The sauna had a black door and a bell that didn’t ring when you left. Just the suck of wet air and then the street. 2:57 on my phone. The locker room fluorescent still burned behind my eyes. My hair was damp at the collar. Chlorine losing to other men’s skin.
I’m Harry. Twenty-two. I’d danced. I’d drunk. I’d let a blond put his cock on my throat in the dark room and then told him I was going outside for air. I wanted the walk. I wanted the night to still belong to me.
My father thought I was at a college classmate’s house. He’d been thinking that for months.
The alley was the cut-through I used when the rideshare pin jumped. Brick. Dumpster. A security light that blinked like it was tired of the job. Rain sat in black puddles.
I heard the bike before I saw it. Ticking. Then the shape — black tank, black bags, chrome throwing back the blink of the light.
The man standing next to it had a rag in his hands. Wiping the tank at three in the morning.
Uncle Gary.
Thirty-eight. My father’s younger brother. The one who showed up at holidays in boots and left before dessert. Big Beard. Big body. Muscular bear. Black cap pulled low, bald head below. A black T-shirt stretched tight across the chest and the hard middle of a man who lifted things for a living. Jeans. Belt. Leather sheath on the hip. Boots the color of old mud.
He’d been the first man I ever looked at too long across a picnic table. I was old enough to know I shouldn’t. I never stopped.
He looked up when my shoe hit a puddle.
“Hey.”
Not loud. The alley decided the word was law.
I stopped because my body stopped.
“Uncle Gary.”
“Don’t Uncle me at three in the morning outside a faggot’s sauna” He folded the rag once and set it on the seat. “Your dad called me two weeks ago. Worried as hell. Said his boy’s been lying about where he goes. Asked me to find out before your mother starts asking. I’ve been following you for three nights. Tonight you walked out of that door.”
My face went hot.
“I can explain—”
“You can shut your mouth.” He stepped off the bike. The alley narrowed. The T-shirt pulled across his chest when he breathed. “I sat on that Harley and watched men go in. Watched men come out. Then I watched my brother’s son come out with his hair wet and his mouth already used. Don’t tell me it isn’t. I can see it from here.”
“Dad doesn’t need to know.”
“Your dad asked me to tell him the truth. I haven’t called him yet. That’s the only mercy you’re getting, and it expires if you play stupid.” Another step. Metal. Skin. Gasoline. Heat off the cotton. “How long, Harry.”
“How long what.”
“How long you’ve been going in there. How long you’ve been on your knees for strangers instead of being with your parents or finding a nice hot girl.”
I looked at the bricks over his shoulder.
“A while.”
He nodded once. Slow. A verdict.
“Turn around. Hands on the wall. High.”
“Uncle Gary—”
“I don’t say things twice unless I like the sound. I don’t like repeating myself to a boy who just crawled out of a sleazy bathhouse. Hands. Wall. Now.”
I turned. The brick was cold and rough. I put my palms on it at shoulder height. Behind me: boots. The rag moving. A belt tongue sliding out of leather.
He didn’t touch me yet. He stood close enough that I felt the heat of that tight black shirt on my back.
“Your father thinks you’re soft because your mother raised you gentle. He asked me to put a spine in you. He didn’t ask me to find you in a fairy steam room. That’s on you.” His mouth was near my ear. Not kind. “You going to stay where I put you and obey me.”
Obey… obey my big muscular hairy uncle.
“On your knees.” He commanded.
The concrete came up fast. It bit through my jeans. He stepped in front of me and all I could see was denim, the black cotton stretched over his stomach, the sag of the fly, the thick line already making itself known down the left thigh.
This was the body I had thought about in the dark. The beard. The cap. The sweaty shirt I wanted to put my face against. The fact that he was my uncle sat in my throat next to the want and didn’t cancel it. It made it worse. It made it better. I was hard in my jeans and I hated that he would see it if he looked down and I wanted him to look down.
“Eyes up.”
I looked up. From there he was bigger than the bike.
“You asked for this the day you picked the dark door instead of the highway home,” he said. “I’m not some stranger. I’m the man your father sent. Your uncle. That makes it worse for you. That makes it my job.”
He popped the button. Zipper. No underwear. He shoved the jeans down just enough.
He came out heavy. Thick. A dense dark bush. Not all the way hard yet. He wrapped his fist around it once and tapped the head against my cheek. The smell of him hit me in the back of the throat — sweat, ride, skin I’d dreamed about and was not supposed to name.
“Open up, boy.”
I opened.
