It had been two months since Sasha died in my arms. I was returning home from the hospital later than usual. I had gone through the cycle of mourning: I had been in denial, had felt angry, guilty, aggrieved. And now even though I was just starting to accept that Sashi was gone forever, it was the secret places inside my being that were still revolting against the inevitable and hoping that he would return to me.
I climbed onto my bed, exhausted from the eight-hour surgery I had assisted that night. Despite that, I still had the inclination to be missing Sashi. I missed his being in my arms, his breathing on my skin, his scent and touch. I remembered his scent as if it was lingering on the disinfected sheets.
The scent grew stronger and I suddenly heard my name being called.
"Axel."
It was distant, like a hush, but clear. It came a second time.
Sashi, I replied. I cannot explain it but I felt that it was he.
I was in bed but awake. I could not move no matter how hard I tried. And then I saw Sashi coming into focus ahead of me. He seemed so real that I wanted to reach out to touch him. But my hands, heavy as though made of lead, would not cooperate.
Sashi, I cried.
The apparition before me smiled. It was Sash's smile. I knew it so well. I had seen that smile a million times when he was still with me. Sashi looked like an angel. He always did.
I wept.
It was my Sash, yet something about him was different. He seemed solid yet translucent. His exterior limits would become defined and then fade, and then become defined again at intervals. He was beautiful, seemingly of flesh and bone, but he was spiritual. He gazed down on me and there was so much love and tenderness. Sash was not of this world, I knew, and I should be afraid, but for some miraculous reason, I wasn't. Instead I felt comforted and at peace.
Then he turned his head to his right. He nodded his head immediately. Turning back to me, he lifted his hand, waved slightly and then an atrophy of his aura began. I was entranced.
Sasha was fading away. I begged him not to go. I sprang up from bed, finding that at last, I was able to move again. I turned on the light and searched my room. I searched the entire house, but Sashi was nowhere to be found. I was alone.
Dejected, I retired back to my room, but before the night was over, I had made up my mind to drive up to New Canaan the following day.
The drive to Sashi's home state took a day. New Canaan was now like a second home to me. I took a left turn from the quay and soon arrived at the New Canaan Mausoleum.
Sashi's freshly laid grave was already hemmed in by weeds. I squatted at the mound and pulled at the savage overgrowths. I had brought fresh azaleas, which I arranged in the marble vase, in place of the wilted daisies.
I spoke to Sash for a while, asking why he had visited me the previous night. I stayed for what must have been a long time because when I finally stood up, the sun had set and the moon had started to cast long shadows on the grass. My heart felt heavy to have to leave for the thought that my little Sashi would be all alone in his sarcophagus could always rend my heart asunder.
But what had I expected? That Sashi would appear again? That he would speak from the grave and tell me what he desired or needed? Tell me if he was happy and at peace finally?
My heart despaired as I left the cemetery.
I was passing by a grove a little after nine o'clock. A crowd near a gorge caught my attention and out of curiosity, I pulled up by the kerb to investigate. There had been an accident between two vehicles, a station wagon and a pickup.
A young man - he would have been about Sasha's age - was cradling a child. He looked up at me as if he knew me, and in a tender voice said: "This little one will not live to wait for an ambulance."
I rushed the child and its rescuer to the hospital in my Jeep Cherokee. The trip was short and I had just pulled up at the entrance to the trauma unit when the young man committed the child to me. I hastened to the gurney being wheeled out by some orderlies while the young man informed me that he would remain at my jeep.
I placed the child on the gurney and turned back to find the young man. But he was gone. It could not have been possible for him to vanish out of sight so quickly for the stretch of road before me was straight and endless. But with no time to contemplate the meaning of all of it, I returned to the trauma unit.
There, I was asked about the child's identity and accident. I did all I could to answer the questions and an hour later was permitted to leave.
An attractive man stopped me on my way out of the lobby. He would have been my age, about thirty, had close-cropped dark brown hair and handsome, angular features that were accented by his designer goatee.
"Sir, are you a doctor?" he asked me.
"Yes, but I'm from out of town," I said to him. "I was just on my way home."
"Please," he pursued, "I have a boy who's sick. I need you to take a look at him."
"There are doctors from here who ...." I had started to protest, but he had interrupted me.
"My boy's very sick and could die before the night's over."
He immediately crooked his arm around mine and made me follow him to his home. His house was a manor that approached palace size and sprawled on a vast expanse of what must be prime land. I thought he must be wealthy. He told me his name was Yaryd but gave no last name, and I chose not to ask either.
I was led upstairs into a grand boudoir of gold furniture and drapes. It was replete with the trappings of upper class gentility. I had observed the same of the rest of the house although I had not been given an exhaustive tour of it.
Yaryd pointed to a four poster bed. On it lay a chest-naked youth. He was very still. I could not see his face for his back was towards me.
