Page 4 of A Stable Daddy

So here I am in Brisbane, Australia, of all places, having just checked myself in to a hotel in the city and looking to let off a bit of steam before I make a plan to get my life back on track…again.

The central business district of the city feels small. It kind of reminds me of the time I visited San Diego as a kid. Could probably walk from one end of the place to the other within a couple of hours if I tried. Hell, it feels like you could take the whole area and drop it in the middle of my pop’s ranch and still have acres upon acres of land to spare.

But then, they do say everything’s bigger in Texas.

I pull out my phone and, using the sim card I’d organised myself when I’d planned to uproot my entire life, I start searching for my usual kinds of stress-relief.

I scroll a few online message boards before I find the advertisement for a kink-friendly club called ‘The Vault’. A quick Google search tells me it’s only a mile and a half’s walk from my hotel, and apparently they’re still selling tickets for tonight’s themed event.

I ain’t planning on going in costume, and I’m willing to bet they’ll let me in regardless. So, after tucking my phone and wallet into my pockets, I head out the door and in the direction of the club.

* * *

The club, like Brisbane City, is smaller than I imagined it would be. I almost couldn’t find the damn place to start with, not realising that it was part of the adult store I’d walked past three times. With its peeling pink exterior and grimy windows, it wasn’t exactly an enticing place to walk into, but the interior was bright and squeaky clean, and the woman behind the counter was more than happy to direct me up the stairs to the club after I showed her the ticket on my phone.

Beyond the soundproofed door at the top of the stairwell, the sounds and sights hit me all at once. Writhing bodies, moans and groans, slaps and slurps and general debauchery. Even if it is a much smaller, more dated space than I’m used to back home, it’s still familiar and comforting.

I explore the space first, respecting the closed-door rule wherever I come across one, but poking my head into rooms with open doors, watching the porn and live shows for a few moments before moving on. I’m just trying to get a feel for the space and the kind of activities I’m in the mood for when soundsof distress filter down one of the short hallways lined with closely spaced-together doors.

I pause and wait, wondering if it’s part of someone’s play, or whether the distress is real.

I jump a few seconds later when the sound of a door slamming against a wall reaches me, dim yellow light spilling out into the hall from the fourth door on the left.

“Help!” A guy’s voice, pitched high with panic calls out, “Red light! Help! Anyone?!”

My legs are moving before my brain catches up with my intentions.

When I reach the open doorway, it’s to the sight of some bland, dark-haired guy wearing a rumpled button-down shirt and dark denim jeans around his ankles grabbing a terrified looking man by the back of his mesh shirt and pulling him so hard that they both topple backwards.

The older man cries out and flails his arms, shutting his eyes as he falls.

Launching forward, I manage to grasp his wrist, pulling him towards me.

His blue-grey eyes fly open as he tries to lean into my movement, crying out again when the mesh of his shirt tears and his attacker crashes backwards to the ground. The sudden release sends the guy I’m rescuing careening into me.

I stagger, but manage to twist us enough that my back hits the wall and stops our momentum. The man against me is trembling and I don’t hesitate to wrap my arms around him. His skin is warm to the touch, and he takes the contact as an invitation to burrow his bearded face into the crook of my neck, his breathing heavy and hitching.

“You’re okay,” I soothe. “I’ve got you.”

He nods but doesn’t speak, and I glare over in the direction where the other guy is picking himself up off the floor. “What happened here?”

“You broke a club rule,” the other guy snaps at me. “Fuckin’ Americans, always thinking you own the world. You can’t just bust in on someone’s scene.”

“I didn’t break anything,” I keep my tone calm as I reply, aware that the raised voice of the other guy made the man in my arms flinch. I tilt my head towards the hallway. “That door was wide open, and it sounded to me as though you were the one breaking club rules.”

All my response earns me from the asshole is a sneer. “Fuck off. We were just—”

“Was this man safewording?” I cut him off, absently rubbing calming circles on the older man’s back when he attempts to burrow even deeper into the crease between my shoulder and neck.

“It was part of the scene,” the asshole says flippantly.

I frown; an expression which deepens as the man in my arms shakes his head against me. “That true, darlin’?” I ask him, holding an index finger up to silence the protests from the mouthy guy in the corner.

“No.” The word is barely whispered, but with how close his mouth is to my ear, I hear it loud and clear.

“Oh, comeon,” the asshole whines, gesturing wildly towards us, “look at the way he’s dressed. He was begging for it.”

The man in my arm whimpers and I decide I’ve heard and seen enough. “I’m gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that, buddy.” I tell the guy in the corner, giving the one in my arms a reassuring squeeze. “And you’re gonna stay right here while I report this to the insanely huge security guy I was introduced to earlier.”

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