(Alex's POV - Fri 24 October 2014)
This guy's hand – I think I heard his name is Shannon – is so warm and so soft, it feels good.
I am so cold. I am always cold.
For the past two years and a half, I have been freezing inside and outside.
Even in the summer when the sun burns my very pale skin, I feel this chilly sensation inside me.
Even when I wash dishes at work and the water is too hot, I feel cold.
Even when I go dancing and enjoy a great evening, I can't seem to get rid of the icy tingles.
It's like there is nothing that can make me feel warm again. And yet, this boy's hand... This is why I am a bit surprised when Shannon's hand wraps around mine to lead me out of the boss's office and its warmth envelops me. The weird part is that it's not only on the skin of my hand, but it also courses through my body.
It really does make me feel better!
And this guy is so cute!!!
I think he's my size, though not as skinny as I am. I was able to drown into the beautiful greenish blue of his eyes when he helped me into my coat earlier, and almost startled at what I saw in them. Was it compassion? Tenderness? Generosity? Concern? I can't be sure, but I'm still overwhelmed by all the emotions that were displaying on his face.
He is wearing an expensive blue suit that fits him so well, with a white dress shirt of which he left the first two buttons undone, which allows me to ogle the gorgeous silver necklace at the base of his neck. It looks great on his rather tanned skin.
We haven't been properly introduced, so I don't know who he is exactly, but since he is leaving with the boss, I can only assume that he's his younger brother or a friend.
As if the earlier situation in the main kitchen wasn't shameful enough with me sprawled on the floor among a mess of broken dishes, things only grew more embarrassing in the office when the owner of the restaurant where I work tried to grill me with questions about what happened. It's not getting any better now that he wants to drive me back home. The situation with him tending to my scratches is awkward as it is, and I don't want him to see in what sort of crappy place his employee lives! Besides, my place is rather far from here, which means I'm going to make him waste his time, and it upsets me.
However, it seems like the man is not one you can easily contradict. Damn! There's such authority emanating from him! I even wonder how I was able to resist his questions earlier!
I still give it another try, weakly mumbling that I can take the bus to go home, but when I get to hear another sigh of exasperation, I end up giving him my address so that he can put it in the navigation system of his car.
The Shannon guy is sitting at the front while I'm at the back behind the driver's seat, and I have a hard time fighting against sleep due to the extreme comfort of the sofa and the fact that Mr. Murray turned the heater on full blast. I swear his SUV is more comfortable than the old and shitty mattress I sleep on at home! I bet my boss is freaking wealthy!
To be honest, I don't know much about him. I have seen him a few times in the past few months, on very rare occasions, but I don't think he ever noticed me before. In his defense, Chef Sanchez always makes sure to assign me with the least interesting tasks in order to keep me out of his sight, so I spend most of my time in the huge fridges, the stock rooms or the small room where we wash dishes.
I still got to catch a glimpse of the tall man a few times whenever he came to meet Matt – the general manager of the restaurant – or when he's busy experimenting recipes in the smaller kitchen. The first time I saw him, I was amazed by his handsomeness. He is exactly the type of guy I fantasize on, tall, well-shaped, not too bulky, dark hair, and an imposing presence.
Now that I have been given to meet the boss for real and to get a closer look at him, I realize that there's much more to the man. He's not handsome, he is gorgeous. His presence is not only imposing; he gives off much stronger traits, like authority, severity, power, strength and the list could be long. Safety too. Although I didn't yield to his questions on what happened, I wasn't scared of him, I felt safe. His gentleness and kindness reassured me while he was tending to the scratches on my hand, and I'm pretty sure he's a very good person. I could feel it.
The thirty-minute ride to my small apartment is extremely quiet, with everybody apparently lost in their thoughts. I love quietness, so I normally wouldn't mind, especially as I'm ruminating about what happened tonight. I wish the two at the front would talk though, because this silence is a bit burdensome and I feel like I'm disturbing them. It only reminds me of how much I hate making my big boss waste his time.
When we eventually arrive and Mr. Murray parks in front of my building, I open my mouth to thank him, but the man promptly gets out of the car to open my door. Such a gentleman!