I climbed a bit of the way of the mattress and touched his arm. I heard a soft whimper.
"This is my boy, Mishael," Yaryd said.
Mishael - what a pretty name, I thought.
"Misha," Yaryd said in a tone that sounded almost as if he was giving an order, "turn around. The doctor's here."
The boy obeyed. I did not immediately see his face for his long dark blond strands were covering it in a messy array. I proceeded to brush them from his face. I was startled at the face that gazed fearfully at me. I sprang backwards. My God, I whispered.
But the boy had started to wince again, burying his face in his nest of unkempt hair.
I touched his forehead, which burned under my palm.
"Do not be a baby, Mishael," Yaryd scolded.
I became aware that this boy could not be Yaryd's child for he had to be much too old. He could not be less than twenty years old. I guessed that theirs must be a modern-day master-serf relationship.
Yaryd pulled down the blanket covering the boy. I was startled once more by the lack of regard displayed for the youth's privacy. But the boy had turned to us, straightening out his legs and he was very naked. I studied his body. It was smooth all over. All of his hair - on his armpits, his crotch, his limbs, even under his thighs and buttocks, as I was to discover later - had been shorn.
Yaryd set me to the task of examining the cherubic-faced young man, closely watching my movements.
I could not help staring at Mishael, for indeed what had startled me that first time when he showed me his face was his uncanny resemblance to my Sasha. They could in fact be twins except that Mishael's hair was slightly lighter and he had green eyes like a Siamese cat's, whereas Sashi's were a light azure. Mishael had noticed my staring at him and he appeared embarrassed. I apologized to him and began my examination.
I gave Yaryd an assiduous diagnosis of the boy's problem half an hour later. Mishael had glandular fever and it was contagious, so he would have to be quarantined for about a fortnight. I also handed the older man a prescription.
That night, I checked into an inn for it was too late to make the drive home. I had determined to return to Mishael for a follow-up examination for, indeed, he had started to tug at my heartstrings. It was not just the bizarre physical resemblance to Sashi that compelled me but also the feeling that it was no mere coincidence that we met. I thought that someone or something had guided me here. The dream of Sasha that had borne me to New Canaan, the young man that led me to the hospital where I was to meet Yaryd, and now Mishael; for some reason I had been destined to meet Mishael.
In the night while I slept, an apparition appeared to me again. This time it was not on its own. The specters became clearer and I discerned two young men. They looked quite alike but one appeared slightly more youthful and wore an innocence that was troubled. Sasha, I cried. The first specter smiled. He turned to look at the other. Mishael? I called out. But the apparitions faded away quickly and I fell back into a feverish sleep.
I had always assumed an existential outlook on my life. But I had also believed in an all-controlling preternatural force that had put together our vast universal scheme and design. Sashi, on the other hand, was the more religious, but as I took my jeep out to Yaryd's estate, I had the certainty that I was being guided and protected. I had always referred to Sasha fondly as my angel when he was alive. I now wondered if perhaps he had really gone on to a higher plane of immortality.
It was Mishael that opened the door to me this time. He was naked and on all fours on the floor. This must be Yaryd's idea of a turn-on.
I squatted in front of my red-faced patient. I clasped his face in my palms. He was lovely in spite of the humiliating circumstances.
Yaryd hollered unseen: "Who is it, Mishael?"
Mishael shook his face free and tossed his head back. He was about to answer but Yaryd had appeared, taking his position behind Mishael.
"Ah," Yaryd said, "it's the good doctor come to see the slave."
This was the first time I had heard him use the moniker in reference to Mishael. At least now he was being candid about their relationship.
"Are you always this solicitous with all your patients?" he asked me next.
"I do my job as necessary," I replied tersely.
"Isn't this a treat, Misha," Yaryd said, bending a bit to stroke the boy's naked bottom, "the doctor's taking a personal interest in you."
He told Mishael now to arise and lay himself down on the couch for me. Mishael got up, and I was finally to see him stand on his feet. He was all of six feet tall but because of his slight frame, he was still very much dwarfed by his master.
It had been a fortnight and some days since I first made acquaintance with the boy. He was all right now and appeared to have gained some weight to his benefit. He was all the more beautiful to behold now that that there was flesh to anchor his bones.
"How's my boy?" Yaryd asked.
I told him that I thought that Mishael was much recovered but needed a lot of rest and warmth.
"He should be clothed," I added.
"Oh no," Yaryd replied. "You see, Mishael's a slave. He's not allowed clothes, not even undergarments."
He touched Mishael's face lightly and continued to say that the youth preferred it this way. Mishael shot him a look of defiance at first, but recognizing his place, he nodded in agreement.
"There you see, doctor," Yaryd pointed out, "Misha is very loyal and completely obedient to me. In fact, I think I shall demonstrate to you just how."
