sweatpants, and now he had gotten semen on them.
Jack stumbled, still groggy after his first good night of sleep in a week, to the bathroom. He took off the sweatpants, rinsed the cum spot under the tap, hoped it would not leave a stain. They had taken his jeans, and all he had to wear was this pair of sweatpants now with a large wet spot near the crotch.
Jack pissed. In the mirror he decided his color looked better, skin less gray. He showered and shaved again—not because he needed to, but just in case he got no other opportunity in the next few days. Also, he hoped to buy time for the wet spot to dry somewhat before he put the sweatpants back on.
He liked feeling so clean. He had not in a long time. He resolved to find somewhere to stay—no more sleeping on the streets. He would do whatever he had to. Dylan had mentioned the possibility that Jack could stay here. No, he told himself when he felt anticipation making his chest swell, Dylan only promised one night, and I shouldn’t not to get my hopes up. Better to be realistic now than disappointed later if he was pushed back out on the streets.
Finally, he knew he had to face the people who lived here. He could not hide in their guest bedroom all day. Jack pulled on the sweatpants, then the tee-shirt and sweatshirt, and arranged the shirt to cover as much of the damp spot as he could.
Still barefooted, he crept down the stairs, carefully avoiding the squeaky bottom step that betrayed him before. The house seemed quiet, and he wondered if everyone was at work or whatever they did during the day. When Jack thought about that, though, he realized how odd it seemed that Dylan and Ike would leave a stranger alone in their home.
Noises from the kitchen meant he was not alone after all. He followed the sounds to find Ike emptying the dishwasher and putting away the dishes. Ike wore nothing but a jockstrap, and Jack got a flash of his bare butt cheeks before Ike turned his way.
“Hey, baby,” Ike greeted, and Jack lost his chance to escape unnoticed. Ike was smiling, seemed completely unashamed, as if he always did chores in nothing but a jockstrap. Jack hoped his embarrassed flush was not too obvious. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good,” Jack admitted. “Real good, thanks.”
“You want some breakfast? I can cook you some eggs and sausage? Or there’s cereal?” He rummaged in a cupboard, and Jack got an eyeful of Ike’s V-shaped back and bare ass cheeks again—really nice bare ass cheeks, Jack decided, feeling himself blush again.
“Dylan likes this stuff,” Ike said, making a bleeh face and dumping a muesli cereal box on the table. “And this is what I like.” Ike held up a brightly colored kids’ cereal box with a big grin, then offered the box to Jack. Jack just nodded shyly as he took the box and the gallon of milk that Ike offered, exchanging a smile with the man who shared his love of a morning sugar rush.
Ike made small talk about how Jack had just missed Dylan, who headed off for his morning shift. Jack wondered how the hell was Ike so perky. Ike was obviously one of what Jack considered the world’s most inscrutable species: a morning person. Jack munched skeptically and occasionally grunted when Ike seemed to be waiting for his reaction.
Then Ike announced: “Eat up. The man who owns the house wants to meet you. After that, if you’re willing, maybe you can help me with some small chores around the house?”
Jack looked over the spoonful of cereal he was about to shove into his mouth. Ike’s chest, sleekly muscled but slimmer than Dylan’s, distracted him for a moment. What was Ike saying? Right. A meet-and-greet with the house owner, then some chores. It seemed the least he could do to repay them for dinner, a night of sleep, and now breakfast. Jack nodded and chomped down on that waiting spoonful.
After breakfast, Jack found himself standing before a door into a part of the house he had not seen yet. He hoped, in his borrowed sweatshirt and sweatpants and bare feet, he looked presentable. He looked at Ike in his jockstrap and decided Ike might not be the best person to ask for meet-and-greet apparel tips.
“Go on. Knock,” Ike prompted him. “Don’t keep him waiting. Stop worrying—he’ll like you. And if he likes you, he might offer to let you stay a while.”
How the hell was Ike so good at knowing what Jack was thinking?
Jack knocked softly. A masculine voice from inside called, “Come in.”
“Good luck,” Ike whispered as Jack reached for the doorknob.
Great, Jack wondered as worry tensed his stomach again, why would I need good luck?
He opened the door and walked through. The room seemed a combination office-study-library, with a large wooden desk, a laptop computer setup, a few chairs, and walls lined with bookshelves. Everything looked more expensive than what Jack was used to. The rest of the house seemed typically suburban, but this room was more ... Classy, Jack decided was the word.
“Come in,” the well-dressed man said.
“You must be the Doctor?” Jack tried to sound cool and in control of the situation, like an adult. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jack.”
They shook hands. The doctor motioned Jack to sit, and then he chose the adjoining chair. The surroundings intimidated Jack. He looked around and decided he was definitely underdressed, but now he had to gamely push forward. “Thank you for letting me stay here last night.”
“It was our pleasure. How could we say no? Dylan told me a few details about your situation, but I’d like to hear them directly from you?”
