7 - There dwells a spirit, waiting to be released

The club was luxuriant to say the least—in Merlyn’s considered opinion. All dark wood and wine-red fabrics and leather. “It could be a gentlemen's club from the last century,” he told Alton as they wended their way to a pair of high-backed wingchairs facing a low table at one side of the room.

“Precisely, my dear boy. Ambiance is everything.” Alton beckoned to one of the servers. A young man, clad in tight black leather pants, a blood-red silk shirt open to the waist and a wide studded collar. Keeping his head bowed subserviently he took their orders, a whiskey for Alton, a glass of red wine for Merlyn.

“No one would ever get me into a collar,” Merlyn said as he watched the young man leave.

Alton chuckled. “Don’t tempt fate. You never know who you’ll meet that might make you change your mind.”

Merlyn’s eyebrow rose in amusement. “If anything I’d be the one doing the collaring.” As he said that another flash of the dream rose in his mind and he wondered at the truth of his words. But it was only a dream, not reality.

When the server returned with their drinks he handed Alton a slip of paper. As Alton read the message it contained he murmured, “Well now, how interesting. If you’ll excuse me, Merl, it seems an old acquaintance of mine would like to reestablish our relationship.” With that said he stood and strode across the room to a door on the far side.

“There you go again, deserting me,” Merlyn muttered under his breath. Sipping his wine, one foot now resting on the table in front of him, he took a small sketchpad and a pen from his jacket pocket. Soon he was deeply immersed in catching on paper the various couples who were dotted around the room. Some seemed to be just friends but others were quite obviously paired sub/Dom couples, often with one of the men sitting or kneeling submissively on the floor beside the other man’s chair. He snorted when one such sub allowed his master to feed him tidbits from a plate of hors d'oeuvre set on the table beside them.

“Not your thing?” a deep voice asked from behind him.

“Not really,” Merlyn admitted, not taking his eyes from the couple he was sketching. “Interesting to observe however. It does make me wonder what sort of man would allow himself to be debased by another like that.”

“Ask Alton when he returns.”

“You know him?” Merlyn couldn’t say he was surprised if he did. He had often though that there were very few men gay men in the city that didn’t know his friend.

Leaving Merlyn’s question unanswered the man reached over the back of the chair, resting one hand on the nape of his neck, massaging it. “You’re tense. You wish you could leave but you don’t want to walk out on Alton—again.”

If he hadn’t been tense before Merlyn was now. “How do you know that I’ve done that?” he asked, trying to turn to look at the man. The hand gripped the back of his head, keeping it stationary.   

“I know much about you. You are renowned in the art world. Single, gay obviously as you are here, still unwilling to commit to anyone as you’re emotions were shattered by the, you should excuse the expression, the bastard you were living with. If it weren’t for Alton you would undoubtedly be a total recluse.”

“All of those are known details that anyone could have found out. The fact that you know I walked out on Alton the last time we went somewhere says you must have been following me for some reason.”

The man chuckled, the deep sound rolling over Merlyn in a wave of amusement. “I do not have to follow you to know that. It is somewhat of a given, seeing that you do not like the club scene I would say.”

“No I don’t.” Again Merlyn tried to turn to look at the man, again he found he couldn’t. So, angrily, he said, “Since you seem to know all about me, tell me something no one else would know.”

“Something even Alton wouldn’t?”

“Yes.”

He felt a soft breath against his ear as the man whispered, “You dream of the perfect man, one who will set all your senses on fire. One who is pure and yet wicked; beautiful, erotic, and for you alone. You dream of him and will again. Someday perhaps the dream will become reality.”

The hand was removed from Merlyn’s neck. He turned quickly to look at the man. No one was there. No one was within several yards of him. And yet he still felt as if someone was watching him. Taking a deep gulp of wine he tried to explain to himself what had just happened.

“I had a bit too much wine,” he said softly to himself, looking at the empty glass. “I must have dozed off and…and dreamed all this.”

But somewhere deep inside he wondered.