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Chapter 4 - Homecoming.

As soon as the financial arrangements had been worked out, Brian and Cynthia were released from the cashiering office and led back to the PC holding pens. Brian had heard the phrase, ‘you could smell the fear’ before, but he’d never actually experienced that particular sensation until that moment. The pens themselves were spotlessly clean and there was no trash or anything else one might find offensive within eyesight. It was about as far removed as possible from the noisome slave dens of antiquity that Brian had read about in books. But it still radiated that all pervasive sense of fear and desperation that he imagined would accompany any such scene. Maybe it was because the area was so spiritlessly barren and antiseptic - with bare, grey, concrete floors, blank, windowless walls, glaring, florescent lighting above and nowhere to sit but the comfortless concrete benches lining the fenced off areas. Or maybe it was the floor to ceiling chain link fencing itself. Or perhaps it was just the men cordoned off in those cheerless pens, each sitting silent and hopeless, staring with blank eyes at nothing. Brian wasn’t sure what it was, but he hated it from the second the doors to the holding area were opened, and knew that maxing out his credit cards had been exactly the right thing to do if it meant he could take the young blond man out of here sooner rather than later.

Brian and Cynthia were seated on the only comfortable looking chairs in the room, while the staffer who had escorted them scanned Brian’s Bill of Sale with a handheld computer and then trotted off to log the information into the wall mounted unit. A few minutes later, everyone’s least favorite PC Handler, Gary Sapperstein sauntered up with J327 in tow. The PC was roughly forced to bend over so that the barcode tattooed on the back of his neck could be scanned as well. And, when the staffer’s handheld unit flashed a bright green light, indicating that everything was copacetic, The Sapp jerked the boy upright, lugged the boy over until he was standing right in front of his new owner and then yanked the chain downward so hard that the youth was toppled to his knees. Apparently, once the sale was final, Sapp no longer felt the need to be gentle with his charges.

As soon as the PC was kneeling obediently in front of his new owner, the Sapp handed the boy’s leash over to Brian. J327 remained in place, his head bowed obediently and eyes downcast. The only indication that he was at all affected by this rough handling was the way he was panting heavily. So far the boy hadn’t made a single sound though.

Brian assumed that they were now done and he could finally get out of this house of horrors. But, before he could stand up, he was stopped by yet another PC Clearinghouse employee. This one was carrying a large, evil-looking tattoo gun and wearing latex gloves.

“I just need to complete your boy’s tat and then you’ll be free to go, Sir,” the tattooist advised, setting down his gun and pulling his own handheld computer unit out of the case strapped onto his belt.

“That’s okay. I don’t need him to be tattooed,” Brian demurred, trying again to get up so he could leave before any more unnecessary pain was inflicted on the kid.

“Sorry, Sir. It’s required by law. We need to add the auction and purchase information to his barcode so that he can be traced to the correct owner if he were to ever become lost,” the guy with the big needle explained.

“Fuck . . .” Brian mumbled, sitting down again and scowling, as the strong man printed out a template using his handheld, bent the boy’s head as far forward as possible, slapped the self-adhesive template strip into place, switched on the gun, and then carefully traced the additional barcode lines onto the pale skin with the tattoo needle. The boy only flinched once, right at the beginning, but stilled immediately when Gary kicked his knee with the steel toe of his boot.

The tattooing took less than five minutes. The guy was obviously a pro and probably did this a hundred times a day, so it didn’t take him long. As soon as this last task was completed, the Sapp reached down, tugged the boy’s cuffed arms up at what had to be a painful angle and slowly unlocked the steel cuffs.

“These are my personal equipment,” Sapperstein explained, as if Brian would be upset that he’d removed the harsh looking things. “You’ll have to get your own, and I recommend that you do it soon, or this one will run you ragged. Believe you, me, he’s quite the handful.” Then with a wicked grin, Gary reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the PC Enforcer device that he’d been using earlier on the boy. “Here. You can have this too. It’s already set to the boy’s frequency,” Gary laughingly told them. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then the slimeball Handler saluted Brian and Cynthia with a mocking tap to his greasy forehead before wandering off, presumably to see to his other merchandise.

