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From: dino@canoemail.com (Dino Dave)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 10 Feb 2002 15:02:03 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Surviver: Cast Intros: Eddie and Rusty:  file 3/7     Surviver: Part   03/22          (mf, ff, bdsm, bondage) - eddie.txt [1/1]
Date: Sun, 10 Feb 2002 21:10:12 -0500
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Rusty and Eddie:

As a teenager, Edward Tyler was a confused young man. Growing up in a
small town in the mid western United States in the late seventies, he
knew that there was something different about him, he just didn't know
what.

When his school buddies would get together over illicit beers to talk,
the talk invariably turned to girls. Who did what with whom, and how
many times. Eddie would listen for a while as his friends told about
getting a kiss, about getting to first base with a local girl, but he
would soon become bored. Girls and their sweet, ripe bodies, held
little interest for young Eddie.

Eddie's fantasies were filled with thoughts and ideas that seemed to
him to be just too far out of wack with society as he knew it. For it
was not the female form that held interest for him, it was other boys
that he lusted for. He would see his school mates naked in the locker
room at school, in the showers after gym class, and he'd have to try
very hard not to let his roving eyes make known the disturbingly carnal
thoughts that would fill his brain.

Edward knew he was different, but he felt sure that he was not the only
one who felt the way he did about being that way with another man.
Eddie heard talk of a sleazy book and magazine shop in town and he
located the store and passed by it several times over the course of a
few weeks. One day he summoned up the nerve and, trying to seem like he
knew what he was doing, he turned in off the sidewalk, pushed open the
door to the shop and stepped inside. No hideous monster bit off his
head, just a bored looking man at the counter who barely looked up from
his newspaper. Eddie moved to the rear of the shop, glancing at the
racks of magazines as he went.

Signs said "Adults Only" but Eddie knew he could pass for eighteen,
legal age in his State. Besides, his friends often sent him in to buy
beer and he'd never had any problems. The literature on the racks ran
from the general Playboy and Penthouse, right through to the strange
and bizarre. Things like "Equinox Equine", which seemed to be about
people dressed up as ponies. Bondage magazines, stuff about people
whipping each other, and things which young Eddie had no clue about
filled the racks. One picture caught his eye, that of two women
kissing. Lips locked, tongues together, bare breasts pressed together;
if girls could do it, why not two guys?

Eddie reached the end of one row, turned the corner, and there it was.
A big section of magazines and books, pictures of men on the covers in
various stages of dress or undress. Titles like "Hombre" or "Manline"
leapt out at him. Pretty boys and big hairy men, men dressed as women,
men in leather or tied up in bondage, it was all there. What Eddie only
suspected was true was now before him in full colour glossy. Nervously
glancing around him, Eddie dared to pick one of the magazines off the
rack and quickly thumb through it.

Some of the magazines were sealed up in plastic; the lewd pictures on
the front and back covers hinting at the treats within. The prices were
steep, but Eddie had been saving up for this little shopping trip for
some time. Eddie selected two magazines and a thin paperback book,
whimsically titled, "Young and Gay. Coming Out in Style", and turned to
face the music.

He had thought of stuffing the perverse literature under his jacket and
then walking out, rather than face the consequences of having the shop
keeper see the kind of things he was interested in. But Eddie, in
making the decision to venture into this store, had committed in his
mind that buying these things was the right thing to do. Whatever
happened at the cash counter, Eddie had at least determined that He Was
Not The Only One!

Half expecting to be arrested on the spot, Eddie watched the man ring
up his purchases like so many bags of chips, barely glancing at the
titles that screamed "I'm a Fag!", or at Eddie. Clutching a flat, brown
paper bag, Eddie hurried home.

Now, having gained the knowledge he so desperately needed, Eddie found
peace and an understanding within himself to accept that the way he was
wasn't so wrong. Different, yes, but not evil as he'd thought of
himself before. Eddie was able to accept himself for what he was, a
homosexual, and he finished off his last two years of High School with
good marks.

