FABLE OF THE PIG AND THE FLOWER (1/2)

Once upon a time, very close to here and very recently, a slim young man, no more than 1.68 m, brown-haired and with a pert ass, for reasons only he knew, insisted several times on catching the attention of a profile belonging to a dominant who was looking for young men willing to be humiliated and end up dirty and as stinking as possible.

"But I would beg you not to make me talk more, not to force me to tell you why," the young man finished, almost out of breath.

Izan had barely lifted his head. Sitting at the back of the bar, in the semi-darkness chosen by that corpulent, hairy guy with a poorly kept beard and a bit of a belly, he had been answering his questions one by one.

The guy, with a gold chain and another pendant around his neck, his shirt quite unbuttoned, looked at him persistently and shamelessly, while he played with his fingers twisting the black hair that came out through the gap of his open shirt, which brought to Izan's memory the dark, leafy forest surrounding a pussy in the first, distant porn film he would see at thirteen or fourteen, which a classmate stole from his father.

"So... in short, you tell all that to a guy you don't know and you're left feeling so good about it," said the 'interviewer.' "That the little boy has been bad, very bad, heh, heh, heh, and is looking for a strict daddy to punish him."

Izan moved his head up and down several times. On one of them, he crossed his gaze with that of the Master, or whatever he was, with whom he had made contact.

"Do you like playing interesting? That you're looking for someone to help you purge I don't know what..." he repeated sarcastically and laughing. "It wouldn't be the radiators, would it?"

Izan still couldn't say a word. He hadn't calculated that the guy would like him having laughed at his joke. He had made a huge effort telling everything he had told and felt exhausted, exposed and defenseless, absolutely vulnerable as if he had already handed that individual the keys to his conscience. Wasn't that precisely what he was looking for? Was his strength going to fail him? His legs perhaps to get up and run away?

"I'm looking for, I need," Izan emphasized, "to be punished. I assume all..." He couldn't finish.

"What do you mean assume, my ass, kid!" the guy interrupted him. "Wait for me here. I have to take a piss. If you're not here when I come out, well, that's your problem, pretty flower."

"I'm not leaving, unless you ask me to," Izan said shyly.

"Me?" the other snorted, already on his feet. But he leaned toward Izan, half whispering: "It's not my habit to ask anyone to stay with me, my flower. I prefer they show me they want to stay and earn it. To start with, don't address me informally. Understood?"

As he continued toward the bathroom, the cocky tone and the smell of dried sweat and tobacco that reached Izan soaked into him, trapping him now beyond remedy. The ...