The waiting staff escort handed over a shapeless black wool cloak that was all the clothing the boy was allowed. Finally, Brian thought, we can get the hell out of here. He reached down, intending to grab the boy’s arm and help him to his feet, but as soon as he touched him, the tense boy flinched and started trembling. Brian pulled his hand away. He looked down at the kneeling and now trembling form, not having any idea what to do at this impasse. J327 seemed as reluctant to go with Brian as he would be with anyone else. Not that such a reaction was really any big surprise. The boy didn’t know Brian from a sack of dog shit. For all J327 knew, he was just moving out of the frying pan and into a brand new, possibly even more painful, fire.  

Brian sighed. It had been a very long night already and he felt almost as tense as the boy in front of him looked. He rolled his neck and flexed his shoulders, trying to rid them of the stiffness he could feel growing in the muscles due to all the stress. He was dying to get out of there, and retreat back to the relative surety of his loft. Somehow, Brian had it in mind that as soon as he was home, everything would work itself out. He wasn’t going to drag the kid out screaming and kicking though. That wasn’t Brian’s style.

“Um . . .” Brian looked at the escort’s name tag, “Stacy, would you mind giving us just a minute or two here,” he asked as politely as he could.

“Of course, Sir. Please take all the time you need,” she proffered, then added, “and, if you require it, we also have private meeting rooms where you can make yourself better acquainted with your new PC in a more . . . comfortable environment.”

“That won’t be necessary, Stacy,” Brian couldn’t believe these people, but he managed to hold his temper. It would hopefully be only a little longer. “We’ll be fine right here. I just want to talk to him for a bit so he understands what’s going on.”

“Very good, Sir. I’ll be across the way. Just call out if you need anything at all,” she smiled at him before backing away a few steps, then turned and walked to the far corner of the room where several of her co-workers were chatting pleasantly.

“This place gives me the creeps worse than the Halloween Scare House I went to when I was fucking thirteen,” Brian confessed to Cynthia, who shuddered in sympathy, nodding her agreement with that assessment.

Next, Brian looked down at his brand new Personal Companion and tried to school his mind to figure out what the fuck he was going to do with him. He was surprised by how sheepish and awkward he felt as he contemplated the kneeling boy. Brian Kinney hadn’t felt sheepish around another man since he was younger than this boy was now. It just went to show you how totally screwed up this whole enterprise was.  

“Hey, so, um . . .” Brian heard himself stuttering and wished he could kick himself. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. “I realize this is a little frightening for you, uh, J327.” Brian felt ridiculous calling the boy by a number. “You don’t have to be scared, though. I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I bought you.” Brian hesitated again - the boy remained completely unresponsive to Brian’s overtures. Behind his left shoulder there was another pen full of other PCs, a few of whom were close enough that they’d overheard Brian’s inept advances. A couple of the older ones even snickered quietly at Brian’s gawkiness.

Cynthia finally took pity on her friend and leaned up so that she could whisper into Brian’s ear. “Sorry, Brian, but this just isn’t going to work unless you get a little more forceful. I know that’s going to feel uncomfortable for you at first, but PCs are trained to only respond to direct orders - they’re not allowed to voice opinions or take any actions on their own, at least not in public. By staying on his knees and not moving until ordered, J327 is doing what he’s been trained to do. If we’re ever going to get out of here, you’re going to have to give him firm directions and make it sound like you know what you’re doing.”

Brian rolled his eyes at the woman’s advice, very uncomfortable with acting like some domineering slave master. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what seemed to be expected of him in this situation. He took another deep breath, reached down with one hand and used it to raise the boy’s face so he could look him in the eye. Once he had eye contact, Brian felt a little better for some inexplicable reason. He smiled down at the teen who looked back, his eyes still betraying the underlying fear but edged with a hint of curiously. Brian thought it was a good sign.

“Ok. We’re leaving now, J327. I want you to get up on your feet and follow me,” This must have been the right thing to say, since the boy immediately vaulted to his feet. “Cynthia, his cloak?” Cyn wrapped the heavy black drapery around the boy’s shoulders. “Come,” Brian directed and then, using the hated leather leash, he began to lead his new PC out of the building while his assistant texted for the limo so it would be waiting for them in front.

