Epilogue - Dylan
The city meant something different to me now.
Having someone I loved to explore it with meant that it was no longer a frantic, overwhelming mess, filled with reminders of awkward dates or places linked to memories of my exes.
Being with Ford hit my reset button, and I was leaving my past where it belonged.
It had been a few months since we left the cabin, and I was still happily locked up.
Every day was a new personal record, and after we discussed it, I’d started posting on the chastity subreddit.
Initially, I was just curious, reading the posts and comments, but after asking for Ford’s support, I got the courage to post a headless nude pic.
It got a lot of attention.
Both Ford and I found it extremely arousing to have strangers comment on my locked “little nub” as some—now including Ford—called it. The encouragement over how long I’d been locked was especially gratifying, and I made sure to sing Ford’s praises as my considerate partner.
And while we both missed the eternal quiet the lake offered, our new life together was exhilarating. Three days of living apart was all it took to give up on that idea. We concluded I had less stuff, plus his apartment was nicer than mine, so that’s where we lived.
For now.
Because today, we were looking at more apartments, and I had a good feeling.
The search had been a fun, though absurd at times, adventure.
There was the tiny studio with creative storage solutions , which referred to an entire wall filled with hooks.
Then there was the sprawling loft close to Lincoln Park that had a toilet inexplicably in the middle of the living room.
We didn’t even ask, we just backed out the door slowly—after I snapped a quick photo.
Our opinions of the listings became more discerning over time, since we only had so much time to look at them in person.
Quaint charm really meant tiny and haunted; vintage meant the kitchen had a ridiculously outdated stove from the forties; and our favorite— up-and-coming .
That meant there was nothing to do in the area right now, but there might be soon.
It probably didn’t help that we were looking for a place roughly halfway between Ford’s gym and my bookstore, but we weren’t desperate. It needed to be the right place.
Other than the coffee shop, there was one more place we needed to stop before our first tour today. The car wash.
Ford’s no-longer-hidden peculiar obsession of having a meticulously clean car meant that I had become very familiar with his favorite car washes within twenty miles of his apartment. Because, of course, he didn’t have just one.
The one we were at today – Soap Opera – was big on seasonal theming, apparently, and Ford had seen on Instagram that it had been refreshed for Halloween.
The machine to select our wash was barely visible with the fog coming out of a large cauldron to the side of the drive-through wash tunnel, but the spooky music was cute.
Soon enough, Ford edged forward, putting the car in neutral and we were slowly sucked inside.
The giant brushes, like furious, neon-green monsters, descended around us, slapping against the windows as water cascaded over the roof.
We were both leaning back in our seats, staring up through the panoramic moon roof at the soapy deluge above.
Listening to the water was relaxing and peaceful as the car slowly rocked back and forth.
I wasn’t sure it was this aspect of the wash that kept Ford coming back, but it was my favorite part of it.
"It was nice fucking you this morning. You take it well," he murmured, just loud enough to be heard over the watery roar. "I hope it doesn't leak.”
“Well, it usually does.” I replied, picturing the aftermath of Ford’s satisfying fucks.
“What do you mean, it usually does?” Ford turned his head, a puzzled frown on his face.
“Yeah, sometimes I have to run to the bathroom,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” He asked.
“What are you talking about?” I sat up, wondering how he could be that out of touch with bottoming.
"I'm talking about my moon roof." Ford pointed upwards at the soap-coated glass. "What about you?"”
My grin widened. "Your cum when I'm trying to hold it in my ass."
Ford’s laughter filled the car for a moment. “You're impossible." He seemed to consider something, then said, “Is it really like that?”
“Tell me you’ve never bottomed before without telling me.”
He leaned over and said, “You know, I could shove a plug up there and solve your little problem.”
I pushed him back on his side of the car. “It’s not little . Your cock is like a fountain.”
He ignored my compliment. “You’re right, though. I’ve tried it a few times, but no one’s ever bred me.”
“I can change that for you later if you want.”
He pulled his necklace out from his shirt, dangling the key. “Actually, no…you can’t. I’ll let you know the next time I need your cock.”
Fuck, I liked when he said shit like that.
He continued, sliding his hand up my thigh and across the front of my jeans. “Maybe we should get a size smaller?”
“R-really?”
“I’m not sure”—he glanced over at me, a mischievous grin on his face—“but I like the butt plug idea.”
“You should not be making me this horny before we tour apartments.” I slammed my head back against the headrest.
