Violated (16 page)

“Hey, butthead! Wait up!”

Derek reached his car, but he could hear Victor trotting behind him, gaining on him. Like some idiot in a horror movie, Derek fumbled with his key, trying to get it into the lock, and dropped the damned thing on the asphalt. It bounced underneath his car.

“What the hell are you doing?” Victor asked. His voice was right at Derek’s ear, and his hand closed around Derek’s upper arm.

“Get away from me!” Derek literally screamed, yanking his arm away so forcefully he spun around and smashed his hip into his rearview mirror. The pain stabbed through him as though he’d been knifed.

Victor backed away, a look of shock on his face and his hands up in surrender. “Whoa! What the fuck is that all about?”

“What do you want?” Derek was panting now, trying to get a grip on himself as his body shook and sweat broke out on his face and neck.

“I just wanted to invite you out to Redhook. I’m buyin’.”

Redhook was a brewery just down the road that had an attached bar and restaurant. Before the… everything had gotten so fucked up, Derek and Victor had stopped by there now and then after work. But that had been a thousand years ago.

“Jesus Christ, Victor,” Derek said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Victor looked at him, slack-jawed. “What?”

“We’re not friends, Victor. Not anymore.”

“What the hell’s
that
supposed to mean?”

Derek’s stomach churned, and he wasn’t sure he could get through this conversation without puking. But it was too late now. He’d opened the can of worms, and now they were all going to spill out. “How can you… how can you think… after what you
did
to me!”

“What I did to you? What the fuck did I do to you?”

Derek reached out a shaky hand to steady himself on the roof of the car.

Victor glanced around quickly, as if he were afraid someone might overhear. Then he leaned in closer. “Look, dude. We got drunk. I mean, totally trashed. Then we fucked around. It didn’t mean nothin’.”

“
We
?
Fucked around
?”

“Keep it down!”

“We didn’t ‘fuck around,’ you asshole! You fucking
raped
me!”

“Shut up!” Even in his fearful state, Derek didn’t anticipate the blow. Victor didn’t exactly punch him, but he shoved his chest so hard Derek fell backward onto the hood. For the first time since they’d met, Derek saw fury in Victor’s eyes… and something like fear. “You wanted it! You know you did! You’ve been droolin’ over my dick for twenty fuckin’ years. I never minded—it was kinda flattering. But don’t pretend you didn’t want me to fuck you. You were desperate for a real man to give it to you, with that prissy little faggot at home keepin’ you on such a tight leash. So you finally got me drunk and horny enough to do it.”

“I got you…? I…? I didn’t want it, you fucking psychopath!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Victor snarled, shoving him down again.

Jesus! He’s going to do it again!

But Victor didn’t make any attempt to rip his clothing away. He just raged at him. “We’re friends! I was helpin’ you out! Stop makin’ shit up! Stop lying about it, you motherfucker!”

Derek gritted his teeth and hissed back at him, “You’re the one who’s lying!”

“Fuck you! I didn’t do anything you didn’t want!”

Then it was over. Victor stormed off, leaving Derek sprawled on the hood of his car, quaking in fear. By the time he sagged down off the car, his legs barely preventing him from collapsing onto the asphalt, Victor’s truck whipped out of his executive parking space so fast the tires screeched and left marks. Derek was terrified the truck would come at him, but it flew out of the parking lot instead.

He staggered weakly along the body of his car, then knelt to retrieve the key. A moment later, he was inside, hunched over the steering wheel. But he was unable to drive. His body racked with violent, aching sobs and tears streamed down his face.

Not even a fucking apology
.

It was a long time before he became aware of a quiet buzzing. He raised his head and saw that it was well past sunset now and the forest beyond the parking lot was shrouded in darkness. The buzzing was from a halogen lamp about ten feet away—one of many that illuminated the parking lot.

He wiped the tears off his face and started the car. The dash clock said it was nearly nine. Tim was going to be furious with him. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything at the moment. The crying had purged him of all feeling and nearly all thought. He knew he had to go home. That was as much as he could handle. So he put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking space.

