Nine
NINE
REN
We talk to my lawyer friend and he sets Felton at ease. I'm not at all surprised because Imry just has a way of doing that. Like he knows the exact tone and kind of handling someone needs and fits that role. It's probably why he's so good at what he does.
He doesn't generally take on contract cases, but we've been friends for a while. The first couple of years I was in college and looking for an agent, I roomed with Imry. He was a law student then and asked if he could look at my prospective agent contracts as a ‘real life' practice scenario. It worked out well for both of us since he had something to really sink his teeth into and I had someone who was studying this shit to critique my contracts.
Over the years, I've sent most of my new contracts to him. The one time I didn't and he saw me in an ad for something, he called me up offended. So yeah… Imry will always be my contract lawyer, even though that's not his area of concentration.
Not that I know what his focus is, actually. He's not the kind of lawyer that goes into court. I'm not entirely sure what he does. All I really know is that he works for his family's law firm.
We spent the next several hours after the conversation with Imry talking about other things that he's struggled with. I learned just as much by what he didn't say as I did from what he confided in me out loud.
We talked previously about why he decided to create a ReachMe account, but it kept coming up when we spoke about his struggles again. Especially when it came to him trying to identify something that made him feel good. Not just mentally or physically or even emotionally, but to feel good about himself.
He says it's not attention and, at first, I wasn't sure. But since the conversation eight days ago, I believe him more. Felton isn't a man who seeks attention. In fact, if he's struggling with something internally, he avoids attention by trying to shrink in on himself and disappear.
Which is impossible since he's huge. There's no missing Felton Badcock. Even if you wanted to.
We had a three-game winning streak, two of which Felton was in goal for. I wrongfully thought that maybe he was finally digging himself out of the holes he kept finding himself in. With someone working on his contracts and me helping him research new agents, I thought that we'd made a lot of progress.
He was smiling again. There was a glimpse of the man we'd known before someone outed his ReachMe account—which, mind you, there's still nothing more than the so-called proof of the matching tattoos.
I know the moment I step out of the bathroom of the room we share in Edmonton that something is wrong. He seemed fine when I went in, but during the twenty minutes or so I was in the bathroom, a switch has flipped.
He's anxious. Lost. Felton looks like he's on the verge of crying.
Even when I ask him what's wrong, he just shakes his head.
Unfortunately for everyone, he‘s in goal tonight when he probably shouldn't have been. We only lose by one, in another damn shootout, but I can see Felton flinching as people speak around him. Even when they aren't talking to him, he absorbs their words as if they are projectiles.
This man needs a therapist, or he's going to combust.
Felton doesn't say anything as he moves through the locker room, the shower, and then onto the bus. Thankfully, Coach seems to be aware he shouldn't be in front of the press right now and doesn't ask him to be. I think everyone is aware of how Felton is struggling. They might have missed it at first, but there's no missing it now.
At this point, Felton doesn't have bad days mixed in with his good days. He has the occasional good day among the bad.
I follow him up to our room. When we flew out yesterday, I asked Coach if he'd arrange it so I could share a room with Felton. I think it was a combination of him seeing my concern and his own that he changed up the room assignments.
When we were handed the keys to our room, he just smiled. Yesterday had been a good day for him.
Felton doesn't undress before he falls onto his bed and closes his eyes. I move around quietly, changing my clothes as I watch him, unsure what to do for him.
"Are you hungry?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
"Want to come downstairs with the team for a while?"
Felton shakes his head again.
I grip his ankle on my way by. "I'll be back in a bit."
He nods. Just a single, subtle movement of his head. I probably shouldn't leave him, but I'm starving. So I head downstairs and order off the bar menu so I can eat quickly.
Denny joins me, slapping my back. "He okay?"
I shake my head, frowning. "No. I don't think he is, but I'm not sure what to do about it."
"There's not really anything you can do. He needs to talk to someone."
Part of me knows Denny's right. But there's an entire population of people who need to talk to someone and never do. They just struggle through their days. In Felton's case, I think it's the voices in his head repeating things he's been told for so long that he can't shake. There's a very real chance that he's started to believe them.
"Fel did good tonight," Denny says.
"He did," I agree. "I'm not sure he's going to see it the same way."
I finish eating and wait for a to-go order to bring Felton a burger. He may not eat it, but he played the entire game. There's no way he's not hungry.
The room is quiet as I approach the door. I'm not surprised. I don't expect to find that Felton's suddenly decided to throw a party. He doesn't seem to be the kind of man that likes to drown his misery in the chaos of alcohol.
But as I pull my keycard out, I hear something . It's not quite a voice. Is that a…
Yep, totally a moan. And yes, there's the squelchy slap of skin-on-skin. How the hell did he find someone to bring back to the room so quickly? I've only been gone for twenty-five minutes.
As I'm ready to back away, more of the sounds filter through the door. There's something flat about them. Something… not quite there.
I tap the card to the door and the quiet beep lets me know it was accepted. Pushing the door slowly, I wait for the extra lock to catch. It doesn't, so I push it open further.
The room is dim and there's definitely not more than one person in here. There's no doubt what I'm hearing now—porn. Shutting the door, I step further into the room and find Felton on his bed with his dick in his hand as he stares at his tablet screen.
He's engrossed, eyes wide, pupils blown as he rubs his cock. His eyes flicker up and then he takes a double take. Yes, I'm really here.
"Sorry," he mutters quickly, clicking the tablet off so the sex noises stop. He fumbles to cover himself, face flushed. "I'm sorry. Sorry?—"
"Stop," I interrupt and Felton freezes. "Keep going."
