Page 20 of Sweet Thing

chapter 10

NEVER LET ME DOWN

Marcus Foster jogged to number sixTucholsky Strasse. He paused at the bottom of the porch steps, bent to touch his toes and took a in a ragged breath. Simeon’s front door opened and Marcus looked up to see a tall, slender, beautiful man with long blond hair standing in the doorway. The two men gazed at each other warily for a moment before the blond man spoke.

“Marcus, ja? I’m Pieter, a friend of Simeon’s.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember he mentioned you (about a thousand times) Good to put a face to a name, is he okay? I came over as quickly as I could,” Marcus replied, meeting Pieter half-way up the steps and shaking his hand firmly.

“He’s a bit bruised and confused. I’m going to the Apotheke to get some things for him, go on up; I’ll be back in ten,” Pieter informed, as he rushed past and strode off down the road. Marcus watched him leave. The man moved like a stalking cat, graceful and determined. Marcus shook his head at the sight. He could understand now why Simeon was so smitten. Marcus turned and walked up the steps.

“You okay little brother?” he called as he strode into Simeon’s apartment.

“In here Marcus. Did you meet Peety?” Sim hollered.

Marcus ducked into the kitchen for a glass of water and then went to find Simeon curled up on the couch in the lounge. Sim smiled meekly at the brawny Englishman who had come to save the day—not for the first time.

Marcus noted Simeon’s face was as attractive as ever; he didn’t look at all bruised or confused; he hoped Sim wasn’t faking to get out of the run.

“Oh yeah! Pieter. I bumped into him downstairs. Wow, he is a little heartbreaker. I thought you were planning to get closure from all that“, Marcus said, his London accent gravely and deep.

Marcus Foster was a fit, well-weathered, fifty-seven-year-old ex-soldier. He’d been with his husband Gorge for ten years, but he could still appreciate a little eye candy.

Simeon smirked with pride; he loved it when other men appreciated Pieter’s beauty. “He is a heartbreaker, and I was trying to get closure. I apologized, and he forgave me. I can’t believe it, but he wants to be friends again. He has a girlfriend and a baby now,” Sim sighed.

“Are you okay with that?”

“Gaah’d, yes! I thought he would kick my ass and tell me to fuck off. That’s as good as I deserved. But he’s giving me a second chance.” Sim’s eyes glazed with tears.

“So tell me what happened, you said a date got out of hand?” Marcus removed his red hoodie and ran his hands over his sweaty close-cropped and dyed brown hair. He sat heavily in the same chair Pieter had occupied minutes before and gave Simeon the time and space to unburden himself.

Sim explained everything that had occurred when Bastian came home with him, and then showed Marcus his bruised ass.

Marcus had seen all kinds of sexual injuries over the years. Some of his and Gorge’s clients were well into BDSM but didn’t want to go to the hospital or have sex-related injuries on their medical records. Marcus had army medic training and could patch up most superficial injuries like whip welts, bites, bruises, and rope burns. He would call an ambulance for broken bones and puncture wounds without question, no matter what the client wanted.

The handprints, bites and bruising on Simeon’s butt cheeks told a story of their own. This assault was about feeling power, and powerlessness. Marcus’s clients who were into spanking rarely left such violent bruises. He knew spanking wasn’t about inflicting violence; it was about seeking a natural high created by the endorphin rush from the controlled, balanced application of pain.

Simeon assured Marcus he was not into BDSM. He’d consented to have sex with the man. He had not consented to be spanked.

This story wasn’t as black and white as it first appeared. It was early days in Simeon’s recovery, he was still very fragile, and with his addictive personality, Marcus had been worried that Simeon could slide back into his old ways and relapse if his life became too stressful. The feeling powerless in his personal relationships was one of Simeon’s triggers.

Marcus had been informed by Dr. Neuhaus that Simeon would always exhibit obsessive patterns of behavior, and so he had been trying to guide Simeon to ‘healthier’ obsessions that would offer positive outcomes—like running and the gym. Marcus was aware that Simeon had three obsessions he refused to talk to his Dr. about—his Sex life, Pieter Bayer, and David Bowie. He spoke to Marcus and Gorge about them because, as Gay men, he thought they’d understand. What the kid needed was a dependable, steady boyfriend. It was a pity that Pieter was already taken.

“Thank you for your honesty. But this is not as straightforward as it seems Simeon. You came off the worst for it, but you do know you shouldn’t have assaulted him first, don’t you? He had every right to change his mind about having sex. And he had no right to raise a hand to you. I know you’re worried that you submitted to him and got pleasure. Do you not think that might have been the only way your body could cope with a difficult situation?” Marcus offered in an attempt to reassure.

“I feel so stupid. I can’t believe I let him do that to me. He looked so cute and hot and normal. I don’t understand why he flipped-out like that.” Simon hid his face in his hands.

“The man obviously has a problem Sim. How are you feeling now? What do you want to do? If you want to report it as a sexual assault, I’ll go with you to the Polizei and stay with you every step of the way.”

“My ass stings like a bitch. I can’t sit down. I can’t even take a fucking aspirin. How the fuck do you think I feel?” Simeon spat and then immediately regretted his tone.

“I’m sorry, there was no need for that,” he said apologetically. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t have time for this. I just wish it hadn’t happened. I can’t go to the cops. I hit him first, didn’t I? I have two go-see's today and… I just want to forget it ever happened. Is that bad?”

Marcus sighed. It was the same old story from the majority of men who came to their counseling service after a sexual assault. They were deeply ashamed and embarrassed that they’d been abused, and many didn’t trust the system to get them justice. The thought of re-telling the ordeal to another man, an official, was nearly as traumatic as the assault.

“Has this Bastian Roth contacted you?”

“Noh, he doesn’t have my number. Can you believe the fucker stole a photo from my Space Oddity—one of Peety and me. I think he’s gonna use it as bait to make me meet him again.”