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Chapter 16 - PC Dining.
Right about the time that Brian felt he had endured enough and was going to tell Bellweather off, the doorman, now serving as butler as well, came in carrying a tray with an expensive-looking cut crystal bell on it. Aleta accepted the bell, rang it loudly, and then announced that dinner was served in the main dining room. All the guests began to move en masse in the direction of the exit, handing off their plates and glasses to the attentive wait staff and tugging their PCs along in their wakes. Brian followed all the rest, although he made sure that he paused for a longer moment than everyone else so that Justin could have a minute to adjust to standing after being on his knees for so long. Once they made it to the dining room though, he was summarily taken in hand by Aleta Lapointe and deposited into the seat at her left hand.
Brian noted that most of the other guests were instructing their PCs to stand at attention around the perimeter of the room. Presumably, this was so that they would be nearby but still out of the way of the servers. Brian, though, didn’t care much for that arrangement. With Justin standing two meters behind him, he wouldn’t be able to see the boy without completely turning around. He also noted that Howard Bellweather, who happened to be seated directly across from him, would basically end up staring straight at Justin the whole meal in that position. Luckily, with Aleta sitting at the foot of the table directly to Brian’s right, there was a little more room on Brian’s right side than most of the other guests would have. Brian hastily took advantage of that circumstance to situate Justin on his knees immediately to the right of his chair, almost under the edge of the table. It might not be the most comfortable place for the boy to have to kneel, but it had the advantage that he was closer to Brian and he was mostly below the table edge so Bellweather would only be able to see the top of the boy’s head. Brian also noted that the kid’s panic level seemed to decrease once he was positioned there, in the relatively out of the way spot, and hidden from most eyes.
“You don’t need to keep your boy so close at hand, Kinney,” Bellweather commented almost immediately. “A little overprotective, aren’t you? I mean, first you show up with him clothed and now you can’t even stand to have him out of your sight? That’s a bad precedent to set for the rest of them, you know.”
“It’s part of my system of discipline,” Brian explained with a vague wave of his hand to indicate there was a lot more to the story than he was going to get into just then. “As his punishment, he’s required to stay in my sight at all times.”
“Good idea, Kinney,” Walter Lapointe bellowed from the far end of the table. “Glad to see that you’re taking my advice from the other night to heart. A firm hand, you know. Right from the start. That’s the only way to handle a new PC.”
Brian smiled genially at his host without either agreeing or disagreeing. Happily, the topic was dropped right then due to the advent of the appetiser course. Brian turned his attention to the food in front of him, and tried to ignore the ongoing inquisitive glares coming his way from the man sitting across the table from him. Brian figured it was better to have Bellweather’s attention focused on him rather than Justin, so he simply pretended not to care. Instead, he turned to his left-hand table companion, Amanda Hobbs, and engaged her in conversation while they ate.
“So, Amanda, I believe you said you went to college with Aleta? Where was that,” Brian asked, as he began to dig into the blue cheese and pear tartlets on his plate.
“That’s right. Aleta, Jim and I all went to Pitt together . . .” the woman explained and then launched into several of what she no doubt considered amusing stories about her happy years at university.
Brian let the stories and anecdotes roll over him without listening too intently. Amanda seemed like a nice enough woman - she was about ten years older than Brian, but well-preserved in the way that wealthy women seemed to be able to manage, with bleached blond hair, a trim figure and a pleasant if empty-headed smile - but since Brian was only using her as a way to while away the time without having to look in Bellweather’s direction, he didn’t really give a damn what she was saying.
While he pretended to listen to her chattering, he was really looking around the room, gauging the other guests, weighing their demeanors and trying to reconcile how these seemingly urbane and mannered people justified their lifestyle. Because, basically, they were all sitting around a formal dining table, dressed to the nines, eating a gourmet meal and discussing the latest political news, while surrounded by a bevy of naked slaves. It was the most incongruous experience of Brian’s life. He just didn’t know how they managed to seem so indifferent to the nudity, the subconscious eroticism and the unabashed sexuality all around them. Were these people just so inured to their PCs that they didn’t notice them at all anymore. And, if so, what the fuck was the reason for having them around anyway? Did they get off on debasing their PCs in this hideous fashion? Or was it just a status symbol at this point? If not, when the fuck did the orgy actually start - he wanted to know so he could be long gone in advance.