He didn’t give it all at once. An inch. Another. The girth stretched the corners of my mouth until my jaw ticked. He stopped with half of it on my tongue and looked down the alley like he had all night.
“Breathe through your nose. If you gag I don’t pull out. I wait. You learn. That’s what your father wanted. Somebody who doesn’t ask your permission to make you into something.”
He gave me the rest.
The brick caught the back of my head. My nose was in the hair. I gagged and he waited, buried, hand flat on my skull, the black T-shirt filling the whole top of my vision. When I stopped fighting the reflex he pulled back to the head, let me drag one breath, and went in again.
“That’s it. That’s the job. You feel that in your throat, that’s family business. You don’t get to be a whore for men who don’t know your l name and then act shocked when a man of your family does puts you on your knees.”
He found a rhythm that wasn’t kind and wasn’t rushed. Short strokes that kissed the brick with my hair. A car whispered past the mouth of the alley and didn’t slow down. He didn’t look at the car. He looked at my face.
“They don’t care. Your father would. That’s why you’re going to take this and you’re going to keep your mouth shut about it when you get home. You tell him I found you at a friend’s. You tell him Gary took you for a ride. You don’t tell him what the ride cost. You don’t tell your mother. Your friends, non. Family secrets first. Say it.”
He pulled out just enough for me to speak.
“Family first.”
“Sir.”
“Family first, sir.”
“Good, boy. Good faggot.”
He went back in.
Spit ran off my chin onto his jeans. My eyes watered until the security light smeared. He wiped under my eye with his thumb, not gentle, and put the thumb in my mouth next to himself like he was checking his work.
“Hands stay behind your back, boy. You reach for your own dick and I call your father tonight. I tell him exactly which door you walked out of. You understand. You don’t have the permission to jerk off. This is not for your pleasure, only for mine.”
I made a sound that he accepted. I was throbbing in my jeans and I didn’t touch it.
He pulled all the way out. I hung there with my mouth open, panting, a thread of spit breaking on my shirt.
“Look at it. That’s your uncle. That’s the man you stared at Thanksgiving when you thought nobody noticed. I noticed. I’ve been noticing for years. You think I sat on this bike following you for three nights only because your father asked?” He slapped the head against my cheek. Once. Twice. Harder the third time.
“Ask proper.”
I had to swallow before I could talk.
“Please.”
“Please what.”
“Please put it back, Uncle Gary.”
“Please put what back. Use the word. You’re not at your mother’s table. You’re in a dark alley with your uncle’s cock in your face. Say it like that.”
My voice came out wrecked.
“Please put your cock back in my mouth. Please. Sir. Uncle Gary.”
He smiled with no kindness in it.
“There he is. The honest little pervert. I knew you were hard. I can see it from here. Don’t you hide it. That’s the part you’re going to hate in the morning. Not the throat. The fact that it got you stiff for your Uncle. You should be ashamed of yourself, you’re a fucking faggot. A faggot who serves strangers and his own uncle. How fucked up is that?”
He pushed in to the root in one go and held me there until my throat fluttered around him. I slapped his legs once without meaning to. He clicked his tongue.
“Hands. I said hands. You don’t drum on my leg like you’re calling for help. Nobody’s coming. I’m the help. I’m the punishment. I’m the only man on this block who gets to ruin you and still sit at your father’s table drinking his liquor.”
He started using me properly after that.
A working pace. Every thrust seated my skull against the mortar. Every pull-back dragged spit down my chin in a sheet. He talked through it the way a man talks while he’s tightening a bolt.
“Pretty mouth for a punishment. Wet. Soft. No teeth. Some guy in that steam palace taught you to open up and you brought it out here like a skill. Now it’s mine. Family keeps what’s theirs. You go back in that black door after tonight, you do it knowing whose throat this is.”
I gagged on a deeper one and he laughed, short, pleased.
“There. That’s the sound. Don’t you be embarrassed. I like the gagging sound. Means you’re working. You’re putting effort. Means you’re not going to forget who put it there.”
He took both hands off my head for three strokes and just used his hips, jeans around his thighs, cap still on, black shirt clinging to the sweat on his chest. When I slipped and scraped my cheek on the brick he grabbed my hair and put me back on it like he was correcting a tool.
“Stay on it. The wall’s for your hands. The mouth’s for me. You scrape your face again I take it as you asking for something rougher.”
A bottle rolled deeper in the alley. He didn’t turn. He shoved in and stayed, my nose crushed to the bush, and counted under his breath.