“Brian! There you are,” Lapointe’s voice rang out, waylaying them when they were only a dozen meters from the door and, by Brian’s way of seeing it, freedom. “Looks like you’ve got everything worked out. That’s great, Brian. Just great. Can I just say again that I’m thrilled you’ve purchased your first PC from us. You have no idea how wonderful owning your own PC can be.” Brian must have looked skeptical at that statement, because Walter huffed a little laugh his way. “Look, I know this might take a bit of time to adjust to. But if you just give it a chance you’ll see how simple and rewarding the experience can be. I actually find it quite freeing in a way. See, the thing is, a Personal Companion comes without any preconceptions or expectations. It’s not like a normal relationship. You don’t have to worry about making your PC happy or fulfilled. He’s there to make YOU happy and fulfilled. And because of that, the association between you is so much more straightforward. You’re free to just enjoy yourself without worrying about anything. Once you figure that out, you’ll understand why this is really the only way to go.”

“Hmm. Well, that certainly won’t be much of a stretch for me then, Walter,” Brian opined. “Ask anyone who knows me. I’ve never given a damn about the men I fuck and I don’t plan to start bothering now. The only difference is that the men I chose to be with, were free to choose me too.” Brian intentionally left it there, hoping the ambiguity of his statement would leave Lapointe thinking Brian agreed with him, when in reality he was more and more eager to distance himself from the man.

“Good. Then I think you’ll adjust pretty fast.” Lapointe continued with his enthusiastic endorsement of Brian’s new situation. “The only thing that I see giving you any difficulty then, will be learning to discipline your PC. I sense that you’re probably going to be a bit on the lax side with this pretty one in the beginning. I have to warn you though, that will only lead to trouble in the long run. If you don’t start off with a firm hand from the very start, they’ll take advantage of you. I know you’re probably not looking for a ton of advice from anyone - you strike me as the kind of man who likes to figure things out on his own and who learns through trial and error - but, please, if you take nothing else away from here tonight, just try it for a couple of weeks. Be assertive and don’t let him get control and you’ll be a lot happier in the long run.”

“Thanks for the advice, Walter. I’ll do my best,” Brian promised. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m looking forward to getting J327 home.” Brian pulled on the PCs leash and guided the boy around the obstruction of Lapointe’s overly-helpful self. “Good night, Walter. Thanks for your hospitality. We’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, one more thing, Kinney,” Brian almost whined aloud, his disappointment at having his escape thwarted yet again grating on his last nerve. “I was thinking that we should probably get together some time next week. But not in the office. How about dinner at my place? I know my wife would love to meet you. And you could check out our household to see how I govern my PCs. It might give you a better idea about these things. Show you how the rest of us - the one’s who’ve got a little more experience in the lifestyle - do it.”

Brian reminded himself that he needed the guy’s account more than ever now. He could NOT be rude to the man. He had to play nice. “Sure, Walter. That sounds great. Why don’t you call my office tomorrow and let me know when your wife wants to do this thing.” Brian forced a smile to his face and shook his new client’s hand one last time. “Now, I really do want to get this boy home,” Brian added with a leer in the blond’s direction.

“Of course. Of course. Don’t let me keep you. I know how excited you must be. I still remember my own first PC. It was . . . magical,” Lapointe beamed his approval at Brian and then shooed them off with another laugh. “Enjoy yourself tonight, my friend.”

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Cynthia,” Brian hissed under his breath as he quickly hustled the three of them around the groups of milling guests at the entrance and then down the walk to the waiting limo.

*******

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over and help get you two settled,” Cynthia asked for the third time while the limo idled outside her condo.

“Will you just fucking get out of here and go to your own home, Cynthia,” Brian demanded. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a big boy. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was five years old and I’m sure I’ll be able to handle getting myself home again tonight.”

“But, Brian, you have no idea what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into,” Cynthia ojected one last time.

“And you do? How many PCs do you own, Cyn? Is there something you haven’t told me?” Brian teased, trying to lighten the mood and hopefully thereby get rid of his worrywort friend. “Seriously, Cyn. I’ll figure it out. You don’t need to freak out about this. But you DO need to get home, get some sleep and get to the office bright and early tomorrow morning so we can get those contracts out to Lapointe. And, yes, I know it’s not going to be easy to drag legal into work on a Sunday morning, which is why I’ll need you at top gun levels. So, go, already.”