Through hard work he was able to attain above average marks in the
academic subjects like math and history, but where Eddie truly shone
was in shop class. Metal shop in particular. His guidance counsellor
recommended he go on to take courses in metal work at a community
college, so that's what he did.

During one summer, Eddie worked at a large farm with a blacksmith named
George McTavish. Eddie would watch with fascination as George would
shape a bar of red hot iron into a shoe for one of the horses using
simple, basic tools. Over the course of that summer, old George showed
Eddie all the tricks of the trade. At a fall fair, Eddie beat George in
a competition by forging a finished horseshoe a good thirty seconds
quicker than his mentor. In celebration, George and Eddie got roaring
drunk in the beer tent that hot, steamy Saturday night.

When you are gay, they say that your first gay experience is often the
sweetest. As it was for Eddie. George had never made a move on him
before but he would often see him looking at his young, firmly muscled
body when they were working in the shop, stripped half naked because of
the heat. And likewise, Eddie had often had thoughts about George upon
seeing his broad hairy chest, the muscles of his arms undulating as he
worked, his tight buttocks quivering with each blow of the hammer.

After they'd closed out the beer tent, rather than risk another DUI
conviction, George convinced Eddie that they should cut through some
fields to reach the farm and the bunkhouse.

So the pair set out walking, or staggering, across the fields under the
light of a harvest moon. The field was hay, freshly cut and piled in
neat rows, waiting for the bailing machine. George paused to pull out
his thick cock and take a piss. Eddie watched him. George watched Eddie
watching him take a piss.

"Ye cannie buy beer laddie," George slurred in his thick broque. "Ye
can only r-r-rent it."

An old joke, but Eddie laughed to cover his nervousness. George slumped
down upon a row of soft hay and preceded to tell the joke about the
girl finding a drunk man laying in the ditch. The one where she takes
the blue ribbon from her hair and ties it around the drunks exposed
penis. The one that ends with the drunk waking up in the morning,
seeing his cock with the ribbon tied on it, and saying, "I don't know
where you've been laddie but I see ye won first prize!"

Eddie hadn't been listening to the joke. He'd been watching George
stroking his cock with his hand while he was telling it. Eddie's mind
had been filled with watching George's manhood grow, swelling to the
touch of the man's hand and standing out proudly now. Eddie had an
obvious bulge in his trowsers too and George, seeing this, raised his
hand to Eddie, bidding the boy to lie down with him.

Eddie moved as in a dream towards where George sat on the pile of hay.
When the two men's hands touched it was like a circuit had closed and
an electric discharge flashed between them both. And Eddie had his
first gay experience that moonlit night.

"Go ahead and touch it boy," said George. "He'll no bite ye."

Tentatively, Eddie reached to touch the man's cock. George's big, thick,
hard, cock. Larger than his own, bigger around and a bit longer too.
With a finger, he stroked the length of it and felt the man's wiry
hairs tickling against his fingertips. George moved his hand and
brushed his knuckles against the painful bulge tenting Eddie's pants.

"Why don' ye take off they trousers, Son."

Eddie's hands automatically moved to his belt and unbuckled it. He did
not know where this was going to lead, but he was willing to find out.
 From working with the big Scot all summer, he felt that he could trust
the man not to lead him to any harm. Eddie unzipped his fly and wiggled
out of the tight jeans. The straw underneath him tickled his bum and
legs.

When Eddie's cock leapt out, freed from the confines of his pants,
George let out a loud breath and exclaimed, "Oh my, that's a lovely bit
of young stuff." George reached out and wrapped his meaty hand around
Eddie's twitchy prick and gently squeezed. The feeling was electric,
and Eddie moaned softly.

Gently, George stroked the young man's hard cock with his hand. All the
while, his head was slowly moving closer to that prize piece of man
meat. When his face was inches away he opened his mouth, stuck out his
tongue, and touched Eddie's tiny slit. The drop of pre cum there tasted
sweeter to him than honey fresh from the hive. George moved closer and
took Eddie's cock into his mouth.