Brian tried and tried to figure this bizarre puzzle out as he looked around at each of the people he was at table with and paired them up with their respective PC. Of the twelve guests, seven of them had Personal Companions, including Brian. As expected, Walter Lapointe and his wife, Aleta, each had a PC. Walter’s PC was a big, beefy stud in his late twenties that looked like he could bench press Brian in a pinch. Aleta’s PC was a younger, red-headed youth, very pretty, slim and rather effeminate. Bellweather, of course, had one of the new purchases he’d made the weekend before with him, this one a kid who looked to be a year or two older than Justin but a lot less delicately built. Gail, sitting next to her brother, had the dark-haired twinkie Brian had already noticed before. The Stockwells, next in line on the other side of the table, didn’t have PCs - Cynthia had conjectured that was because of his political leanings and the fact that he liked to try and publically straddle the fence on the PC issue while privately serving as one of the industry’s staunchest supporters. The couple sitting, one on each side of Walter Lapointe at the head of the table, both had PCs as well, and interestingly enough, both of their companions were female.
“So anyway, Jim managed to save the night. After that, all my sorority sisters simply doted on him. He got invited to every single dance we had from that time on and everybody kept telling me how I had the nicest cousin a girl could ever hope for . . .” Brian tuned back into the end of Amanda’s sorority girl tales, immediately focusing in on the most interesting fact.
“So, Jim Stockwell is your cousin?” he questioned, just to make certain. “That’s convenient. So that must be how he met Lapointe.”
“Exactly. Jim met Walter while he and Aleta were dating and they hit it off right from the start. Which was great because Jim ended up being a groomsman for Walter and I was one of Aleta’s bridesmaids and that just worked out so well, you know . . .” Brian zoned out of the conversation again while he analyzed that tidbit of info about Stockwell’s connection to Lapointe. This whole group seemed insidiously incesstuous. “. . . But Jim and Anne have always been so wonderful to me and the kids. I'm actually staying with them right now while my divorce is being finalized. If it weren't for Jim, I don't know what I would have done. He's just so supportive, you know. I mean, with the divorce and helping my girls and even when my son had some legal problems last year - well, if it hadn't been for Jim, Chris might have actually ended up in jail.” Brian had only been listening to this blather with half an ear when he heard the boy at his feet gasp and then felt the quaking body lean into his thigh, breathing heavily and covertly using Brian's leg to help support himself through the panic. “But, thankfully, Jim was there and he gave us some wonderful advice. He even helped us negotiate a settlement out of court,” Amanda Hobbs carried on, with Brian now listening more carefully but still unsure of what was causing Justin such distress. “Which is a lot more than I can say for that bastard I married. Can you believe it - my husband would have just let our son hang. Poor Chris was just so confused and scared. It was terrible, you know? But thank goodness that's all behind us. Chris is off at college now - he got a football scholarship to Arizona State and he's studying Physical Sciences . . .”
Brian didn’t know why some vacuous gossip about this idiot’s kids was affecting Justin so badly, but he was starting to get worried about it. The boy was shaking like a leaf and almost panting at this point. Brian couldn’t tell, without drawing attention to what was going on, if the boy was quaking out of fear or anger or some other emotion. Whatever was going on was intense, though. And the only thing he could think to do was to stealthily reach down with his right hand and grasp the back of the boy’s neck. He held on through the inevitable flinching, refusing to let go even when the trembling got worse for several long minutes until the PC’s breathing finally slowed a bit. Then Brian moved his hand till it was resting on his thigh, but close enough to the boy’s face that he could reach out his pinky finger and surreptitiously stroke the soft cheek every so often without anyone at the table being any the wiser. He just hoped it was enough to get them through the rest of this interminably long night.
“Oh my goodness! Look how I’ve rattled on. I didn’t mean to bore you talking about myself the whole night,” Amanda finally wound down, having apparently exhausted her current store of personal anecdotes, right about the time the wait staff was removing the dregs of the delicious French Onion Soup. “It’s just that you’re SUCH a good listener, Brian. You know, most men aren’t like that. They can’t have a conversation without it being all about THEM. But talking to you is so refreshing,” she gushed, letting her hand alight on Brian’s forearm and giving it an affectionate little squeeze that made Brian want to cringe too. “But, enough about me. I want to know just EVERYTHING about you. You’re so quiet and mysterious. There has to be a story there.”