“Okay, but . . . call me if you need help,” she capitulated, leaning in to peck him on the cheek before stepping out of the door that was being held open by their chauffeur. Peeking back in for one more word, she added, “first thing tomorrow I’m going to call some of my APC contacts. Maybe they’ll have some ideas that can help you. Just . . . well, just . . . oh, fuck it! Goodnight and good luck. You’re going to fucking need it.”

“Ah! Alone at last, eh?” Brian joked as soon as the door slammed shut.

Apparently the boy who’d been cowering in the corner for the duration of the ride did not see the humor in that statement. Maybe he was offended or even more frightened by it, Brian thought. Or maybe he found it hilarious and just didn’t think he was allowed to laugh. Who the fuck knew? Brian couldn’t sense anything beyond the whole passive aloof thing the boy was doing. But at this point he was far too tired to give a flying fuck anymore.

It was a short ride from Cynthia’s place to Brian’s loft so Brian didn’t have too long to contemplate the deep, unspoken meanings behind Silent Boy’s latest lack of response. Which was probably a good thing. Brian had been indulging rather heavily in the limousine bar’s stock of Jim Beam since they’d left the auction house and because of that he wasn’t really in the mood for contemplation. Mostly he was just in the mood for getting a lot drunker. Fuck all those nosy busybodies who said drinking never solved anybody’s problems. Brian hadn’t listened to those guys for years now and, as far as he could tell, drinking had been a great past time for him. So instead of contemplating, Brian concentrated on downing three more shots of the free Beam between Cynthia’s and the loft.

When the limo driver finally stopped in front of the loft and pulled open the door Brian poured himself out onto the front walk and then didn’t make it any further. He was just SO tired, you know. And the door was really, really far away. He thought maybe it would be better to just sleep right there where he landed. Luckily for all, the limo driver was well versed in drunken passengers. He scooped Brian up, got a shoulder under the taller man’s arm and managed to walk the two of them up to the door.

Brian was still lucid enough when they arrived at the door to fish his door keys out of the pocket of his jacket and hand them over to the driver. He was also lucid enough to remember the reason behind why he’d started to get drunk in the first place. And that reason, namely J327, wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Brian therefore, launched himself back towards the limo, arms and legs flailing but somehow keeping himself mostly erect for the two meters it took. And, as expected, the reason for all this mess was still waiting passively in the car.

“Come, you . . . Whatever your name is!” Brian ordered imperiously, far better at being domineering when he was three sheets to the wind than he’d been when stone cold sober. “Walk this way . . .” Of course, as soon as he’d said THAT, he started giggling uncontrollably, imagining the tiny, mostly naked PC, staggering along behind him trying to imitate Brian’s drunken stumbling. Unfortunately, a giggling Brian was not nearly as stable as the ordering around Brian had been and he collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk.

The patient limo driver went back, hauled Brian to his feet and led their entire ragtag band inside, into the elevator and up to the top floor loft. The imperturbable man even unlocked the door and carried his inebriated passenger all the way over to the closest bar stool, where the drunk was summarily deposited without further ado. Leaving Brian and J327 alone together for the first time ever.

The PC stood just inside the doorway, completely at a loss as to what he was supposed to do next. The intoxicated man that had purchased his contract just a few hours earlier was busy slobbering on the counter top. He wasn’t likely to be much help for at least the next eight hours or so until he’d at least partially detoxed. J327 couldn’t just stand there all night though. Or maybe he could. Maybe this was a test of some kind. Shit! What should he do?

“Hey, you!” Brian roused enough to realize he wasn’t alone. “C’mere! Pullup a chair and have a sheat . . . I mean, a seat. Yeah, thasss what I mean. A sheet . . . Hehehehe! Fuck, I’m wasted!” Brian’s conversation devolved into more giggling with a few drunken ramblings thrown in for good measure.