My suppressed erection had subsided by the time we arrived at our first stop, though I could not get Ford’s suggestions out of my head. Trying to decipher which ones he really meant was a delicious mindgame of possibilities.
I didn’t need more than ten seconds; I knew right away it was a no.
The kitchen was the size of a postage stamp, and the living room had only one window.
It felt like a prison. As the property manager continued to try to pump air into the deflated balloon that would make even Thumbelina feel cramped, I whispered, “Would it be rude of me to start sucking your dick right now? "
Ford snorted, suppressing a full-on laugh. "Well, not to me," he whispered back. "But probably to the other occupant of the room."
“That’s exactly what this is—a room. We are not living here.”
“No, we are not.”
Luckily, the next one was the one, and our planned procession for the rest of the day could be canceled.
I literally gasped when I walked through the door—I hadn’t remembered seeing it before.
“We can afford this?” I asked, blurting out my first thought.
We were alone this time—apparently at The Riverside, they did self-guided tours.
“Yes.”
I didn’t believe him. “How?”
Ford sighed and smiled. “One of my long-term clients owns the building. I told him we were looking for a place, and he suggested we take a look.”
“So…you’re blowing him?” I joked.
“Other way around, nub boy.”
What?!
He must’ve seen my face because he quickly said, “I’m kidding. I’ve known him for years and I may have let slip that we’ve been struggling to find a place that we like.”
“A likely story.” I shrugged him off me and refocused on the apartment.
It was bright, modern, and flooded with natural light from a wall of windows that looked out over the Chicago River. I walked over to see the view and–“There’s a balcony!”
“Yeah.” Ford chuckled, his arms wrapping around my waist. “Do you need to see the rest of the place or are you already imagining where to put everything?”
I was already doing that, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. “You’re not fucking around with me? This is really in the range we talked about?”
Ford nodded, solemnly. “Pinky swear.”
“Are you indentured to him for the rest of your life? Did you guys date and this is some weird twisted way to try to get you back? Are there cameras in here?” I moved to pull away from him, but he held me tighter.
“He’s just a grateful client that I’ve been training for almost a decade. I helped him through some rough years. No, we did not date. Pretty sure he’s straight since I’ve been to his wedding. He’s just a nice guy. Convinced yet?”
“I’m getting there.” I tried to sound skeptical but it seemed perfect.
“Let’s look at the other rooms. The bathroom might be terrible.”
I highly doubted that. “It probably has a jetted tub.”
It had a jetted tub.
It was all real. The apartment, the deal, and the acceptance of our application for it. We were on our way to finish the paperwork, and then Ford and I would have a place to truly call ours.
I may have already been fantasizing about him fucking me against those huge windows.
“You okay?” Ford asked, squeezing my hand.
“Just excited is all.”
He smiled, a soft, tender smile that made my heart ache in the best possible way.
“And thinking of your cock rearranging my guts later,” I added.
Ford chuckled. “Would you like them in alphabetical order or grouped by system?”
“I don’t care, just flood my holes with your cum and I’ll be set.”
A week later, Ford held the door to The Riverside’s office for me and we were greeted warmly by Patricia, our leasing agent. “Lovely to see you both again. It will be wonderful to have you here as part of the Riverside family. We have lots of gay couples. It’s very accepting.”
“Oh, we’re not gay,” I teased, then felt immediately awful when I saw her face drop.
“He’s kidding!” Ford elbowed me.
“Whew! You almost gave me heart palpitations,” she said, wiping her brow. “Follow me.”
After following her into a large, homey office, we took a seat and began the arduous process of signing a stack of papers that felt thicker than a textbook. Despite the lack of fanfare, I still felt the air was buzzing with a victory anthem.
We had done it.
I knew we had lived together before. Obviously, there was my childhood and the family cabin, back then and a few months ago.
We had one awkward night at my apartment—the bed was way too small for the two of us—and the last few months at his place.
But this would be our first place together, starting from scratch.
“That’s everything, gentlemen,” Patricia said, tapping the huge stack of papers on her desk, then placing them on one of those automated digital scanners. “Congratulations!”
"Is this really happening?" I whispered, half to myself, half to Ford, a giddy thrill bubbling in my chest. Ford's hand snaked under the table, finding mine and squeezing.
As Patricia’s smile widened, she slid a set of keys across the polished desk. “Here are the keys to your new home. Who should I give them to?"
This was a new beginning—for me, and for Ford—and I wouldn't have traded a single, complicated moment of our past for it.
I smiled and pointed to Ford. "He's the key holder."