to him deeper than most folks will ever understand.
I don‘t— Tyler whirled toward Clint, ready to protest, but Clint silenced him with a hand and a word.
Hush. Hear me out, Ty. Just listen for a little while, then you can tell me all the reasons I‘m wrong.
Tyler turned back toward Gracie, who nuzzled her soft nose against his hand. Fine. He‘d let Clint talk, then he‘d set him straight.
I‘ve been payin‘ attention, Tyler. I know what makes you hot. I know what you need, maybe even better than you do at this point. But I also understand that it ain‘t somethin‘ that comes easy for a strong man.
I think maybe you got the notion that what attracts you somehow makes you somethin‘ less than a man. The power you have in the situation is in your willingness to trust yourself and your judgment of the man you choose to give yourself to.
Tyler turned toward him. Those are fine words, but I‘ve been down this path before. I thought it was what I wanted—what I, he hesitated, stumbling over the word, …needed, but I was just fooling myself.
He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to let that whole horrible mess come washing back over him like a mudslide. Something‘s twisted inside me—something that yearns to be used rough and taken hard. But that doesn‘t mean a man has the right to humiliate me or take what isn‘t freely given.
Clint stepped behind him, and strong arms encircled him. Clint rested his head lightly against Tyler‘s back. You been hurt, Tyler. Sounds to me like some kind of bully got ahold of you and took advantage of your nature. I‘m right sorry that happened to you, but it‘s got nothin‘ to do with what you and me are sharin‘ right now. You ain‘t twisted and there‘s nothin‘ wrong with you. Let go of whatever shame it is you‘re holdin‘ onto. Shame‘s like a rock, Ty. It weighs you down. Toss it away now—you don‘t need it no more. Not with me.
Clint lifted his head and kissed the back of Tyler‘s neck, causing all kinds of mixed emotions to course through him. As for me, Clint continued. I don‘t hold much truck with any kind of disrespect. For me it ain‘t about one person usin‘ the other, or takin‘ what he wants cause he can. It‘s about connection. It‘s about trust. And trust can‘t be demanded. It‘s got to be earned.
Clint pulled Tyler toward him. Now come on, the rain‘s let up and Gracie‘s fine. Come on back with me to the bunkhouse and I‘ll show you what I mean. If you can trust me, Tyler, I can help you get back that spark I know still burns inside you. I‘ve got a single tail whip that will show you more than a thousand words could tell you.
Tyler followed Clint back into the bunkhouse, his mind still rebelling, but his body ready, willing and eager. A single tail whip! Unbidden, unwelcome, the memory of Wayne with the riding quirt in his hand as he held Tyler against the wall, his pants around his knees, burst into Tyler‘s mind. He‘d nearly come just from the feel of the stinging leather raining over his body, something which had confused and upset him at the time.
How humiliated he‘d been when, after the whipping, Wayne had jerked him around and pushed him to his knees. He‘d nearly come from that whipping, but as usual Wayne had stopped too soon, too intent on having Tyler suck him off to pay attention to Tyler‘s reactions.
The whip, Tyler came to realize later, much later when he‘d escaped Wayne‘s corrosive control, was merely a tool for Wayne. It was a way to get himself hard, and make himself feel superior. There was none of this poetry and connection Clint had hinted about. None of the passion and sweetness they‘d shared the night before.
With Wayne, all too often Tyler had been left aching and on the edge, somehow certain there was more—there had to be more—and yet nearly always feeling as if the rug had been yanked from under him just before he‘d achieved what his body and soul seemed to crave.
And yet even that,
I don‘t— Tyler whirled toward Clint, ready to protest, but Clint silenced him with a hand and a word.
Hush. Hear me out, Ty. Just listen for a little while, then you can tell me all the reasons I‘m wrong.
Tyler turned back toward Gracie, who nuzzled her soft nose against his hand. Fine. He‘d let Clint talk, then he‘d set him straight.
I‘ve been payin‘ attention, Tyler. I know what makes you hot. I know what you need, maybe even better than you do at this point. But I also understand that it ain‘t somethin‘ that comes easy for a strong man.
I think maybe you got the notion that what attracts you somehow makes you somethin‘ less than a man. The power you have in the situation is in your willingness to trust yourself and your judgment of the man you choose to give yourself to.
Tyler turned toward him. Those are fine words, but I‘ve been down this path before. I thought it was what I wanted—what I, he hesitated, stumbling over the word, …needed, but I was just fooling myself.
He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to let that whole horrible mess come washing back over him like a mudslide. Something‘s twisted inside me—something that yearns to be used rough and taken hard. But that doesn‘t mean a man has the right to humiliate me or take what isn‘t freely given.
Clint stepped behind him, and strong arms encircled him. Clint rested his head lightly against Tyler‘s back. You been hurt, Tyler. Sounds to me like some kind of bully got ahold of you and took advantage of your nature. I‘m right sorry that happened to you, but it‘s got nothin‘ to do with what you and me are sharin‘ right now. You ain‘t twisted and there‘s nothin‘ wrong with you. Let go of whatever shame it is you‘re holdin‘ onto. Shame‘s like a rock, Ty. It weighs you down. Toss it away now—you don‘t need it no more. Not with me.
Clint lifted his head and kissed the back of Tyler‘s neck, causing all kinds of mixed emotions to course through him. As for me, Clint continued. I don‘t hold much truck with any kind of disrespect. For me it ain‘t about one person usin‘ the other, or takin‘ what he wants cause he can. It‘s about connection. It‘s about trust. And trust can‘t be demanded. It‘s got to be earned.
Clint pulled Tyler toward him. Now come on, the rain‘s let up and Gracie‘s fine. Come on back with me to the bunkhouse and I‘ll show you what I mean. If you can trust me, Tyler, I can help you get back that spark I know still burns inside you. I‘ve got a single tail whip that will show you more than a thousand words could tell you.
Tyler followed Clint back into the bunkhouse, his mind still rebelling, but his body ready, willing and eager. A single tail whip! Unbidden, unwelcome, the memory of Wayne with the riding quirt in his hand as he held Tyler against the wall, his pants around his knees, burst into Tyler‘s mind. He‘d nearly come just from the feel of the stinging leather raining over his body, something which had confused and upset him at the time.
How humiliated he‘d been when, after the whipping, Wayne had jerked him around and pushed him to his knees. He‘d nearly come from that whipping, but as usual Wayne had stopped too soon, too intent on having Tyler suck him off to pay attention to Tyler‘s reactions.
The whip, Tyler came to realize later, much later when he‘d escaped Wayne‘s corrosive control, was merely a tool for Wayne. It was a way to get himself hard, and make himself feel superior. There was none of this poetry and connection Clint had hinted about. None of the passion and sweetness they‘d shared the night before.
With Wayne, all too often Tyler had been left aching and on the edge, somehow certain there was more—there had to be more—and yet nearly always feeling as if the rug had been yanked from under him just before he‘d achieved what his body and soul seemed to crave.
And yet even that,
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