Eddie had known what the old Scot was going to do, was secretly hoping
for it. When the man's tongue touched him there, he threw back his head
and moaned with the intensity of the sensations coursing throughout his
young body. Eddie felt his manhood being slowly engulfed in the warmth
of the other man's mouth. In mere moments he felt his cum begin to
boil. He mumbled a warning to George, who moved his head in
affirmation, and took his full length into his mouth and partially down
into his throat. Feeling the head of his cock lodged firmly in the
man's throat, Eddie lost his meager grip on control and began spurting
his cum into George's mouth.

George held the boy gently in his strong arms while he recovered from
the powerful release. He kissed the boy's head and smelled the scent of
the young man's hair. George thought back to days past when he had been
a young man, and the times that he'd had. He felt the boy stir in his
arms. George's cock was still hanging out from his open jeans and he
felt the boy's fingers upon it, felt it come to life again. He felt
Eddie's head dipping lower and he softly stroked the boy's hair.
Eddie's tongue touched his prick and he felt it twitch and grow in
response. The boy took it into his mouth and swirled his tongue around
it and, for a little while, George could forget about past
opportunities missed, and past loves lost.

Eddie and George spent the night sleeping in the straw on that open
field. The next morning they made their way back to the deserted fair
grounds, and found the pickup truck standing in the empty parking area.
They drove back to the farm.

Eddie's next year at college passed quickly, since working with George
in his blacksmith shop had given him a direction to the kind of work he
wanted to do. Also, that last night he'd spent with George in the hay
field had opened the door for him and allowed him to embrace his own
sexuality. Eddie preferred men to women, of that there was no doubt.

Eddie studied metallurgy and metal working techniques, and the next
year he left his home town to move to San Francisco, a city where he'd
heard there was a large and open gay population.

A week after arriving in that vibrant city, Eddie had a small apartment
and a job working in a shop that did custom metal work. The shop did
machining of parts to order and also did wrought iron work. Railings
and fences, gates, wall brackets and intricate decorative items. Eddie
found his niche in that area of the shop, working alongside an Italian
craftsman named Vinchenzo. Vince for short.

Eddie loved the way Vince could, seemingly effortlessly, work pieces of
iron rod into ornate shapes and craft stunningly beautiful pieces for
their customers. Working from rough sketches, or sometimes going out to
the customers opulent houses and Vince making his own drawings from
what the customer had in mind, Eddie and Vince would transform the
ideas into a solid reality.

Working under the Italian's direction, Eddie honed his skills in
forming the metal into what was required. Vince had the skills to work
the metal and Eddie also envied the man's artistic talents as well. The
man could picture something in his mind and then turn it into reality.
This was a talent that Eddie decided he'd learn during the following
years, by taking art courses in the evenings.

Eddie worked and studied hard for the next four years and then took out
a loan to start up his own business doing the work he loved, custom
metal work. His timing was fortunate since there was a resurgence going
on in the city then. People with too much money to spend were buying up
buildings and houses in the older parts of town and fixing them up.
Eddie's business grew and grew until he had to hire other craftsmen to
handle his increasing workload.

And during all this time, Eddie grew more comfortable in his sexuality.
 From chance meetings in the many gay bars and clubs in town, Eddie
found friends, others, who were just like him. Men who preferred the
company of other men. Often it was just casual sex in an alley or in a
car, sometimes at a party in someone's home. Eddie would take a lover
for a week, or a month, or sometimes for longer. Over time, Eddie
developed an understanding of what he was and what it was that he
wanted. Eddie discovered the world of domination and submission.

An elderly man came to his shop one day with what seemed to Eddie to be
a rather unusual request. The fellow, who's name was Bill, and Eddie
immediately recognised as being gay, wanted an iron collar made for what
he referred to as his slave.

"I'd like something like a flat band of steel," Bill had casually told
him as if discussing a part for a car, "perhaps an inch wide. Could you
have it chrome plated and then welded on around his neck? I'd like to
not be able to see any seam or hinge or locking device. I want just a
simple plain band of solid metal. Could you do something like that for
me?"