J327 weighed his possible courses of action and decided that he could reasonably consider the wishy-washy directive to sit next to his master as an order. So he went over to the indicated barstool and sat down. Waiting patiently for the next instruction.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, you know that?” Brian managed, smiling goofily up at the boy from where his head was resting on the bar. “Yep. You are pitty . . . J3 . . . 3 . . . 37 . . . 337 . . . J37333333333 . . . . Hehehehe!” Brian gave up trying to remember the boy’s official designation. “I can’t fucking call you a number. Thasss jus weird. Ya know? It’s weird. Nobody’s jus a number. Plus, I can’t ‘member numbers when I’m drunk. So we gotta come up with a name for you JJJJJ3333333333something. You gotta have you a name!” Brian insisted, sitting up a little straighter on his stool now that he had something fun to concentrate on for the moment.

“Mmmmeh! I can’st give you a name though. I sucks at names. I never named anythin’ and I’m not ‘bout to start now, dammit! Hahaha!” Brian sighed. “Actuilly . . . thasss not true. I did named somethin’ once. I named a pig. It was . . . It was in high school . . . Yeah. It was my senior year bio class . . . I named the fetal pig that Mikey an’ me had to dissept . . . disssect . . . cut up. ‘Course, I named it ‘Porky’, cause all pigses have to be named ‘Porkey’ right? Ony . . .  after that I just felt bad cuttin’ poor Porkey’s eyes out and shit! I wisheded that I hadna done it after. And thass why I ain’t never named anythin’ since.” Brian related his sad naming story to the hazy blond blur sitting next to him.

“Fuck! How the fuck am I goin’ ta name you? I don’ wanna name nobody. How they ‘spect me to name somethin’,” Brian’s stream of drunken consciousness rambled merrily on. “Not naming ya fucking ‘Porkey’, thass for sure! No fuckin’ way! So, what the fuck AM I s’posed to name you? . . . Is really hard namin’ something, you know. I can’ call ya jus anythin’ . . . I gottsa come up wit somethin’ GOOD. Somethin’ like . . . Don’ know . . . I’ll call you . . . I’ll call you . . . Fuck! . . . Hey, I’ll call you ‘Fuck’! Hehehehe! . . . Yeah! Hahahaha! Thass a great name! Here, Fuck! Hehehehe! . . . . Noooooo! I can’ call you ‘Fuck’. Cause then, whenever I’m fucking somebody and yell out ‘fuck’ you’ll think I’m calling you! That would be fucking crazy, right! Hehehehe! Thaddad would never work!”

Suddenly Brian lurched to his feet, propelled by a strange burst of energy that led him at least as far as the bedroom. “Come, Fuck! Hehehehe!” Brian ordered before collapsing into a giggling mass on the bed “See . . . tha’ll never work. You’ll think I’m saying to come and fuck but I won’ do that lessin you wanna fuck, you know? So’s I can’ call you Fuck.” Brian patted the empty expanse of bed next to him cheerfully. “C’mon, you. Time for bed, Fuck! Hehehe!”

J327 hesitantly stepped into the bedroom area at his new owner’s direction. At least he thought the man had ordered him into the bedroom. Although, anymore, it wasn’t completely clear if he was ordering things, just joking, or simply babbling. J327, however, took it as an order and carefully moved over to the far side of the bed, sitting gingerly on the very edge of the mattress, his heart beating a mile a minute as he wondered what would happen next.

“Shit! Thissis impossible. I can’ name you. But somebody gots to get named, right?” Brian sighed, his voice starting to fade. “So, since I can’ name you, *yawn* you’re gonna haveta name me. Okay? Yeah. You gotsa name me instead. That’ll work. Glad we gots that straightn’d out! So . . . *yawn* . . . whadda ya gonna name me? . . .”

Brian’s blithering eventually faded out into a series of light snores. The blond boy smiled down at the silly man. He was still scared and unsure about what the future held for him. But, at least for right now, things didn’t seem so bad.

J327 unbuttoned the cloak from around his neck and carefully laid himself down on the soft bed next to the slightly wheezy man. Brian immediately rolled over in his sleep and reached out to the warm body next to him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and unconsciously pulling the PC closer to him. “Nice . . . Yeah *yawn* . . . so wassss ya gonna name me?” he asked one last time from just beyond the edge of sleep.

“Brian,” the boy whispered, his voice so soft that it was more a vibration than a sound. “Your name is Brian.” Then he did something so bold it scared him to his very core. J327 leaned to the side, tilted his face up and kissed the sleeping man on the cheek before he rolled over onto his other side and let himself sink into the first deep, restful sleep he’d had in more than a year.