once the Chelsea Boy May/December romance departed (now that he's gotten off, he'll finally be able to sleep whispered the bait as they walked out into the dark humid night), i discovered that i had been abandoned by all my housemates . . . after cleaning up and eating i headed back west, logging a third mile on Fire Island Boulevard and banging up my left shoulder in the process by refusing to yield to the steady stream of Muscle Marys who expect u to get out of their way . . . instead of traffic jams, u have "hunk jams" in the Pines . . . the meatrack already had begun to fill up, right on schedule . . . i picked out the silhouette of a guy much bigger than me and soon found myself refusing an introduction to Tina whose reputation scares even someone who includes trying heroin (along with riding in a horse driven sleigh through the woods on a moonlit night) on his "10 things to do before i die" list . . . pig training, however, did go better with coke as i was soon to discover when my 6'4" Swedish master, after tying up my balls with the rope he carried just for this purpose, asked me if i wanted to return to his house . . . rarely do i crave domination, but i decided to throw myself into this scenario with uninhibited enthusiasm and possibly learn a thing or two . . . thankfully he lived nearby . . . a nude black man with a huge cock lay on a couch when we entered . . . introductions were exchanged without the slighest bit of awkwardness tho a part of me wanted to grip something more than Doug's hand . . . my master led me into his bedroom and took a long swig of bottled water . . . are u ready to be my slave? . . . yes, master . . . he expected me to limit my conversation to this one phrase, a much more difficult task for this coked-up Chatty Cathy than some of hygienically challenged things he asked me to do, which included licking his nostrils like a good little pig and sucking on his fingers after he had stuck two up my asshole . . . so, did u learn something tonight? he asked when he realized that i was not going to have an orgasm even after he rimmed me with my hands tied to the bedpost and my feet behind my head or when he consented to smoke during sex, something that does turn me on . . . yes, master i responded, determined to stay in character right up until i walked out his door . . . i learned he had not been masterful enough . . . he certainly never came close to testing my limits . . . isn't that the point, after all? . . . early on in my "training" he told me he likes to be "gentle" the first time . . . gentle, schmentle . . . i like my men hot and my music loud . . . and i suspect i like my masters rough, preferably in black leather!