"Good evening, Alex! Recover well!!" Shannon says warmly and with the softest voice as he turns back to face me.
"Err... Thank you. And sorry for the inconvenience..." I apologize, hastily hopping off the car.
Once again, I'm about to thank Mr. Murray, but he gently grabs my elbow and leads me toward the entrance of the building, his eyes peering all around and taking in his surroundings. It's already late, so thankfully, there are not many of the often-nasty people usually hanging around, but I can see a few dealers on my left and two guys fighting further away on my right.
"Is this where you live?"
"Yes, Sir..."
"Is it safe?" he then asks, his voice filled with concern.
Yeah, I bet he lives in a much better area. I was expecting disgust on his face, but all I can see is sincere worry. This leaves me perplexed because... Why would he care?
"It's quite okay," I lie.
This area is anything but safe. I don't think there's a day or night without a fight in front of the bars further down the street, or an aggression. Unfortunately, this is all I can afford, so I have to deal with it. On the good side, the bus stop is right in front of my building, so I never roam the neighborhood.
"It doesn't look so okay," he mutters when loud shouting erupts from the group of dealers. "Do you have a mobile phone?"
"Yes...?"
I do have one indeed. It's a very old device that does nothing else than calling, with a prepaid card, and I never use it. It's not like I have friends or family to communicate with, but at least it works. Mr. Murray then fumbles in the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a nice leather wallet from which he fishes a small white card.
"Please, Alex, do me a favor," he says almost pleadingly, handing me the piece of thick paper. "This card has all my numbers and I'd like you to put at least the mobile one in the contacts of your phone. If you ever have a problem of any sort, or need help at any moment, I want you to call me. Is that clear?"
Huh... Why would I do that? Why would he do that? Which boss gives his phone number to his lowest employee and tells him to call in case of problem?
"Alex, I'm serious. Feel free to call me if you have any problem, okay?" he insists in front of my silence, and I just nod in answer. "Alright, now go get some rest and don't forget to clean your scratches in the morning. I'll see you at noon at the restaurant tomorrow."
"Thank you, Sir," I reply, not daring to look up at him – I'm afraid I could drown into the generosity of his eyes. "Thanks for the ride and sorry again for the inconven..."
"It was no problem. Have a good night, Alex," he cuts me with his warm voice.
Retrieving the keys from the pocket of my coat, I push the entrance door open and when I turn around to shut it, Mr. Murray is still here, certainly checking that I really do get in. I give him a small wave of the hand, then hurriedly climb the three flights of stairs to my floor. As usual, most of the lights are dead in the corridor, but I'm so used to this that I don't have any difficulty finding the key hole.
And finally, there I am in my twenty-square-feet apartment, switching on the light in the living- / dining- / kitchen / bed-room. Yes, my apartment is a one-room space. The bathroom and toilets are shared facilities in the corridor. I plainly hate this, but I don't have much of a choice for that matter. My room is not that small in any case, and it looks bigger than it is since it's quite empty. There is just an old convertible sofa I picked in the streets after someone got rid of it; a few large plastic boxes in which I put the clothes I have, as well as a few things I own and these are mostly books. I love reading. I don't have a TV, so I read a lot. These are old too, but as I can't afford buying new ones, so I borrow more from the library.
And that's about it. I hate the neighborhood, and I don't like the apartment either, but at least I have a home of mine, and it's better than nothing. Better than living on the streets and sleeping outside, especially in a city like Chicago where the winters are so harsh. This place is my home sweet home, and I can't afford anything better for now if I want to keep money for extra activities.
It's not that the boss doesn't pay well, he actually does. The salaries at Le Marais are above the average, but I only have a small contract for barely 25 hours a week. Chef Sanchez promised he would increase the number of hours when he hired me, but it's been the same for months now. I keep working harder and even do more hours for free, hoping to convince him of my willingness and that he would pay all these extra hours, but he keeps saying it's only my fault that I'm so slow at work.