“What do you want to know?” Wariness flared in Jack. He found himself calculating direction, speed, and distance if he needed to run.
“Dylan said you’re seventeen, nearly eighteen. So, you’re a senior, I guess?”
Jack shook his head. In the silence, he realized the doctor was waiting for more. “Home schooled,” Jack offered with a quiet shrug. “I told my Dad I was gay when I was fourteen. He blamed my school for making me gay. So he pulled me out. I haven’t been to school in, like, nearly four years.”
“Making you gay?” The doctor did not seem surprised. He seemed to be mulling what Jack had said.
“Yeah. Who’d have thought public school could turn you off girls?” Jack tried a smile, hoping humor would diffuse his nervousness.
“So why didn’t you get thrown out at fourteen?”
“Interventions. They tried to straighten me out—literally. My dad’s Army buddies would take me on week-long trips in the wilderness or state parks, for running, hiking, guns, hunting, all kinds of shit they hoped would make a man out of me and make me start liking girls sexually.”
“I see. Go on.”
“I took it all—the interventions, the orders, the lack of a life. They pulled me out of school, took away my phone and my music, and made me stop seeing my friends. They let me use the computer for my lessons for a while, but when they found out I was using it for email and downloading gay porn, they turned off the Internet service. My Dad was not happy about that at all. He had all these plans for my future, my being gay wasn’t part of those plans, and I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
“He wanted you in the Army?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. Preferably the Special Forces. He was Special Forces until he was invalided out.”
“Clearly you didn’t join the Army. What happened?”
Jack sighed, shook his head, and hesitated. “For years he told me that on my eighteenth birthday I’d absolutely be enlisting. My dad was always worrying about what people thought. We’d go to church every Sunday, even though I don’t think my parents were that religious, but it was the place he wanted to be seen. He made me dress in my suit even though it was getting too right, and he’d wear his uniform with all his medals on his chest. He was always telling everyone I wanted to follow in his footsteps and serve my country, and how proud he was. He wasn’t proud of me at all, though, not really. I was kind of smart and athletic in school, but nothing was ever good enough for my dad. Before he pulled me out of school, he’d always say my A in math class should have been an A-plus, or the eight points I scored in the basketball game should have been ten. After I told him I was gay, he said it was the gym locker rooms that turned me queer. He was always going on about how the Army would make a real man out of me. Last week, I told him there was no way I was enlisting. I don’t want it. That was the first time I ever stood up to him. I told him, I’m choosing my own life and it doesn’t matter if I’m gay or not. It’s my life.”
“That was a brave thing to say.”
“Fucking stupid is what it was.” Jack laughed at how easily profanity came now that he was out from under his father’s rules and quick backhands. “My dad is six-four and has muscles on top of muscles. He hit me a lot when he thought I needed it. But after I stood up to him, he really beat me the shit out of me and threw me out of the house in under an hour. He told me if he ever saw me again, he’d shoot me right between the eyes.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“The only people who’ll miss me will be the people who don’t see me at church anymore. My dad’ll probably just tell them I was so eager I decided to enlist early. I’m pretty sure he won’t tell them about the gay or beating parts. But honestly, I’m so over what he did. They don’t know what they’ve lost, ‘cause one day I’ll be rich and famous and married to the most gorgeous guy on the planet. We’ll adopt a couple of kids, and live in a big house with a couple of dogs, and then my folks’ll come running back, and I’ll just tell them to fuck off.”
The doctor chuckled. “Tell you what, Jack; you give me his address, and I’ll tell them to fuck off for you.”
Jack tried a smile. “Heh. Thanks.”
“So, after he threw you out, what did you do next?”
Nothing that happened after his eviction included details the Doctor could use to send him back to his father—this was safer territory for Jack. He stared at the floor, a trick he had learned to show humility to his father; that seemed to make talking about these events easier.
Once Jack started talking, the entire story tumbled out of him. He had walked and hitchhiked to the first town large enough to have a bus station, planning to buy a ticket to the nearest large city. For the long term, he thought he could connect with the gay community there, but in the short term he planned only to find the a youth shelter or runaway services there, get himself cleaned up, and wait until he turned eighteen and could find a real job. He had eighteen dollars in his pocket. The clerk behind the bus ticket window had not actually laughed at him, but had made it clear Jack would be lucky to get halfway, in that casually condescending way only sales clerks could manage. Jack had taken what he could get. He ended up a few towns away and had been slowly making his way toward the city and safety ever since.
He told the Doctor he had avoided personal conversation with anyone until the cop—Dylan—yesterday. He had thought maybe the church would be open and offer him sanctuary for the night. But in this small, sleepy suburban community, barely three traffic lights wide, the church had been closed, locked up tight. When the cop found him, Jack said, the real reason he let Dylan walk him here to the house instead of running was because he realized he had nowhere left to run.