“Four. Five. Six. You tap my leg if you can’t handle it. You haven’t tapped. So you can. So you want to. Don’t lie to your Uncle, Harry. Your dick’s trying to punch through your jeans for your own uncle. That’s the truth your father never gets.”
I hadn’t tapped. I didn’t want to. The fear was real — the phone in his pocket, the call, the kitchen table in the morning. The want was louder. This was the body. This was the voice. This was the man I was not supposed to want and I was on my knees with his big hairy cock in my throat and I would have stayed if the whole block had turned the light on.
He pulled out to the head and rubbed it across my lips, smearing everything that was already there.
“Clean the underside. Tongue. Slow. You miss a spot I start the count over and I add a sentence to the story I tell your dad.”
I licked what he gave me. Salt. Skin. The musky smell of the bike ride He watched like he was grading it.
“Adequate. Not pretty. Adequate’s all you need to be for your uncle.”
Then he was back in my throat.
Harder. The wet sounds got louder than the distant traffic. He hooked a thumb in the corner of my mouth to keep it wide and used that extra room.
“You hear that, little faggot? That’s you. That’s your throat making room for the man who used to carry you on his shoulders. You still want to tell me you were just walking home?”
I couldn’t answer. He didn’t want an answer. He wanted the question sitting in me while he fucked the yes out of my mouth.
“I watched you leave that gay place. Wet hair. Soft mouth. Looking both ways like the night might be dangerous. Then you picked the dark anyway. Don’t rewrite it now that your uncle’s dick is in you. You picked this. I finished it. That’s the only version that matters.”
He sped up.
The black T-shirt scratched the bridge of my nose when he leaned in. I could smell the leather on his belt and the gasoline on his hands and the sweat in the cotton.
“Almost. You feel it get thicker, that’s me feeding you. You stay. You don’t pull off to be cute. You take the last of it like you took the first. That’s the lesson. That’s the punishment. That’s the only story your father never hears — unless you make me tell it.”
He yanked out. I gasped so hard it scraped. He slapped my face with the wet shaft, once on each cheek, and put just the head back on my tongue.
“Hands behind your back, sissy boy. Now.”
I laced my fingers at the base of my spine again. He held my hair and my head became the only thing keeping me upright.
“That’s the picture. Knees in a dark alley. Hands where they can’t help you. Face dripping with saliva. If a car turns in here they see my brother’s son getting his mouth used by the man who was supposed to bring him home safely. You think about that while I finish. You think about how hard you are while you think about it.”
He fucked my mouth like that — no wall, no hands, just his fist in my hair and the weight of him. My eyes streamed. I didn’t care. He was close enough that his voice had gone rough.
“Open. Faggot. Wider. I want to see teeth out of the way. Yeah. Stay. Good boy.“
He pulled free, tipped my face up by the hair, and stripped himself in short, ugly pulls an inch from my eyes. I kept my mouth open because that was still the order. He came with a sound that was almost a painful grunt — hot stripes across my forehead, my nose, my lips, one shot that ran down my jaw. He milked the rest onto my tongue and held my jaw so I couldn’t close.
“Show me your tongue.”
I showed him.
“Swallow.”
I did.
He stood over me for a long second, chest working under the black shirt, looking at the mess he’d made like a man looking at a tank he’d just finished wiping down.
“Stay down.”
I stayed. Knees gone. Face dripping. Hard and ashamed of it and not ashamed enough to stand up. He tucked himself into the jeans, buckled, picked the rag off the seat and wiped his own hands. Not my face. My face was marked with his own nut.
He swung a leg over the bike. No helmet. The engine caught and the alley shook like a door had been kicked in. He looked back once, cap low, that mean almost-fond mouth.
“Your father gets a clean report. You were at a friend’s. I picked you up. That’s the story. You cut through this alley again, Harry, I don’t start with a conversation. You come find me if you need the lesson again. You don’t go back in that black door without thinking about who you belong to.” The cap brim tipped. “And you don’t touch yourself when you get home thinking about your uncle unless you want me to know. I’ll know.”
He rolled out of the dark and the motor ate the block, then the next one, then it was only the security light blinking and my own breath and the taste of him sitting in the back of my throat.
I sat against the wall until I could feel my feet. Until I could stand without using the brick. I walked to the corner with his cum tightening on my skin and the shape of that black T-shirt still burned behind my eyes, and I already knew I was going to take the alley again — and that I was never going to tell my father the truth.
And the worst part, the part I would have to live with in the daylight, was that I wanted Uncle Gary to be waiting there when I did. And that I was going to touch myself anyway. And that I wanted him to know. I want him to use me harder next time. Scream for him.
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