Yaryd went away for a while. When he returned he was carrying a tray of ice. He ordered Mishael to the large coffee table and made him kneel upon it, doggy style.
"Lift your backside up high and spread your knees," Yaryd ordered once more.
I was all too familiar with the scene. I had been in both roles as a top and bottom before, and Yaryd could not impress or astonish me more if he tried. My real concern was for Mishael, if he was a consensual party to any of what was going on, and more important, if he were a happier person for it. I knew Sash had used to appreciate his role as my slave, it had been a valid part of his multifaceted identity, because entering a make believe world with me accorded him positive affirmation of his alter ego and this contributed to his overall sense of self-knowledge and worth.
I knew that my interfering with Yaryd and his slave's affair was a violation of the unspoken code of conduct that governed the masters and slaves sub-culture, but I was also sure that my action was sanctioned by an unknown and inexplicable order. I could not conceive of walking away from this situation any more than presently do anything to help it.
Yaryd spat onto Mishael's anus a few times until a thick layer of his saliva could be seen coating the boy's hole. The former then inserted a finger into the hole and curled around it a few times. I guessed the older man must be trying to loosen Mishael's anal walls. Shortly after, Yaryd picked up a piece of the crushed ice and pushed it into Mishael's anus. He repeated it with fifteen like pieces of the ice until I could hear Mishael whimper. Instinctively, I folded my arms around his waist. His body trembled.
"Don't touch him," Yaryd warned.
I ignored him. He might be Mishael's master, but I was his doctor now.
"Please, sir," Mishael cried, "I'm all right."
"My name's Axel, not sir," I corrected him, warming his body with my arms. "And you're not all right. You just recovered from an illness, and all this is very unnecessary."
The youth turned back his head to glare angrily at me.
"Please, sir!" he exclaimed, intoning his plea with a bit more assertiveness.
I released him. I looked to Yaryd who was smiling triumphantly.
"Very good, Mishael," he said. "You've been in training just three months, but you have learned fast. Nevertheless there's going to be punishment for causing the doctor's trepidation. One hundred lashes today will suffice to show the doctor that his meddling is not welcome."
He ordered Mishael to lie down on his back. Turning to a gilded commode, which I recognized from my study of antiquities was a Swiss make, he reached into a compartment and then drew out a rubber sheet. Mishael moved a bit to allow Yaryd to place the sheet under his bottom. Next Yaryd drew out a diaper from the same commode. Mishael raised up his bottom without being told and the diaper was tucked under him. He spread his thighs and Yaryd folded one of the ends over his groin. He folded the other two opposite ends of the cloth on top of each other and then fastened all three ends with an old-fashioned safety pin.
"Now, Mishael," he said, "your bottom must be full of water. You need to expel it."
We watched the youth relieve himself on the diaper. After that Yaryd grasped his ankles and lifted up his bottom. The diaper had been seeped through the other side.
Satisfied that his slave had performed well, Yaryd removed the diaper, wiped his anus and bottom with it, powdered his private parts generously and then kissed him on his mouth.
"So much for the demonstration, but now the boy's getting whipped," he informed me.
Yaryd turned the youth on his stomach and placed some throw cushions underneath his crotch. This raised up his pale hairless bottom. He started to unbuckle his belt. I hastily abandoned the rules of conventionality and dared to still my host's hands.
"Look," I said, "I realize you could be doing this for my benefit. If it's some point you're trying to make about your ownership of him, it's not necessary...."
"Oh no, sir," Yaryd demurred, "you do flatter yourself. I'm punishing my slave simply because he's my slave. Moreover, I have seen the way he looks at you with some desire. This is not acceptable, Mishael, and shows disaffection. So now, get ready for your hundred lashes."
The belt crashed down on Mishael's nude bottom before I could do anything further to stop the misplaced asperity. The youth screamed. Then remembering, he uttered the word 'one'. From then on, between the blows he would count off and promise not to repeat his transgression.
THWACK! Two, sir, and I ....promise not ....to look at Dr. Axel ....with desire again, sir. THWACK! Three, sir, ....and ....I promise .... not ....to look at ....Dr. Axel ....with desire again, ....sir. THWACK! Four, ....sir, ....and ....I ....promise ....not to .... look ....at Dr. Axel ....with ....desire ....again, sir. THWACK!
I didn't think Mishael could survive Yaryd's brutal tyranny another ninety-five times, but he did, collapsing onto the carpet in wretched sobs. Yaryd left the humbled boy to me and went to change out of his sweat-soaked clothes. I bent to comfort him, but he curled himself up nervously.
"It's not allowed, sir," he whispered, and then begged to be left alone.
I drove back to the inn, my mind absorbed by the images of Mishael's beaten backside. Both this and his tears had wrenched my heart and in addendum roused my sadistic appetence. If Yaryd was right in his observation of the boy's desire for me, he must also have seen that I desired him. I must go back and claim Mishael for my own.