“I don’t mean to disappoint you, Amanda, but there’s not all that much to tell,” Brian tried to deflect her attention, not really all that comfortable with sharing his private life in this crowd.
“Oh, come on. A handsome, successful young man like yourself? I’m sure you’ve had dozens of hot and steamy affairs in your past,” the woman simpered, touching the back of Brian’s hand with one well-manicured fingertip in what she probably thought was a seductive move.
“Nope. Not a one. I’m afraid I’m a confirmed bachelor. Not at all interested in a relationship.” Brian tried to make it clear he wasn’t interested in Amanda either, both by his words and by the way he deliberately moved his hand away under the guise of attending to the next course of the meal - a delicious asparagus and cherry tomato salad.
“That’s just so wrong,” Amanda insisted. “I’m sure you just haven’t found the right woman yet, Brian.”
“Don’t you mean the right man?” Brian asked pointedly.
“I’m sorry?” Ms. Hobbs looked over at her dinner companion with complete confusion.
“The right man,” Brian repeated himself, but seeing the ongoing bewilderment, he came to the conclusion that the woman was completely clueless. “You DO realize that I’m gay, right?”
“What? That’s impossible. You can’t be gay!” the woman asserted. “You don’t look gay. You’re so . . . normal looking.”
“I’m not sure what ‘gay’ is supposed to look like,” Brian rounded on her, beginning to get a little annoyed. “But I do assure you, that I’m as gay as blazes. Always have been. Don’t plan on changing.”
“But . . . Seriously . . . You just can’t be gay. You don’t act gay. You don’t, you know, swish when you walk or wave your hands around when you talk or anything. Are you just pulling my leg here, or what?” The woman insistently refused to believe Brian’s plain statement of fact.
Brian sighed with frustration, unsure how to prove to someone so ridiculously ignorant that he was, indeed, gay - short of fucking another guy over the table in front of her, that is. “I’m curious. Doesn’t the fact that I recently purchased a MALE PC clue you in to the fact that I like men?”
“No. That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people own PCs of both genders. I mean, look at Walter. He owns dozens of male PCs and he’s married and has a family. He’s completely normal.” Amanda insisted again.
“Well, I’m completely ‘normal’ too,” Brian rejoined, his tone edging louder along with his irritation level. “I’m just the kind of normal that likes to fuck lots and lots of guys up the ass as often as I possibly can.” Unfortunately for Brian, this last emphatic statement happened at the same time as a lull in the conversation. Not one to back down, though, he continued on, boldly. “I’m gay. That’s just how it is. And if anyone doesn’t like it, I say, go judge yourself. I’m perfectly happy with myself and my MALE PC.”
The stunned silence persisted for quite a while, with all the diners staring Brian down and not really sure what to say. Until the sound of slowly clapping hands finally broke through the dead air. Brian turned with the rest of them to look over at Bellweather, who was applauding with a grave but approving look.
“Good for you, Kinney. Good for you. I like a man who doesn’t mince words,” the man smiled and nodded as the sound of his acclaim slowly died away. “You just said exactly what I’ve been telling this bunch of tossers for years. And incidentally, it’s also the premise of my last book. Have you read it?” Brian shook his head, but that didn’t slow Howard down. “I say that we, as gay men, need to stand up and make ourselves known. We need to be proud of who we are; unapologetic about what we like.”
Brian sat back and happily let Bellweather pontificate for the next ten minutes about gay rights and standing up to be represented. Brian actually agreed with a lot of what the guy was saying, he just didn’t feel the need to be such a big windbag about it. However, Brian was grateful that this little speech took the spotlight off him for the moment. It wasn’t until he heard Bellweather segue back onto the favored topic of PCs that he tuned back into the lecture and found it had taken a disagreeable turn.
“That’s why I think that the PC trade has actually been so good for gay rights. The corporations running things have learned that it’s just good business to cater to the needs of all consumers - straight or gay - and to do that they HAVE to recognize once and for all that being gay isn’t anything out of the ordinary. It’s just part of the individual make up of some PC owners. Some men just want male PCs - it’s as simple as that. If they want our business and our money, they have to deal with our needs as gay men. And since it’s become incredibly lucrative to serve the gay market, not only corporations but the people that run them, are starting to change their minds about homosexuality. In essence, our money is buying us respectability. So, the more we act on our inclinations and assert them through the PC trade, the more our standing becomes mainstream . . .”
