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The Ceremony ignites passion.

And more than that, I fell in lust the instant I turned from The Mining Company's high wall.

We had a nightcap at his place, an aging condo that sat slightly west of Pacific Street. It was smartly furnished with gay subtleties. The walls and minimal furniture exuded masculinity. Autumnal hues in masculine paintings, genitally protracted sculptures, and touches that called to mind world travel to none-beaten paths completed the motif. Books on architecture, photography, and war stood out from the usual books found in a bachelor's library and proved his sophistication.

"You have a nice place," I said as he handed me a small glass of a liquor unknown to me.

"I'll show it to you later," he said and pulled me to a deftly stuffed couch. I barely had time to place the drink on the table before he pulled me into a breathless kiss. "I'm sorry," he said on our surfacing. "You make me base. I hope I didn't overwhelm you," he said and weakly smiled.

I only managed, "Don't stop," before he took me back to the depths.

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I woke with a pounding head, naked, and tied to an ornate high-back chair. Across from the chair sat a large French provincial bed. The headboard's carvings made me feel like captured royalty, while the bedding held heavy embroidered depictions of French culture. Classical music murmured from every corner and soundless porn played from at least three flat screens.

He stood in silhouette at the top of the stairs surveying what he had conquer. The room was cold and dim, saved for the gothic candles on either side of my chair. Moving slowly down the stairs, he pointed out, "You made this too easy; I don't like anything easy." Seeing him enter the light, my eyes widen but no sound of distress escaped me. "I need quiet when I play; you understand," he said moving into candlelight and checking my gag. "I haven't soundproofed the room-neighbors, you know."

He wore ass-less chaps, a gladiator's harness, and heavy biker boots. His leather ensemble appeared less menacing at his completing it with a leather Confederate cap. No disrespect to the Confederacy, but I would have reacted more to a policeman's cap. Policing always scared me; however, the thickness of his ass, squeezed in the clearance of the chaps, his deep tan, and acres of silky hairiness, pushed all my bullshit musing aside. There was something in his delivery: the heavy East Texas drawl, the low rumblings of sinister behavior, the purposeful slowness of his movements that seductively burned away imminent fear. He was the master manipulator, doling exquisite anticipation, moving me toward participation.

"You know, you're a really good kisser, and not knowing how, you deftly communicate what you want in those kisses." He said with a heavy sigh, "So..., I have come to the disappointing conclusion that we are looking for the same man."

He circled me like an interrogator. "Naturally, who-does-what-to-whom works itself out over time, but..." He paused for effect, grabbed the arms of the chair, and drew within inches,"...I'm a selfish son of a bitch, and after discussing everything, I could gamble that you wouldn't let me on that huge cock, willingly." He stood and looked on me as if his actions were perfectly reasonable.

On turning and bending, he presented his beautifully hairy ass, and in the dim light I could only see a leather jock's strap disappear between his meaty globes. "It's time to give my hole some attention," he said straddling the chair and coming as close to my face as he could. In a smooth motion, he pulled aside the strap and pluck an incredibly large butt plug from his now spasming hole. Ass juice splashed my face in a shocking spray. "Beautiful, just beautiful," he said looking at my slimy face. Grabbing the back of my head, he reached back and pulled the gag from my mouth. "Now push that tongue and those nasty lips into my hungry hole," he commanded. And to my burning humiliation, he backed into my face, smashed my lips apart, and pushed onto my tongue as if it was a dildo.

I straddled

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