Felton stares at me, as if he hasn't quite heard what I said.
"Finish," I insist and set the takeout container on the television stand and kick off my shoes.
He watches me. "I?—"
"Finish, Felton."
He shivers at my tone and reaches for the tablet again. His motions are slow, shaky, unsure. Biting his lip, he turns the tablet back on. His gaze flickers to mine as I sit on the side of my bed and pull my shirt over my head.
"Go ahead," I prompt him. "If this makes you relax a little, then finish. I won't interrupt you."
Felton licks his lips and turns to the tablet, unsure. He hits play and turns the volume down. "No," I tell him. "Leave it just as you were."
He swallows and nods, turning it back up.
I don't move to see what he's watching. Leaning back on top of my bed, I just listen to it and stare at the ceiling. There's more than two voices talking over each other. Commanding. Forceful. It takes me several minutes to figure out that what I'm hearing is quite a bit like what my friends and I do—gang bang.
I'm slightly surprised as I turn my head. Felton is staring at the screen again, his dick in his hand. It's at such an angle that I can kind of see the screen. There are words scrolling across the screen. It takes half a dozen times of the words going by and the verbal context clues to understand that he's not just watching a gang bang, he's watching a CNC gang bang. The words floating across the screen in a banner read, "This scene is consensual by all parties involved. The participants have discussed in detail what will take place, and all have agreed. There is a safe word in place if needed. This scene is consensual."
I study Felton for a minute and wonder which role he imagines himself in. I think I know without having to ask. There have been little hints of it over the last few weeks since the ReachMe shit went down. He doesn't like to be the one taking control at all. He flails a lot.
He wants to be the one tied down.
What I'm curious about is why he's interested in the gang bang CNC instead of one-on-one. Felton has always seemed rather overwhelmed when there are a lot of voices talking at him. I would think that a gang bang would be quite overstimulating for him. Not something he enjoys.
I'm both surprised and not when I find myself getting hard as I watch Felton. He's a big guy. A really big guy, and his dick matches his large frame. His stomach muscles tense as he strokes his cock. The view, accompanied by the sounds of the video sounding all too familiar to the moments my friends and I share a girl, it's really not long before I'm hard too.
I shift on the bed and shove my pants down to grip my dick. My eyes lock on the movement of Felton's hand over his cock and I match it. Down the length of his long, fat shaft. Back up, his tight hand moving the loose skin over his cockhead. He rubs a thumb over the slit and it comes away slick.
Felton shifts, setting the tablet on the bed. I'm not sure he remembers I'm here right now as he adjusts himself so he can wrap a hand around his balls.
I'm reminded of the guy we accidentally fucked that one time. Well, not visually reminded, Felton is like three of him. But in the way he pants. The way he desperately touches himself. The way his body rocks and his hips rise as he follows the pleasure.
A shiver races through my body, and as his hand moves faster, a quiet moan leaves him. It fills the room and skitters down my spine. I bite my lip as I let my eyes trail up his torso. I'm surprised when I find he's looking at me. His lips parted, eyes wide.
There's a part of me that wants to say something. I want to ask if he's the one being tied down and forcibly fucked. Is that where he sees himself? Does he want to be fucked like that by a handful of guys? Or is he one of the aggressors? Does he want to take his frustration out on someone under him? Force them still so he can fuck them?
My eyes glance down as the man under them tries to shove the one on top away. He fights, but is quickly subdued. Take it. Take it like the slut you are. Take my big dick in your ass and like it.
I shiver and bring my gaze back to Felton's. He licks his lips, and I can see his hesitance now. Now that he knows I know what he's watching.
"Keep stroking yourself," I whisper.
Felton nods.
My eyes drop to his hand, and I watch as it moves over his big, leaking dick. While his other cups his full balls and gently tugs them.
"You like that?" I ask. "Like what they're doing?"
He moans, struggling to stifle it as he nods. Without looking at his face, I can see he's flushing.
"You want to be the one tied down."
Felton doesn't answer. A shiver runs through his body.
"Don't you, Felton?"
"Yes," he admits breathlessly.
"You want men to line up to fuck you like that? One after another, using your body for their own pleasure?"
This time, his moan is louder. His hand moves furiously over his dick, and his hips come off the bed. Subconsciously, my hand matches his speed. Pleasure races through my body, making my hands shake and my legs stiffen.
He needs to come. Felton needs to come so I can.
"Four men," I say. "Five? Five dicks taking you one at a time. Forcing their pleasure on you."
"Yes," he whimpers.
I glance up and my eyes catch on his face. He's almost there. Felton's eyes are squeezed shut, and a mixture of desperation and heat war in his expression as he jerks himself. Harder. Harder. He whines, grips the bed, and shoots his load.
Clearly it's been a while because he's a damn fountain and his whole body shudders. I watch as his pleasure plays like a movie over his face. It's… fascinating. Gorgeous. Sexy.
Just like the femboy we fucked.
Felton isn't a femboy though. He's nothing like that boy. There's no mistaking him for what he is. Big. Male. Cock. Hard.
I'm still staring at the way his cum drips down his chest and stomach, the sounds he makes mixed with those in his video, when I come. It hasn't been nearly as long for me as Felton because I don't spurt quite so forcefully. But it's been a while since I've had an orgasm quite like that. The way it shivers through my entire body instead of concentrating in my core.
I take a breath as I milk the rest out. Fuck. That was unexpected.