I don't know where to start. I always struggle with starting new projects, for school or more private, but I really, really need to get this story out of my system. I can't tell my friends and especially can't tell my dad. For obvious reasons.
Well, okay. I saw people here usually introducing themselves at the start? My name's Malcolm. I'm average I guess? I think I'm what people would call a twink, with lean body, dark hair and blue eyes that all the girls compliments. I'm pretty athletic too, mostly because my dad made sure to teach me taking care of my body. When the story I want to tell happened I was barely nineteen, but now I'm turning twenty in few months. I was so... shy about what happened I couldn't even think about it for more than two minutes, let alone write it down. Already I can't stop blushing. But I just need to tell someone or I swear I'll go crazy.
Oh did I forgot to tell I'm also closeted gay? I think I did. Well, at least I think I am. For a big chunk of my teenage years I thought I may be bi, but with time I noticed I'm less and less interested with girls and-
And I'm going off the track. I'm sorry. Let's move to some background.
My dad is a really wealthy man. He divorced my mom when I was little and took care of me. I still live with him, his apartment is close to the university I'm attending anyway. It's an expensive place, with only few neighbors living around us. I guess I could be called a rich boy, I caught a little bit of snobbish side especially when it comes to food and vacations, but I do understand how does the world works. I know I'll have to get job at some point, find my own place to live, pay bills and buy food for myself. It just always seemed so far away.
The neighbors are mostly business people like my dad. There are also some teens around my age I never got to know well. Those are the exact stereotypes of rich kids and I found myself judging them a lot.
There's also a man that's the main character of this story. Besides me of course. He lives next doors with us and sometimes throws big parties, but always gives everyone a warning about them. So, compared to loud, rich kids that blast music on the most annoying hours, he's considered a nice gentleman. His name's Tomas Miller and I think he's around my dad's age. He doesn't really look like the scruffy, bear type of guy that I can see described in here most of the time? His hair is always neatly brushed, with three day beard over his chin and that look in his eyes, as if he's better than everyone else.
He always intrigued me because he was very mysterious. Once, when I was little, I asked my dad who is mister Miller and he struggled with answering before finally settling down on "probably an artist". His guests, who I saw few times in the lobby or in the lift, usually wore colorful, weird outfits. Later, when I started learning more about sex stuff, I realized that those parties were probably... well... orgies. For almost a year somewhere in highschool I got so fixated on Miller's persona I almost started stalking him, but then the school stuff came and I had to focus on it.
In reality the only words we exchanged were mostly greetings. And not even every time there was an exchange. He just waved his hand at me dismissively when I greeted him. I didn't really mind, it wasn't like I was crushing on him or anything. I still don't really know him and he's probably twice as old as me. If anything he was nothing more than a celebrity crush, the kind that you can look at but can never touch. But that changed.
A week after my nineteen birthday party I was cleaning our part of basement. I told dad I'll do it, because I was eager to find all the old stuff he may left there and forgot about. It was always fun for me, to find things from my dad's past. It would also mean I'd just spent the whole weekend alone in the basement, listening to music and laughing at old pictures, but I didn't mind. I just wanted to have a break from everything else.
I was somewhere in the middle of a third box, with a speaker playing some music and an old wig I found before on my head, when I heard the lift arriving down here. I thought it's my dad, wanting to call me to have the dinner, so I stood up from the ground and walked outside of the room.
"Hey dad, did you wear this wig only occasionally or-" I cut off when I saw it wasn't my dad. I snatched the wig off immediately. "Oh, uh, mister Miller. Hello," I said.
Miller was standing there, right by the lift, with a little crooked head and lifted eyebrow. I could see him lustering my flushed face, with hands crossed over his chest. I started to feel awkward, so I decided to retreat and close the door behind myself.
"Sorry," I laughed, slowly moving back. "I took you for my dad."
I was almost behind the wall when I heard something I never heard before. Miller spoke up, he actually made a whole, legit sentence and send it toward me, the first time in my life. That was enough to lure me out of the room. And then I froze, catching the meaning of his words.
"You're that fag that lives next door, right?" he said.
I felt my stomach drop and my throat clench. No one, not even my friends knew I have even a tiny bit of interest toward other guys. I knew how to hide the lingering looks I send to guys I found cute or sexy. I practiced hiding my sexuality for years. How did this man, a man who never talked with me, knew?
He had to read my shocked, scared face well because he nodded with a smirk and continued.
"You're still in closet, huh?" I was still too shocked to even nod or shake my head. He seemed to not mind. "Doesn't really matter, I know how to recognize a gay guy. You think you're sneaky with your little glances yet it's all too obvious."
My stomach jumped all the way back and up to my throat when I heard that. What if someone else saw, too? Someone from my school? Some of my friends? I immediately lost all my confidence for my skills.
"I'm... not gay," I managed to huff out, with eyes down and cheeks red. I really didn't know what to do in this situation. I didn't notice Miller coming closer.
"Oh don't lie. It's not like I care enough to tell anyone." I jumped up and straightened, hearing his voice way closer than before. He was standing right before me, maybe a step away, and looking over me with a frown. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Nineteen since last week-" I said, for some reason, and immediately snapped my mouth shut. I swear I saw his eyes glimmer in a way that made hair on my nape stand. Like he saw cool jacket and only now realized he can afford it. The glimmer vanished quickly and he smiled widely.
"Nineteen! So that's what the party was about, huh?"
I nodded but I wasn't really thinking about the discussion anymore. I never had a reason to be scared of mister Miller, or any other man in this case. But just now I realized how big this man was. He was a good head above me, obviously stronger by just looking at his body. And he stood between me and the lift, which was the only way to get out of the basement, beside the staircase that was probably closed behind the door anyway. I don't know why, but my mind immediately jumped to all the similar stories I read before. With twinks, like me, being forced into oblivion by hunks like Miller. They were sexy to read, but not fun to be in.
I was still a virgin back then, too. I wasn't scared or shy to talk about sex, but at the same time I didn't really feel like finding a girl just to cum. And, of course, getting a boyfriend was still a no for me. So I stayed in my little, porn driven box of masturbation and a little bit of playing with my butt, wondering about more and more kinky scenarios.
"Okay, uh, what was your name?"
