Free I Had to Say Something by Mike Jones

that I had nothing to fear. Art was complex, but a tendency towards violence was never one of his character traits.
    When I looked at Art, I saw a lot more than just the color of his eyes. It was as if Art were a puzzle with several hundred pieces. Just by looking at the pieces, no obvious pattern emerged. You could put the border of the puzzle together, but you could not be sure that every piece would fit.
    He was quiet, to be sure, and when he spoke, he said little. He was never boastful, and there was always a sense of shame, guilt, or something that was not right with him. He wasn’t looking just to get his rocks off. He wanted more. He needed more. I just couldn’t tell what it was.
    As we stood crotch-to-crotch, I was able to get him off. His body became the most intense I had ever seen it, but after the moment was over, he almost collapsed in my arms. Carefully, I guided him down to a chair so he could cool off.

    â€œThank you, Mike,” he panted. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
    No shit. I watched him carefully until his breathing came back to normal. I put a towel on his groin and held it there. He was still excited, but I tried not to think if that was natural or chemical.
    A few minutes later, he grabbed his clothes and went to the bathroom. I was thoroughly exhausted from our session. I started to strip the massage table and prepare the room for the next client.
    Standing in the living room, I watched Art come out of the bathroom with wet hair and wearing a slightly wrinkled shirt. Suddenly, the joy and intensity were gone. He looked like he was going to cry.
    I gave him a bear hug. “Thanks for coming, Art.”
    He hugged me back hard, as though he were holding on for dear life. “Thank you, Mike. I really enjoyed it.” He handed me two hundred-dollar bills and a little extra. I could tell he was sad.
    I gave him another hug and watched him walk down the hall to the elevator. I then quickly cleaned any residue of meth off my table. I washed my hands very thoroughly, repeatedly. I wanted no trace of meth anywhere in the house.
    Every time he came over after that, he did a little meth—I assume it was meth—before we got naked. One time he asked me if you could mix meth with a joint. I told him I didn’t know, but I supposed you could. I suggested he look for someone who was more knowledgeable. He also asked me about ecstasy, and I told him I had had only one experience with it, but I felt it was overrated and usually taken by people who want to dance all night.
    When he came over, Art would sit at my dining room table
to prepare his meth and take it there. One time, as he got his meth ready, he was particularly chatty.
    â€œYou know what?” he said. “I love doing this stuff before I have sex with my wife.”
    If I was supposed to be shocked, I wasn’t. I didn’t say anything and just acted like I didn’t hear him.
    Art gave himself a minute for everything to kick in, and then he met me inside the massage room. For Art, it was naked fun and games from there.
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    I had a chest full of sex toys that I kept for my clients to use and enjoy. There were sessions now when Art played with one toy after another. Sometime he knew what they were and how they were used, and sometimes he didn’t. He asked a lot of questions, and I saw that as a good sign. It’s easy to injure yourself with a pair of tit clamps if you are not careful.
    Shortly after meth became part of his routine, Art started carrying a small canvas bag with a variety of his own adult toys and accessories. In a short period of time, he had accumulated a lot of them: cock rings made of leather, rubber, or metal; jockstraps; tit clamps; and porn that he wanted to watch.
    â€œLook at what I bought!” he’d say as he showed me the latest addition to his collection.
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    â€œHey, Mike, can I ask you something?”
    I nodded.
    â€œDo you know any