E
VEN
AT
night, Rabbit Hollow Farm was as charming as it had looked on the website. Fifty acres of rolling hills, ponds, and oak and apple trees—now bedecked in brilliant shades of yellow and orange—with a large red house with white trim nestled in the middle of it. Max had his nose stuck out the car window as they drove along the winding dirt drive, sniffing so frantically Russ wondered if it was possible for dogs to hyperventilate. The German shepherd whimpered with impatience as they pulled up in the broad circular drive and parked next to several other cars.

The front door of the house opened and a handsome—and very naked—older gentleman stepped out onto the brightly lit porch. He waved and headed down the steps to greet them.

“Looks like we’re just gonna jump into this whole ‘clothing-optional’ thing headfirst,” Russ muttered to himself as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. He then opened the back door so Max could jump down.

“Either you’re Russell Thomas or you’re wondering what the hell I’m doin’ walking around like this!” the man said cheerfully when he drew near. Max was already scampering excitedly in front of him. At least he was managing not to jump and shove a paw into the man’s dick.

“I
am
wondering why you’re not cold,” Russ said, struggling to keep his eyes above shoulder level.

The man waved his hand dismissively. “You get to the point where it has to be pretty chilly before you give in and put something on. I am at least wearing slippers,” he pointed out, lifting one foot to display the fuzzy brown bunny that enclosed it.

Russ extended his hand. “Russ.”

“Good to meet you, Russ. I’m Ted, the owner of this fine establishment.” He shook Russ’s hand and gave Max a scratch behind the ears. “Most of the guys are inside hanging out in the living room. I think Lester and Jeff might be in the hot tub out back. Why don’t we take your stuff up to your room, and then I’ll take you around and introduce you?”

Russ didn’t have much to carry into the house. He liked to travel light, so he’d just brought one small suitcase, which he insisted upon carrying himself. Ted led him inside, into a rustic inner hall with wooden beams arching high overhead. Another naked man, balding and a bit shorter than Ted and about the same age, came out of one of the inner rooms to greet them. When he spoke, his voice was soft and had that indefinable quality that people often referred to as “sounding gay.”

“Is this Russell?” he asked with a broad smile.

“He calls himself ‘Russ,’” Ted corrected.

“Russ! And this must be Max!” he exclaimed, bending over to pat Max’s head and receive a wet dog kiss on the nose.

“That’s him.”

The man straightened up again. “I’m Bobby, Ted’s husband. I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Russ shook his hand and smiled. “Likewise.”

“Most of us are in here,” Bobby said, pointing back through the door he’d come out of. “We’re just sitting around talking and having drinks after dinner. You’re welcome to join us, once you get situated. I’ll warn you, our dog, Tank, is in there with us. He’s a pit bull. But don’t worry. He’s like the dog equivalent of a flower child or something. He loves everybody.”

Russ hoped he was right about that. It would suck if he had to spend the whole weekend preventing Max and Tank from killing each other.

The room Ted took him up to was spacious with golden pine paneling and heavy wooden beams crossing the high ceiling. The bed was enormous, and there was a large wooden chest at the foot of it. The comforter on the bed had a pleasant pattern of turquoise, white, and beige, and looked ridiculously soft.

Ted opened the chest and told Russ, “You can put your things in here or in the dresser. The only thing we ask while you’re here is that you don’t leave Max in the room by himself. We had a man stay here with his Rottweiler once—a wonderful, mellow dog. But it tore the bed up pretty badly when he left it cooped up for too long.”

“I understand,” Russ said. “I’ll keep Max with me.”

“Good. Why don’t you drop your stuff off, and I’ll give you the nickel tour. Would you like me to give you a moment so you can change?”

“Change?”

Ted smiled and spread his hands to indicate his current attire—or lack thereof.

Russ felt himself blush. “Oh. Would it be okay, if I… don’t… just yet?”

“Hon, you wear or don’t wear whatever’s comfortable around here. We don’t judge.”

“Thanks.”