Eddie was quite taken aback at first. "Welded? Around his neck? You
must be joking!"

"No, I'm quite serious. I don't care how much it would cost. Money is
no object. Can you do it?" asked Bill.

Eddie knew about bondage and this collar was obviously something to do
with that. He looked at Bill, looked into the man's eyes, and he saw
that he was really serious about this. Eddie began thinking, not in
terms of welding something permanently onto another person, but as it
being simply another job.

"I couldn't weld something that was chromed," he said, "the plating
would burn off. And that sort of heat next to someone's skin. . . ."

"Rusty won't object to a bit of pain, I assure you."

"Rusty?"

"Yes. I named him Rusty because he's worn a heavy steel chain around
his neck for the past twelve years.

"You named him. . . ?"

"That's right," said Bill with a touch of impatience in his voice.
"Rusty is a submissive by nature. I am a Dominant. Rusty has given
himself freely to me, mind, body and soul, to be under my complete
control. He has given me ownership of himself to do with as I see fit.
And I wish to replace his rusty chain with something more, what,
ascetically pleasing to the eye? Now, can you do it or not?"

Eddie suddenly found himself taking the subordinate role with the man,
and not just because of his age, or that he was a customer, but because
of the unseen power that he seemed to command.

"Sir," Eddie began, "I have obviously never attempted something like
you are asking. However, I think it may be possible. Having the. . .
the collar plated first won't work. Any welding would then ruin the
finish." Eddie thought for a moment. "What about silver? A solid strip
of silver."

"It has to be thick, and heavy. Something solid, you know?"

Eddie was beginning to picture it. "Something permanent, yes. A plain
band, or do you wish some sort of design on it. Some sort of carving
perhaps?"

"Carving?" Bill thought for a moment. "Yes, that's an excellent idea."

"All right then," said Eddie, "let me make a few calls to find out what
types of materials I can get and I'll call you in a day or two. I'll
sketch out some ideas and do some tests on welding something without
burning up something underneath, and if all goes well, I can make you a
collar for your sla. . . for your slave."

Christ, thought Eddie, what am I getting into here?

After Bill had left, Eddie called around and found a place that stocked
silver bar in sizes that would make a good collar for a man. He found
out that silver melts at temperatures considerably lower than steel
which would make welding it somewhat easier, since it would be around
someone's neck when he did it. Thinking about this "Rusty" fellow,
Eddie tossed and turned in bed, well into the night. When sleep finally
came, he had one hell of a wild dream.

Eddie worked as a blacksmith in olden times. One day, a heavy wagon
pulled by four big horses drew up in front of his shop and stopped.
Two solders got out and dragged a slim young man out from the back of
the wagon. The man, perhaps twenty three, naked and scared looking, was
pushed roughly into Eddie's blacksmith shop. He had on standard issue
prisoner chains and shackles on his hands and feet - heavy iron chains
and shackles that appeared to be tight and very uncomfortable. There,
before the forge, the man was shoved down to his knees.

"The King wants the full set on this piece of Shit!" one of the guards
bellowed.

"Right," said Eddie.

One of the soldiers left, presumably to visit the saloon, while the
other big man sat down against the wall near the doorway to guard
against the prisoner escaping before his new chains were fitted. Eddie
got to work.

He selected some steel bars and began cutting them to size. Working
swiftly, from years of experience, he lay the bars in the coals of the
forge and then pumped the bellows, making the fire roar. When the iron
was white hot, one at a time, Eddie moved each piece to the anvil to
pound and shape the bars into rings. One large one, two smaller ones
and two that were smaller still. Thin rod was shaped into loops and
then staked and welded onto the shackles, the hammer blows sending
showers of sparks over the young man cowering, chained, beside the hot
furnace.