The Doctor nodded. “Jack, can I ask you a personal question?”
Jack froze a moment, then he nodded.
“You said your father beat you, and I can see you’ve got bruises on your face. Dylan said you appeared to be limping when he found you and he saw bruises on your back when you were in the shower.”
Jack nodded again. All of this was just facts. He waited for the question.
“Would you show me, please?”
Jack thought about the question. He had always thought of the aches and bruises his father inflicted as marks of shame, evidence of Jack’s many failures. He wondered if they were instead his own war medals, proof of his survival. Jack nodded. He stood up, turned his back to the Doctor, and lifted his sweatshirt and tee-shirt to his armpits, enough to show the half-healed purple and brown marks. The worst, centered around his kidneys, had nearly immobilized him with pain the first couple of days.
Jack said, “He always told me the Army taught him the best places to hit for maximum pain without doing lasting damage.” He was amazed at how casually he managed to say it.
The Doctor asked if Jack had any sharp or deep pains, any blood in his urine, what seemed to be general medical questions. Probably trying to see whether I need a hospital, Jack thought, since the pain had been so bad that first day he had considered going to an emergency room. But having no way to pay for treatment and knowing the staff would have either sent him home or called the authorities stopped him. Jack stood there and answered, “No,” to each one.
“Thank you,” the Doctor said. Jack took that as his cue to lower his shirt and sit back down.
“Jack, how much experience would you say you’ve had with other young men?”
Jack stared at the floor, since being a virgin at nearly eighteen was one of the saddest things he could imagine.
The Doctor seemed to take Jack’s silence as his answer. “Well,” said the Doctor, “you’re a good-looking young man. I have a feeling that sort of thing will take care of itself soon enough for you.”
Jack blushed.
“Jack, I’ve talked to Dylan and to Ike. I trust their judgment, and their assessments agree with mine. I assume they’ve told you about The Offer?”
Jack frowned. What had Dylan said last night about an offer? Jack had been too exhausted—and too distracted by the gorgeous, nearly naked cop—to pay much attention at the time. He did not want to lie, but maybe he should just go along. “A little,” he said, which he decided the truthful enough.
“They think you’ll fit in here, and I do too. It’s obvious you need a place to stay, at least until you get your feet on the ground. I can help you with that too. So my question for you, Jack, is: Would you like to stay here a while longer?”
Hope knotted his stomach. “What’s the catch?” Jack asked, because he had learned every too-good-to-be-true kindness came with a catch.
“It’s very simple, really. We go on a day-to-day basis. Each day, you can choose whether you want to stay or leave. You can leave at any time. I think Dylan and Ike told you I can be a generous man. If you decide you want to stay, it’s rent-free and your meals are provided. If you want to go to college while you’re living here, I can help with your tuition. The only thing I ask in return is this small thing: Every day that you decide you want to stay, you will let me hypnotize you.”
Jack fought against the surprise to keep his face an expressionless mask. “Hypnotize?”
“Yes, that’s right. That’s The Offer. Each day that you want to stay, in return you will let me hypnotize you.”
“Uh ... That’s kind of weird.”
“Jack, I’m a man of eccentric hobbies. If you like, just consider this one of my eccentricities.”
“So ... Dylan and Ike ...”
“—Have been letting me hypnotize them every day since they came to live here. For Dylan, that’s been about six years. For Ike, about four years.”
“What if, y’know, uhm, I can’t be hypnotized?”
“Everybody thinks they can’t, but everybody can. It’s just a matter of finding the right method and earning the subject’s trust. While we’ve been chatting, I’ve given you a couple of inconspicuous tests for suggestibility, simple things you probably didn’t even notice, and I’ve identified a few methods that I think will work quite well on an intelligent young man like yourself.”
Jack could not decide what to make of this. He was not aware of having been tested, and he could not decide whether to feel flattered that the Doctor thought he was intelligent or offended at being tested without his consent.
The Doctor stood. Jack thought the interview was over, but the Doctor said, “Don’t make a decision right away. I know all of this seems overwhelming, and you need some rest and good food to make sure you’re thinking clearly and carefully considering your options. Why don’t you stay here again tonight—no obligations. Talk to Dylan and Ike and the other young men who live in my house too. Get their perspectives. I know Dylan and Ike seem to want you to stay. They’ll be happy to answer your questions about their experiences. Then, after another good dinner and another good night’s sleep, you can decide and give me your answer tomorrow by noon. If your answer is yes, then I will expect you to let me hypnotize you tomorrow. For today, all I ask is that you check in with Ike and see if he needs some help with the household chores or maybe cooking dinner. Sound fair? We’ll go day by day. Sleep on it and give me your answer tomorrow.”
The Doctor held out his hand. Jack understood the interview now was officially over. He stood, shook the Doctor’s hand, said, “Thank you, sir,” and left the man’s office.