There was some generalized agreement with Bellweather’s pompous statements from the rest of the table. Brian wasn’t sure that he wanted to be included in the sect ‘buying’ their way to respectability on the backs of the PCs they purchased. Even ignoring the human part of that equation - the PCs being used for this ass-backwards social climbing - it simply sounded so crass. Just one more thing about Bellweather that Brian found objectionable.
“Not that I always buy my PCs for such lofty philosophical purposes, though,” Bellweather laughed at himself deprecatingly. “I’d be the last to say that I don’t enjoy my PCs in and of themselves. Like I said before, I’m a sucker for a pretty face and a hot little body. Which is why I’m still pissed at you for stealing away THAT little untapped morsel from right under my nose, Kinney.” Bellweather pointed across the table to where Justin was hunkered down as far out of sight as possible. “I was really looking forward to sampling that treat. I just love that pale ivory skin. I bet it turns a lovely pink when you spank him, am I right?” Bellweather laughed maniacally and his sister joined in sycophantically. “Besides, I still think you got the best lot of the night. This one is okay,” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the PC standing behind his chair, “but the other one Walter gave me as a replacement turned out to be a total dud.”
“You didn’t say anything about that before, Howie,” Walter interrupted, his voice laced with concern. “What happened? I thought those two would be perfect for you.”
“The little blond you sold me couldn’t take it. I don’t know what it was, but he just snapped. He seemed okay when I first broke him in. I tend to like them a little fiesty, you know, so I didn’t really mind a bit of a tussle, even though this one . . . well, he did seem a little reluctant. Like he wasn’t really into it at first. But, like I said, I enjoy a bit of roughhousing. It just adds to the fun, especially with the fresh ones, you know. Sometimes it’s more fun to pop their cherry when they fight it. But afterwards, well, the little bitch just lost it. One minute the boy was fine - when I was done cracking his icebox open, I gave him to a couple of my party guests to entertain themselves with - and the next thing I knew he was screaming and flailing around like a banshee. He almost hit one of my guests even. It was so embarrassing.”
“Hmmm. That’s not good. I don’t like hearing stories like that about any of the stock that passes through my house,” Lapointe commented, frowning. “I don’t want to get the reputation that our PCs aren’t adequately trained. Which Handler was he from?”
“MacNeil,” Bellweather answered and all the men around the table nodded and gave little understanding noises. “I’d heard he was a little lax with his boys, but nothing this bad. I’ve already contacted him about returning the boy, but he’s claiming Owner Misuse. Which I say is bull - I mean, I have the right to assume that the products I buy are fit for the ordinary usages for which they’re intended, right? It should be the same with PCs as with anything else you buy. So, if this guy is selling PCs that aren’t able to put up with a little bit of heavy handedness, then what the hell is he thinking? These boys are sexual companions, right? Even if that one was a virgin, it’s not like he didn’t know what was coming. Didn’t that Handler prepare him?”
“Now, Howard, it might not be the Handler’s fault,” Aleta interrupted, ready to offer her sage and experienced opinion. “Sometimes these PCs do just snap like that. I’ve seen it happen several times. You just never know if there’s something in the genetics or psychological makeup that you can’t predict but that will rear up at the oddest moments. Even with the best of training, sometimes a PC will simply break.”
“It’s too bad we aren’t allowed to breed our own PCs,” Gail spoke up, sounding erudite as she expounded on one of her pet theories. “I’m sure it would be possible, using modern genetics and controlled breeding methods, to create a much hardier stock. We do it with other kinds of domesticated animals all the time. I’m not sure why there are such stringent regulations about doing it with PCs. You’d think it would be better for them in the long run, too. Nobody likes an unhappy PC and if we could only breed a more compliant line, they’d be happier with their jobs, right?”
There were a number of nodding heads all around the table along with murmurs of agreement - apparently, this was something that many PC owners considered a wonderful proposition.
That, right there, happened to be Brian’s breaking point. He’d heard enough. It had been bad enough to have to sit and listen to talk about how Bellweather had raped that other boy until he broke - Brian had actually expected that, in a way, since it was exactly what he’d promised for Justin back at the auction - but to hear these people seriously advocating controlled breeding of humans in order to create a better race of slaves . . . well that was too fucking much. He felt his skin crawling and was simply too antsy to sit still any longer. He had to get the fuck out of there or he was going to break just like that PC.