Eddie forged the five shackles into open C shapes, ready for the
prisoner. By the time he was done, the other soldier had returned from
his lunch looking much happier now, with his belly full of food and
drink. Together, the two men pulled the younger man to his feet and
began unlocking their chains from his wrists and ankles. Then the
prisoner was dragged over to the anvil.

While the guards held the man down, Eddie placed the still hot band of
steel around his neck. Although the steel still glowed a dull red from
the heat of the forge, when it came into contact with the young man's
neck, through some sort of magic, the skin underneath wasn't burned.

Holding the band against the surface of the anvil with long tongs,
Eddie hammered the ring closed around the man's neck while the poor lad
screamed and struggled with the strong soldiers holding him. One of the
soldiers drove his meaty fist into the side of the boy once, and again,
and the urge to fight left him.

When the band of iron had been shaped to fit closely around the man's
neck, Eddie put down his forging hammer to take up his welding hammer.
He pulled a thin rod out from coals in the forge and brought it to the
anvil. The rod glowed with a brilliant white light since the iron had
been heated to almost the melting point. Calmly, Eddie lay the rod
against the joint in the collar and began to hammer the rod into the
seam. A few sparks flew out as the ends of the collar fused together.
Then, a bucket of water was unceremoniously dumped over the man's head
by one of the guards, to cool the metal down.

A chain was produced and the guard locked it around the heavy anvil
and to the ring in the front of the man's collar. With the prisoner
thus secured, one guard sat down by the door, while the other one left
the shop to have his lunch. The young man, resigned now to his fate,
sat subdued while Eddie fixed the other four bands of iron around his
wrists and ankles. The ends of the bands were similarly fused together
by blows of the blacksmith's powerful welding hammer.

Eddie had just finished closing the last fetter on the prisoner when
the other guard returned from the saloon and looking quite inebriated.
Upon seeing the five gleaming bands of steel on the boy, a smile
crossed his lips. The boy was standing beside the anvil, bent over,
with his head still chained closely to it. The pale white skin of his
buttocks glowed in the light of the fire in the forge, marked only by
traces of a beating or whipping he'd recently endured.

"It's still early, Rocko," remarked the soldier that had just entered.
"Fancy a bit o' fun?"

"The King wants this one back pronto," replied Rocko.

"Yeah, but this won't take long."

With that, the soldier began to unfasten his breeches and pull them
off. The young man, upon seeing this, began to pull and struggle with
the chain binding him to the anvil. Picking up a lock and a short piece
of chain, the guard took three quick steps and grabbed the man's wrists
in his hand. Pulling the frightened boys arms behind his back, the
guard fastened the rings on his wrist fetters to the ring in the back
of the collar, pulling his arms up tightly with the chain and locking
the wrist shackles close to his neck. The other soldier helped to
further subdue the boy by locking his ankle shackles to the chain
around the anvil. This forced the boy to bend over the anvil and
present his bottom to the two lusty guards.

The first guard looked towards Eddie. "Fancy a go, Smithy?" he asked.

"No. You two have your fun," Eddie replied. "I've got work to do."

Usually, dreams reflect reality, and in his dream, Eddie was just as
much a homosexual as he was in real life. Eddie would loved to have
"had a go" at the young man chained over his anvil, but the thoughts of
taking someone against their will like that turned him off. So Eddie,
in his dream, left the two soldiers to do what they would to their poor
prisoner, while he went to the front of the shop where he had a small
office set up. He would be powerless anyway to interfere with whatever
the Kings soldiers wished to do with the lad. In disgust, he sat
looking out through the dusty front window while the soldiers took
turns sodimizing the boy and his screams echoed throughout the shop.

Eddie looked out at the big wagon standing outside his shop. The four
massive Percherons, from the King's own stables no doubt, stood proudly
waiting, pawing at the dirt with their big furry hooves and eager to
get moving again. The wagon was a big prisoner transport with heavily
barred sides. Along the lower sides of the wagon, set into the dark
wood, was an intricate silver inlay that formed a beautiful design.

Eddie sat up and stared at the side of the wagon. This was this design
that Eddie sketched out the next morning upon waking. This would be the
design that he would like to have engraved on Rusty's silver collar.