I
T
DID
feel odd to walk into a room full of naked men, knowing that he was the only one wearing clothes. Nobody commented or made him feel uncomfortable, but he still felt like he was sticking out, and he felt silly. He was a little self-conscious about being naked in public—even in locker rooms—but he didn’t feel he had anything to be embarrassed about. He was pretty fit. He determined to lose the clothing the next time he went up to his room.

The pit bull Russ had been warned about perked up when Max entered, and ran over to sniff at him. There was a little tense posturing for a moment, with one dog acting as if he were about to lunge and the other pulling back, ears and tail on alert, but after a while they got used to each other and began wrestling in one corner of the room. Russ kept an eye on them, but the play appeared to be friendly.

There were five men in the room besides the two hosts. Some were in great shape, but not everyone. The two sexiest guys—Ryan and Stephen—were in their midtwenties, and they looked like underwear models, sans underwear. But they were obviously a couple. They were practically hanging all over each other. The other couple was a pair of men around Ted and Bobby’s age, which Russ guessed to be about midfifties. Noah and Wyatt. They were both overweight, especially Wyatt, and a bit hairier than Russ liked. He supposed some guys would call them “bears,” though he had no idea whether they were really into that scene.

“And this is Brian,” Ted announced, placing both his hands on the shoulder of the last man to be introduced. He was older than Ryan and Steve, but Russ doubted he was much over thirty. He wasn’t buff, but the little bit of extra weight he was carrying looked adorable on him—not fat, by any means, but… cuddly. He had a pleasant face, and pretty emerald eyes peered up at Russ from under an unruly mop of black hair. “He’s our other single guest.”

The indulgent expression on Ted’s face made it clear he thought his two single guests would be getting very well acquainted this weekend. Russ wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Not that he didn’t think Brian was cute….

Fortunately Brian clearly saw through the not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking. He rolled his eyes and smirked when he offered Russ his hand. “Hey. Don’t worry. We’re not required to have sex for the enjoyment of these old perverts.”

“Who are you calling ‘old’?” Bobby exclaimed in mock horror.

“I don’t hear you denying the ‘pervert’ part.”

“Well… not entirely….”

Ted gave Brian a light slap on the shoulder. “Nobody has to do anything—except make me a drink.”

“And just which ‘somebody’ were you expecting to wait on you like a servant?” Bobby asked archly.

“I don’t care. But I want a screwdriver.”

“I want a new car, but do you see me bitching?”

“What if I trade you a blow job for the screwdriver?” Ted asked diplomatically.

“I’ll consider it.”

Bobby made his husband the screwdriver, but thankfully he didn’t attempt to collect his payment for it right there on the bar. Nudity was one thing, but Russ really didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of people fucking in front of him. He was a bit conservative in that regard. Or perhaps “conservative” wasn’t the word. Public sex had been a big part of the gay underground in the seventies and eighties. He was part of a younger generation—one that wanted love and romance and marriage. So in a weird way, for gay men,
that
was the progressive attitude.

Still, he wasn’t above checking out the men in the room. Brian wasn’t as ripped as Ryan and Stephen, but the fact that he was single lent him a tantalizing appeal. He had a penis that fascinated Russ—not massive, but smooth and perfectly shaped. It was also uncircumcised. Russ had never thought of himself as particularly obsessed with body parts. He wasn’t an “ass man” or a “dick man.” He generally appreciated the overall look of a man’s body without worrying about specifics, but… that was one beautiful dick.

He was mortified to discover himself transfixed by Brian’s crotch at the moment he realized it was moving directly toward him. He looked up to see Brian approaching with a glass in each hand and a knowing smile.

“You looked like you could use a drink,” Brian said, handing him a glass.

Russ took the glass and sniffed it, thinking about the likelihood of it being a roofie. It smelled like a sombrero.

Brian sat down beside him and laughed. “It’s not drugged. You just looked uncomfortable, and I thought it would help you relax. You do drink, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Russ answered, deciding to risk it. He took a sip and then said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So what do you do? For work, that is.”

Russ hesitated, not sure if he wanted to tell the truth. People tended to be on their best behavior around him when they found out he was a cop. He wanted to
relax
this weekend.