He's such a liar. I admit being a bit clumsy in times of stress, but I'm not slow. I do work hard and fast. I don't know why the chef doesn't like me... When I applied for the job, it was supposed be as a cook helper, but he has never let me try it. Instead, he just keeps me for the lower tasks and I'm getting tired of this. I could resign and find another job, but what if the next one is even worse?
The only good point working at Le Marais is that we're allowed one meal per shift for free, and since I usually work on evening shifts, I'm sure to have a nice and copious dinner each day I work. We also have permission to share the leftovers as long as there's no abuse – meaning cooks had better not prepare too much on purpose. And I'm not mentioning the food which is just divine...
Anyway, I need the money, so I can't afford to lose this job.
One may wonder where all my money goes if I don't spend that much in furniture, clothes or whatever. Well, a lot goes in the rent which is still high for such a crappy place. There are charges to pay, food to buy, bus tickets to purchase, and... I also go out a lot. At least twice a week.
As much as I don't have friends, I love spending my nights in discotheques. I'm not a great dancer and I never socialize, but I just love the atmosphere of nightclubs. It's not so much their loud music, but rather the happy ambiance reigning in them, with people being joyful and relaxed. Even if I don't talk to other people, I love their company while I unwind on the dancefloor. Feeling their presence and being in the middle of a crowd makes me feel good.
This might sound weird, but for the past two years and a half, my life has been the most solitary of all, and I guess I'm just not good at making friends. My shyness doesn't help either, and I usually hate talking about myself or my past, so it doesn't work well when you try to connect with other people. Relationships go both ways and you need to give out when you take in, so I content myself with feeling other people's emotions.
Most of the time, I go to cheap clubs, but I recently discovered one which is so much better than the other ones I visited. The name is the Black Moon and it's rather high-end with its expensive admission fee, but it's a great place, extremely safe and quite gay-oriented. Definitely worth the money I spend there!
If it wasn't clear before, I'm gay. A hundred percent gay!
My sexual orientation became clear when I was 14, the first time a girl tried to flirt with me. All I felt was uneasiness and disgust when her lips crashed on mine, her hands boldly reaching for my crotch. It clearly dampened my increasing hormones at the time, and if I already had an idea of my preference for males, it was only a confirmation. I don't have problems with girls in general, and I think I could even get along with them if I was more easy-going, but I'm definitely attracted to men sexually speaking.
Although I had a few boyfriends when I was a young teenager – only two to be completely honest – I haven't been with anyone since I was seventeen. And I'm 19 and a half years old now. Of course, insignificant things sometimes happen when I'm in a nightclub, but it's mostly grinding, groping and kissing. I'm afraid I have become too shy to engage in a real relationship now.
So, I live vicariously through fictional characters. The kind of books I read has considerably evolved over the past years. I've always been a bookworm, reading about just anything I could, from fantastic novels to thrillers and romances. That was until I discovered gay romances, and then BDSM-oriented romances. I am fascinated by the relationship between a Dominant and his Submissive, it arouses me to no end, and there are many of those. Of course, there are a lot of crappy books on this subject, which relate more to abuse than anything else, but there are a few I enjoyed a lot.
I often wonder if some people really indulge in this lifestyle in real life, because I love all these stories about dominance and submission. Now that I think about it... Dominance, authority, submission... I've seen this for real, and more than once.
A few weeks ago, something happened at the Black Moon, and that's another reason why I keep going to this club. There are all sorts of people going there, wearing different kind of clothes. Some, like me, wear regular clothing like jeans and shirts, others are classier while some wear sexier outfits such as leather trousers and see-through shirts. That evening, I saw a man with only leather pants and the guy displayed such a massive authority that I immediately thought of him as a Dominant.
I couldn't help ogling him, but when I finally gathered the guts to approach the bar where he was talking to the waiters, he left and I just saw him disappear through a door at the far side of the room, guarded by a bouncer. I don't know how I mustered the courage to go and ask said bouncer what was behind the door, but he only told me it was a private area of the club.
Since then, I have kept observing that door each time I go there, hoping to see the same man again, but it hasn't happened yet. I've seen other people wearing similar outfits – though with a black shirt – but not that guy. I'm pretty sure there's something else to this club, something BDSM-related, but unfortunately, I haven't dared to ask for more information since then. I had planned to go there again tonight, but I'm so tired from the stress of the evening that I just lie down on my couch, without bothering to pull out the bed, and think back to tonight's events.