That day, Eddie tried welding some pieces of metal by laying them over
a piece of wood. He tried different insulating materials to see if he
could do the weld without scorching the wood underneath. When he was
satisfied that he could do it, he placed a call to Bill and told him
that he could do what he asked. Eddie wanted to meet with Bill and
Rusty to discuss the project, so Bill told him to come to his house
that evening.

Bill owned an apartment on the twelfth floor of a newer condominium
building that overlooked the bay. Eddie was greeted at the door by a
slim young man who looked to be in his mid twenties. Eddie immediately
recognised the fellow as Rusty since he wore a heavy looking, and
somewhat rusty, steel chain around his neck.

"You must be Eddie," Rusty said, extending his hand. "Won't you come
in?"

Inside the apartment, Eddie had the urge to remove his shoes, which he
did. The place was tastefully furnished with a mix of newer pieces, and
some that looked ancient. Persian rugs on the dark stained hardwood
flooring marked out areas of the open and spacious apartment.

"Would you like something to drink, Sir?" asked Rusty, crossing to the
kitchen area.

The kitchen was all dark green granite countertops and softly glowing
stainless steel appliances.

"Just a glass of water, please."

"We have fresh coffee made, if you'd prefer," offered Rusty.

"All right. Thanks."

Eddie crossed the living room area and stood by the large windows. The
sun was an orange ball, low on the horizon, washing the apartment with
a reddish light. A roll top desk stood off to one side and Eddie looked
at it. He reached out and, with a fingertip, stroked the gentle curve
of the upper part. The desk looked to have been made a hundred years
ago but it's condition was that of one fresh from the carpentry shop.

"Beautiful, isn't it."

Eddie turned to look at Bill, standing by the hallway.

"I remember that my grandfather had a desk something like this,"
offered Eddie.

Rusty came over and handed Eddie a mug of coffee, then moved to his
master's side. "May I get you something sir?" he softly asked.

Bill ignored him. "How old do you think that piece is?" referring to
the desk.

Eddie looked again. "I couldn't guess. Judging from the condition, I
might say recent. Yet, the fit, and the detailing, they indicate a
craftsmanship of times long passed."

"You have a good eye, Son." Bill crossed the room to the desk. He
raised up the roll top to let Eddie see the inside.

Centred on the desktop was a powerful looking laptop computer. Nestled
in one of the niches of the upper part was a small printer, and a phone
lay cradled to the right of it. The usual letters and papers occupied
the shelves. Somehow, the mix of modern technology and the seemingly
ancient aura of the wooden desk worked to perfection.

"Through a friend of a friend this desk came to me," said Bill, "all
the way from Buckingham Palace in England. King George the fifth had
this desk made for him back in 1912. He sat right here all through the
20's and the 30's. Troubled times, those."

"It's really a beautiful piece," Ed stated.

"Come, sit," as Bill pointed to the sofa. "Rusty, I believe this fellow
has some news concerning your new collar."

Ed sat on the butter soft leather of the couch while Bill switched on a
lamp and then took the big easy chair next to it. Rusty knelt on the
rug by his master's feet. Eddie told of his finding a source for silver
bar stock and he pulled out the drawing that he'd made for the collar.

"I believe that I can do this piece," he said. "The welding will be
tricky, but not impossible."

Ed handed over the sketch he'd made of the collar, which showed the
shape of it, and the design that he would like to be carved into the
metal. The design was that which had come to him in his dream the night
before. Bill took the drawing and began to study it. Eddie noticed that
the man's hands began to shake slightly. When Bill looked up from the
piece of paper, there were tears in his eyes.

"Forgive me," Bill said, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. "This
is, excellent. It's exactly what I had in mind. This design, though. .
 ."

"It's just a thought I had," said Ed. "We can do something else if it
isn't pleasing. . . ."

Bill put up his hand to cut him off. "Come with me, please," he said.

Bill stood up and so did Eddie and Rusty. