Unwholesome Things

Beta by LP, all remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.

Oren adjusted the focus on his binoculars. Sometimes even on the lowest power it was hard to get them to work for what he used them for. He would have been better off with a less expensive pair.

Oren took his time examining each potential target as they exited the bus. He usually preferred the teens over the twenty-somethings. Not specifically because of their age, but because the older ones tended to look more…sedentary. The neighborhood watch might have disapproved of the college and high school students that exercised at the park after class, but Oren wholly approved. Particularly on hot days when most of the students chose to wear little more than gym shorts and sweat.

While he enjoyed voyeurism in and of itself, Oren usually preferred a more interactive approach. Any moment they would see the drawing on the bench and he wanted to savor their reactions. While they were likely to be of surprise and disgust, they might also be embarrassment and that could be sexy. He'd take what he could get; it wasn't like he got a lot of other male interaction. Oren was only nineteen, so gawking at seventeen year-olds wasn't too extreme, but he doubted his tastes would change as he got older. He accepted that he would be a dirty old man. In fact he reveled in it. He had his sketchpad ready just to celebrate it.

One of the college boys wasn't reacting the same as the others. While the others passed the sketch around, he stood to one side. He was looking at something, and from the angle it almost seemed like he was staring back at Oren. Which was a complete impossibility considering the distance.

Then he made a gesture that would have been friendly in any other setting. He waved.

Oren jumped back as if bitten. How? How could he know? He'd left no clues at the bus stop this morning. He'd been careful. He'd certainly told no one. Oren looked back through the eye piece to see what he was doing now. He'd shouldered his pack and now held what appeared to be Oren's drawing in his hand. As he separated from the other students, they made motions as if they were cheering him on.

Cheering him on to do what?

Oren watched the student do the unfathomable and begin to walk toward Oren's house.

He was one of the few attractive older students. Oren had appreciated his looks so much that he had made him his latest subject. That frightened him. He might want some kind of revenge. Oren thought graduating from boarding school would have ended the danger of being physically harmed by his peers, but apparently he was wrong.

The easiest solution was to not let him in the house. Walls and locks were invented for just this kind of situation. Oren would never open the door. His parents were on vacation, so that left only one person to worry about. Oren's parents had arranged for Norman, the household manager, to be present at all times in their absence.

Oren's heart pounded as he raced out of his room and down the stairs. He cursed his house for being so large. He would never make it in time.

Just before he got to the entryway, Oren heard the doorbell ring out like a death knell. Norman was miraculously fast when responding to any request that didn't originate from Oren. By the time Oren turned the corner it was already too late.

Oren slipped back out of sight, flattening himself against the wall outside the entryway. Not letting him in had been the most important detail of his plan to avoid a confrontation. Now what? He wasn't prepared for this. Maybe by some anomaly the man would just leave.

The student's voice was deep and surprisingly calm when he spoke. Not at all like Oren expected a vigilante to sound.

“Hi, I'm Rezalino Diaz. I'm here to speak with the person that uses binoculars on the left side of this house, on the third story.” Diaz? Oren was surprised by the Spanish surname, he'd thought he was Asian.

“Welcome Mr. Diaz, please have a seat in here.” There was a pause where Oren imagined Diaz was shown into the parlor. “I will let Mr. Gilby know you are here.”

And Mr. Gilby will not be seeing you at all, Oren thought as he carefully made his way back to his room. He wanted to be as far away from Diaz as possible, plus it wouldn't hurt to make Norman track him down for a change. What kind of household manager let just anybody in, anyway?

When Norman knocked on his door, Oren took his time in answering.

“What is it?” Oren said, without bothering to open the door.

“There is a visitor to see you, sir, a Mr. Rezalino Diaz.”

“Send him away. I'm too busy to see him right now.”

“It's about your binocular use and the drawings, sir.”

“Which is exactly why you should send him away.”

Norman paused for a moment. It was the only way he ever expressed disapproval. Fortunately Oren found it very easy to ignore.

“I will tell him, sir,” Norman said just before his silence could be considered rude.

Oren went to sit by the window so he could watch Diaz be ousted. This should be the end of it. Even if he did go to the police he didn't have any real evidence.

It seemed to be taking longer than he expected. How long did it take to send someone away? Even if done politely it shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

Oren jumped, nearly falling off the window sill, when another knock came at his door.

“Sir?”

“What?” Oren made sure his irritation was audible.

“Mr. Diaz says he will wait until you're no longer busy.”

“What? Why didn't you throw him out?”

“I'm not in the habit of throwing out guests, sir.” Norman seemed to be missing the gravity of the situation.

“He's not a guest—he's trying to get money out of us. Throw him out. Now.”

“Sir, Mr. Diaz is in the parlor. If you would like to throw him out, he will be there waiting for you.”

This was completely unacceptable. “But he's a blackmailer…”

“Then I suggest you straighten this out before your father returns.”

“Norman!”

“Please call me if you need anything else, sir.”

“Damn it, don't do this to me!”

Norman left without even waiting to be dismissed. As if he wasn't being paid a completely unreasonable amount of overtime for his services while Oren's parents were on holiday. If his father ever listened to him he would have had Norman fired years ago.

Well, if Norman was going to be absolutely useless, Oren would just have to wait Diaz out. It wasn't like he left his room much anyway. He spent countless hours alone drawing or people watching. The one thing he truly excelled at was killing time.

Oren stared at his sketchpad for a long time, but he felt no inspiration. It was hard to when all it did was remind him of the drawing that had brought Diaz here. His presence was too distracting. It was as if the very sanctity of his house had been violated. The one consoling thought was that Diaz was probably just as uncomfortable. Oren hoped it would inspire him to leave.

Time barely seemed to pass. After nearly two of the slowest moving hours Oren had ever been forced to endure, Norman knocked at his door again.

“Sir? I wanted to remind you that Mr. Diaz is still waiting.”

Oren's answer was the thump of a house shoe striking the door. Sadly it was too soft to leave a satisfying dent.

Oren was surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice in the hallway.

“I'll talk to him myself now. Thank you,” the voice said.

“Mr. Diaz—I'm sorry but you can’t be up here.” Norman’s voice sounded unnatural, like an actor in a bad play. But Oren was too concerned about what was happening to give it more than a passing thought.

The door to his bedroom was thrust open despite Norman's feeble protests. Oren jumped to his feet, watching as Diaz shut the door and Norman out.

Diaz appeared to be looking for a way to lock the door. He wasn't going to have any luck with that. If Oren had been allowed to have a lock on his door Diaz would have never gotten in.

When Diaz turned his attention to Oren, he appeared surprised. Oren wondered if he'd expected him to be a creepy old man. If so, he would have to wait a few years for that. For now all he'd get was a nineteen year-old with tied-back blond hair and a frame that was just a little too lean.

Had Oren realized he was going to have an intruder in his bedroom he would have put on something other than black, silk pajama bottoms and an a-line undershirt. Although any embarrassment his appearance caused was insignificant compared to what else his room revealed about him.

Any chance to deny that he was the one that left the sketch was now gone. The evidence of his perversions were incredibly prolific. Sketches, much like the one Diaz had found at the bus stop, where pinned all over his walls. They depicted countless nude and semi-nude young men, some of whom Diaz would recognize, doing very…naughty things.

Diaz didn't immediately acknowledge Oren; instead his eyes moved from the walls down to the objects strewn about rest of the room. It was anything but orderly, the maid service had been instructed to abandon this room a long time ago. They found some of the things Oren owned alarming. Manacles, masks, paddles, and gizmos of every texture and color covered nearly every flat surface in the room. Oren doubted Diaz would be able to even recognize half of them.

Diaz looked extremely ill at ease. Maybe the sight of so many toys and naked men would send him running and spare Oren what was bound to be an awkward confrontation.

“I've come to talk about what you left at the bus stop.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. I want you to leave immediately.” Oren was surprised to hear a tremor in his voice.

Diaz ignored him. He unfolded a piece of paper and set it on the desk.

“Don't even try to deny you drew this, it matches what's all over your walls.”

Even though Oren already knew what it was, he picked up the drawing to inspect it. It was a graphic depiction of Diaz with his shirt pulled up and his fly unzipped doing an activity he likely did on a daily basis. It could have been far worse.

“Well?” Diaz asked when Oren showed no sign of responding.

“I would take it as a compliment.” Oren set the paper down on the desk.

“You do know that it's completely inappropriate to draw these kinds of pictures and then post them in a public place, don't you?”

“I'm not hurting anyone and I can’t see how this is any of your business.”

“I can't see how it's not…I want you to promise me you'll never put another drawing like this,” Diaz jabbed a finger at the sketch, “in a public place again.”

Oren's irritation was growing almost as fast as Diaz's. “Fine. Are you through? Will you leave now?”

“Not until you promise me.”

“I won't draw any more pictures of you. You're not really that attractive up close anyway.” Actually he was more attractive, but Oren's pride preferred the lie.

Diaz's eyes continued to land on different objects in the room. From an outsider's point of view Oren could see how some of them could be alarming.

“How old are you?” Diaz asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Oren realized he was shifting from foot to foot and stopped himself.

“It's hard to believe someone as young as you actually uses all these things.”

“I told you I wouldn't draw you again, so it's time for you to leave. Before I call the police.” He felt pathetic threatening that, but he really didn't think he would win in a fight. He'd watched Diaz at the park enough times to know that he was more dedicated to working out than Oren was.

Diaz folded his arms across his chest. “I asked you a question.”

Damn. Not only was Oren's cell phone lost somewhere in the chaos of his room, but the battery was dead. There was some hope that Norman had called the police. Even he had to see how bad this situation had become. At least he should have—if he valued his position.

“I'm nineteen…and how old are you?” Oren wasn't going to let this be a one way interrogation.

“Twenty-one, but some of the guys you drew were only seventeen. Underage.”

“I didn't know.”

“Won't matter to a court.”

“So now you're here to blackmail me...”

“No. I don't want your money.” Diaz moved to examine Oren's things up close. His personal things.

Oren placed himself protectively in front of his sketch books. It would be unbearable if anyone else ever looked at those. He did more than draw in them: he wrote ideas for stories, random thoughts and some really terrible poetry. He didn't want to start a fight, but he would if necessary.

“Then why are you here?” Oren asked.

“I want an apology…”

“I gave you that—”

“No, you didn't. Let me finish. What you did to your victims—”

“They are not victims—”

“Really? Some of these drawings look anything but consensual.”

“They're just fictional drawings.”

Diaz had stopped in front of one the darkest ones. His brow furrowed as his eyes scanned each sordid detail. Oren forced himself not to pull Diaz away from it or offer a tirade of justifications. It wasn't as if it was an accurate portrayal of his desires. Fantasies were supposed to be more extreme than what anyone actually wanted to do. Oren didn't really even know what he wanted yet. He was a lot less experienced than he cared to admit.

Diaz lifted up a pair of padded restraints by one finger. They dangled accusingly at Oren.

“Do you like being tied up?”

“No…of course not—stop touching my things.”

“No? What about this?” Diaz picked up a heavy, old fashioned hairbrush and swung it demonstratively. “Do you like to be spanked?”

The appropriate response to that question was not the one his body was offering.

Diaz slapped the back of the brush against his palm a few times. He stared at Oren hard as if looking for a reaction. Oren silently cursed his pale skin. It always revealed everything he was feeling.

“No—cut it out.”

Diaz set the brush down. “So you like to be the one that does all the tying up and spanking.”

“Think whatever you want.”

“So… ” Diaz laid another piece of paper near the first one. “Here's a list of your victim's names. I want you to write each of them an apology.”

Oren knew his mouth was open but somehow it failed to produce any sound.

“Come on, hurry up. You've already wasted most of my night.”

“I'm not going to do that. It's too—”

“Go on, sit down and start writing.” Diaz pulled out the chair from the desk. “After you write your apologies, I want you to agree not to spy on people with your binoculars.”

“I am not going to write apologies to everyone!”

“Yes you will. You humiliated them, it's only fair.”

“You’ve humiliated me, so we're even now.”

“Not yet—look, the last thing I need is an assault and battery charge, two weeks before final exams.”

He didn't look serious, but Oren took a step back anyway. Before he could retreat any further, Diaz pushed the list directly into Oren's hand.

Oren stared at the paper. This was ridiculous. These were his fantasies and his alone to judge. Oren was done with being ordered around in his own house. In his own bedroom. He held up the list to give Diaz a clear view before he neatly tore the sheet of paper in half. He started to line it up to tear it a second time when he felt strong hands clamp down on his wrists.

“Drop it,” Diaz said, applying just enough pressure to create the threat of pain.

Oren allowed the pieces to drift to the ground.

“I've had it with you—that was extremely immature.” Diaz's voice was low and dangerous. Oren's heart pounded as he realized he was trapped in a room with a man he had just made very angry.

Diaz transferred his grip to one of Oren's upper arms. “It's good that you don't like to be spanked,” he picked up the hairbrush with his other hand, “otherwise this wouldn't be nearly as effective.”

No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

“No you can't—”

“Too late. We'll talk about the rest when we're done.”

Diaz's athletic frame, which had initially appealed to Oren, made it completely impossible to get away. He found himself forced face down over the edge of his bed. He had of course, chosen it specifically because it was waist height. Yet another way his libido was getting him in trouble. Diaz pinned both his arms behind his back with only one arm. His hold was so tight that any struggling made it feel like Oren was in danger of dislocating a shoulder.

Oren's mind was in a state of overload. His most recent fantasy had stormed into his house, into his very room and was about to…spank him? If he had been told about this in advance he would have thought it was the answer to a lifetime of wet dreams.

He hadn't lied when he'd said he didn't like to be spanked, but only because he never had been spanked. He'd always wanted to try it (desperately even), but he'd always imagined it in more of a consensual setting. The last thing he wanted was to be completely at the mercy of someone else. He wanted a safe word at the very least.

Where the hell were the police? It seemed like eons since Norman had gone to call them.

“Those rich parents of yours ever take the time to paddle you?” Diaz asked. Oren didn't know how he could sound so casual while pinning another man down on a bed.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“So you paddle other people—boys—but you have absolutely no idea what it feels like.”

Diaz obviously had an exaggerated idea about Oren's activities.

“And I imagine you do know what it feels like?”

“I've had my fair share.”

“And just look how you turned out.”

Diaz touched the back of the brush to Oren's bottom causing him to flinch. But as horrible as the feel of the makeshift paddle pressing against him was, it was nothing compared to the terror he felt when it broke contact. Because he knew that when it returned it was going to do more than just give him a light touch. He was beginning to regret his flippant remark.

“Wait.”

Diaz's arm descended powerfully, the brush delivering a solid smack to seat of Oren's silk pajamas.

All of Oren's half-formed threats were driven out of him by the impact. It wasn't just a stinging swat that was over in an instant. It hurt. And he never wanted that to happen again—ever.

“Not what you were expecting?” Diaz sounded pleased, and Oren hated him in that moment.

“Alright, I get it. Let me up.”

“Did you show mercy to the boys you’ve beaten? Did you let them go when they begged you?”

“I've never beaten anyone.”

Oren heard an incredulous sound. “So you just have all this stuff for no reason whatsoever?”

“I bought it but I haven't used it. It's just a fantasy.”

“You haven't spanked even one of your lovers?”

“I've never had any lovers.” Normally Oren would have kept that to himself, but pride seemed significantly less important than it had a few minutes ago.

“With your looks and your money, you've never slept with anyone?”

“No.”

“I don't believe you. You would have had many opportunities to—”

“I don't draw pictures from my great sex life, I draw them out of pent up sexual frustration.”

“You would have paid for sex at the very least.”

Oren bristled at that assumption. He didn't need to purchase sex; it was only his shyness that held him back. He was a little weird maybe, but he wasn't hopeless.

“Look, I told you to let me up. I don't like this and you have to stop now.” Oren said with the same authoritative tone he'd heard his father use with his employees. Although, when his father used it, he wasn't pinned over the side of a bed.

“I'm not done educating you yet.”

Educating?

“I do not need to pay for sex and I have no interest in you—so don't think I'm going to pay you for this. That's all your kind ever thinks about.”

Oren felt Diaz's hand stiffen on his back. “What exactly is my kind?”

Shit. There was no good answer to that. He wasn't even sure if he meant because he was athletic or because he was poor. Either answer was likely to cause a bad, bad reaction.

“I don't care.” It was an evasive answer, if not the most tactful.

“Whatever.” Diaz pushed Oren down hard into the mattress. “And don't think that I would ever accept money to touch you.”

Oren opened his mouth to retaliate, but he was interrupted by a very hard smack. He found himself making a noise somewhere in between a grunt and a gasp.

“Stop.”

Somehow, Diaz was able to resist his directive. He gave Oren a third swat just as hard. Then a forth.

“Stop…I'm serious.” Oren was trying to remain stoic but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The pause in between each blow gave Oren just enough time to work up a lot of anticipation but not enough time to recover.

“You really deserve this.” Diaz continued to bring the wood of the brush down to slap sharply again Oren's backside. He seemed determined to make sure no part of Oren’s bottom received less than its fair share of discipline.

“Please stop…” Oren's brain clawed desperately for the words that would get him out of this. What little he could do in the way of squirming was giving him no relief.

“I'll write the apologies.” Oren was shocked by the sound of his voice. He hoped Diaz didn't think he was about to cry, because he wasn't. He was just under an extreme amount of physical and mental stress.

“Good.” Diaz gave him one more smack, the hardest yet. For a moment Oren thought that Diaz wasn't really done, but then he felt the other man's grip loosen. Diaz took a step back and tossed the brush on the bed. Oren stared at it with newly formed animosity. When this was over it was destined for the trash compactor.

“Let's finish this. It's late and I have a lot of studying to do.”

Oren didn't move for a moment. He was relieved that Diaz had let go of him and that the pain, while it hadn’t stopped was at least not getting any worse. He wanted to move away from the bed, but he was halted by one little thing. His eyes were close to overflowing with moisture, and he feared if he moved the wrong way they might do just that. It wasn't from the pain so much as from the humiliation. He tried moving his eyes slowly back and forth, hoping some of the liquid would evaporate. He certainly didn't want Mr. Athlete behind him to know how close he was to tears.

It wasn't working. Oren pushed himself up off the bed. Mortified, he dashed the moisture out of his eyes as quickly as possible.

He took a seat at his desk, wincing only slightly when his bottom contacted the hard wood. He didn't say anything to Diaz about his discomfort; he didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Diaz picked up the list and held it together to read the names. Apparently he wasn't willing to trust Oren with it again.

Oren wanted to put this ordeal behind him as fast as he could. He looked down at the page. The blank paper reflected his thoughts.

“I don't know what to say.”

“Try.”

What a helpful suggestion. Oren tapped the end of the pen against the desk. It was impossible to be eloquent under these conditions.

“Do you need more persuasion?”

Oren looked up to see Diaz glowering at him. Out of sheer self-preservation, Oren quickly wrote:

Dear Jeffery, I sincerely apologize for drawing an inappropriate picture of you. It will never happen again.

“Does that satisfy you?”

“Sign it.”

And give someone ammunition for a lawsuit? “No.”

Diaz crossed his arms as if he considered it necessary to look even more unfriendly.

“Look, it's not fair to drag my father's name into this.”

“First name only then.”

It wasn't an ideal compromise, especially with an unusual first name like his, but he suspected it was the best he would get. Oren added his first name to the sheet, although he was careful to spell it as “Orrin.” Diaz read each name out loud and Oren quickly filled out the rest of the apologies.

“Now see, that wasn't so bad.” Diaz accepted the pages and tucked them into his pack.

“Maybe for you.”

Diaz smiled at his tone. “Now…about the binoculars. Where are they?”

“On the tripod.” In plain sight. Oren gestured towards the window.

“Those are your binoculars? But they're designed for looking at the stars not people. You're completely abusing them.” Diaz walked over to examine them. Oren barely resisted the urge to throw something at him for touching even more of his stuff.

“These need a new location. Is there a place where they could be used for their intended purpose?”

“They're mine and I like them in my room.” Oren kept the venom in his voice to a minimum. Or at least he tried to.

“That's not what I asked.”

Oren rolled his eyes and was rewarded with a decidedly threatening look.

“There's a balcony out that door.”

Diaz opened the door and paused to absorb the large glass panels and modern window seats. It was more of a sun room, but it could have easily functioned as an observatory.

“If you have a place like this off of your bedroom, why didn't you have it set up in here in the first place?” The awe in Diaz's voice made Oren uncomfortable. “What are all these controls?”

“The thermostat, lights, remotes to open and close the windows…” Diaz looked like he was about to start pressing buttons. “Don't you have to go study?”

Diaz yanked his hand back from the control panel. Any trace of curiosity vanished from his features. “This will work. Go ahead and move it out here.”

“Fine, let me call Norman.” Who was also fired as soon as Diaz left, parents be damned.

“No. Do it yourself.”

Oren looked at Diaz sharply. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he suspected he'd just get another round of the hairbrush.

Grudgingly he did as he was told, careful to keep his grumbles to himself. Luckily the model he owned was relatively easy to relocate.

“You should get yourself a book on astronomy. It's very interesting.” Diaz began making adjustments on the set up as soon as Oren finished moving it. Entirely without Oren's permission.

“I'm sure.”

“Come here.” Diaz said when he was finally satisfied. He gestured for Oren to look through the eye piece.

Oren cautiously did as he asked.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Yes. The sky.” Which was now quite dark.

Whatever friendliness Diaz was attempting evaporated at Oren's comment.

“It's Saturn. This is the only type of thing you should be looking at from now on.”

“Ok already, you've made your point.” Diaz was not his boss. He said the most annoying things. Although Oren was slightly interested despite himself, he'd never actually used his binoculars for what they were designed for. He had expected Saturn's rings to look more broken up, not as perfect. But he wasn’t about to share that.

“It's late. I need to be heading home. I expect you to be good because if you're not…well I think you know what will happen.”

“You'll come back and torture me into doing whatever you want.”

“I would have phrased it 'give you a much more thorough and lengthy paddling.'”

Oren tried not to sneer, he really did.

Diaz turned to leave, retrieving his backpack from where he'd set it by the door. Just before Diaz disappeared Oren stopped him with a question he was afraid to ask.

“Are you going to tell your friends that you, um…disciplined me?”

“It's true isn’t it?” Diaz said, his voice steady.

Oren closed his eyes. It was difficult to think of anything more humiliating.

“I won't though. I’m going to say that you meant it as a compliment. When I explained it bothered people you felt terrible and wanted to send your apologies.”

“They're not going to believe that.”

Diaz shrugged.

“And they'll think I'm gay.”

Diaz looked around the room with exaggerated slowness. “Better work on your image then.”

That wasn't what Oren meant. It wasn't that he had a problem with being gay, but more that sometimes his so called peers didn't share his enthusiasm.

Diaz stepped out into the hall. “Goodbye Mr. Gilby.”

Instead of responding Oren slammed the door after him. He tried to ignore the faint sound of laughter he heard. Oren hoped the next time Diaz tried to catch the bus it ran him over.

Oren watched through the window until he saw Diaz walking away from the house. Only then did he feel himself begin to relax.

Diaz was not his boss; he didn't have the right to stop him from doing what he wanted. Although after this Oren never wanted to post another picture in public again. But there was no crime in looking and drawing them in private.

It had only taken a few minutes to move the binoculars to the balcony. It would take an equally short amount of time to move them back.

Chapter Two
Master List of Chapters