What an awful evening...
I'm a bit scared to meet my boss tomorrow, to be honest. I'm not sure why he wants to see me, but it's probably to discuss what happened and I have no doubt it's going to be painful. I know he tried to reassure me saying he wasn't going to fire me, but I can't help fearing the worst.
It was really not my fault. Chef Sanchez has been a pain in my neck ever since I started this job like I said, but it's not only that. Even if it only started a few weeks ago, things have gotten worse and he's been using me as a stress-reliever it seems, his nastiness only increasing from rough scolding, to insults, and more recently inappropriate gestures. Nothing sexual, but little pushes and slaps at the back of my head. Tripping me was the second occurrence today.
I just don't understand why he is being so mean to me, I have always strived to be a good employee, yielding to his orders whichever they were. I never slack at work and I'm willing. If he didn't like me in the first place, why did he even hire me?
I hate that his attitude is getting worse.
Tonight, I clearly saw him kick that box my way as I was passing in front of him carrying a huge pile of plates that I had just washed and was bringing to the main kitchen. He did it on purpose. As if it wasn't stupid enough to break all these dishes, I could have also hurt myself badly. I dearly hate him!
Perhaps I should have reported him earlier... but I just couldn't do that. I'm not a snitch. And then, who would have believed me? Chef Sanchez is a great cook and I'm only just one of the lowest employees in this restaurant, so I'm not measuring up. I was really close to open up to Mr. Murray, though. His reassuring tone and his kindness nearly brought me to rat on the chef, but I was so scared of Mr. Sanchez's potential retaliation that I kept quiet.
It may sound silly, but what if I tell on him and things get even worse? I won't have the kind Mr. Murray by my side all the time to make me feel safe...
I didn't know he was having dinner at Le Marais tonight, so when he showed up in the kitchen and walked on me sprawled on the floor, I was petrified. And I wasn't the only one obviously. This is actually the best part of the evening: seeing the fear on the chef's face and hearing him stutter.
I didn't find it funny for very long, though. I was afraid Mr. Murray was going to yell at me too for the broken dishes, he seemed to be furious when he entered. But it was all directed at Chef Sanchez, and he was all but mean to me in the end.
He actually raised weird sensations within me when he took my hand to clean the scratches. A bit like when Shannon did later, even if it was different. The strength emanating from Mr. Murray was impressive, with his hands so large and powerful next to his friend's smaller and thinner ones. All the time I was curled up on the couch, I could feel the younger man's stare on me, but it didn't make me uncomfortable for some reason. I even liked it.
Damn! The feels when Mr. Murray scowled at Shannon after he asked what had happened! I was purposefully avoiding to look at the boss, but I couldn't help glancing up at that moment and almost froze. It wasn't as harsh as a glare, but it showed off so much... like he didn't need to speak for Shannon to understand the scolding... and I clearly remember that as he shifted on his seat, the light from the ceiling brought a sparkle to the necklace underneath his shirt.
The necklace...
Or a collar... like in the BDSM books I read...
The sudden realization makes me startle up on my bed. No, this can't be possible. My wild imagination must be playing tricks on me, triggered by the numerous books I've read.
And yet...
All the details match.
Mr. Murray definitely looks like a Dominant. The authority and powerfulness he gives off, they seem so natural. Then his controlling manners. The way I couldn't resist his order when he said he'd drive me back home. Or when he firmly instructed me to record his number in my phone and to call him in case of problems.
Dang...
Could it be that my boss is a Dominant?
Could it be that Shannon is his Submissive? The necklace that looked like a collar clearly says so. Most books speak about leather collars in this lifestyle, but some mention necklaces which are more discreet when worn all the time.
Oh my goodness!
Now that things look clearer in my head, I believe my boss is a Dominant, a gay Dominant, and I think I met his Submissive tonight!
The last thing that populates my mind when I drift to sleep that night is: how will I be able to face Mr. Murray tomorrow after what I realized tonight?
Published on 14 May 2016