Pushing aside the almost untouched plate of Beef Wellington, Brian leaned over to whisper in his hostess’ ear. “Would you please excuse me, Aleta. I think I need to avail myself of your facilities.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Lapointe was all smiles and felicity as she quietly gave Brian directions to the guest bathroom. “You’re welcome to leave your PC here. I promise to mind him for you.”
“Thank you, but no. As I said, I can’t leave him. It’s part of my discipline plan.” Brian explained before rising and directing a brusque, “Come!’ to his boy.
Justin rose stiffly to his feet, stumbling a little for the first step or two as the long stint of kneeling had caused his legs to go numb, but following along behind Brian without any other noticeable delay. Brian strode purposefully out of the room, not looking back. He felt like fleeing outright, but held himself to a steady sedate pace. As soon as they were both in the bathroom and the door was closed, though, he basically fell apart.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck . . .” Brian hadn’t really come up with anything better to say after a full minute of muttering curses, so he gave up. “Justin. . . . Justin, I’m sorry. I can’t . . . I can’t believe these people. These monsters. They are sitting around eating their fucking dinner while surrounded by a roomful of naked slaves and discussing how to breed them so that they’ll no longer care about getting raped. This is completely fucking insane. Shit like this doesn’t happen in the real world, does it? I can’t do this. I can’t do this and I’m not even one of the ‘stock’ forced to stand there naked without speaking and listen to it. How can you stand this? How?”
Brian collapsed back against the tile wall, his hands grappling in his hair as if trying to find something to hold onto. He was so consumed by rage at the unfair situation that he didn’t think he could bear to go back out there. And even if he did, considering the way his stomach was heaving, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his food down.
While Brian stood there, rubbing at his face with his hands and trying to find some way to reconcile what he was feeling with the need to stay here at least until he could get that fucking check from Lapointe, he suddenly felt a soft hand reaching out and just barely making contact with the back of his wrist. At first he didn’t want to even look at the boy. He was embarrassed that he’d fallen apart like this. He was horrified that he’d forced the kid to come to this travesty of a dinner party. He was appalled that he might ever be linked in any way with the kind of people who were sitting around that dining table. And he didn’t want to have to face the boy with all that on his conscience.
Justin didn’t relent though. Brian felt those long artist’s fingers wrap around his wrists and then slowly pull his hands away from his face. Brian saw a worried countenance, the boy biting at his bottom lip with concern and looking at Brian with such empathy, that it almost broke him again. Before he could say anything more, though, the youth stepped closer, dropping his grip on Brian’s wrists and instead wrapping his arms around Brian’s waist. Brian’s own arms naturally cinched tightly around the boy’s back, his head dropping until his nose was buried in the warm floss of gold, allowing him to breath in the reassuring scent of innocence and youth. And then they just stood there together, holding onto each other in silence and gaining comfort from the mere presence of the only other person that might possibly understand.
“Justin . . .” Brian started to pull away after another couple minutes of this warm solace, thinking to say something further in apology, but the younger man wasn’t ready to let him go. Justin held on, burrowing into Brian’s chest, shaking his head and letting out a barely audible ‘shhh’ to quell any speech. So Brian held on too. And it helped. It helped more than he’d ever expected. Just standing there holding onto another human being and wordlessly sharing their distress helped. Eventually, Brian felt at least some of the tension draining from his shoulders and back. He bowed his head and left a tender kiss on the boy’s forehead as a thank you.
“Shit, Justin,” Brian whispered into the silky mop. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever met in my entire fucking life. I have no idea how you’re handling all this while I’m fucking falling apart . . . Thank you. I . . . I really needed a fucking time out, didn’t I?” Brian huffed a mirthless little laugh, ending it with a squeeze and then releasing the boy. “Okay. I think I’m better. I’d love to just leave, but I still don’t have that fucking check . . . So, I guess we have to go back out there. Fuck! . . .” After another deep breath, Brian cracked his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders as if he were getting ready to physically attack something. Then he looked Justin in the eye and nodded with resignation. “You ready?” Justin shrugged. “Yeah, me neither. But what the fuck. As long as we stick together, maybe we’ll be strong enough to get through this. At least I hope so.”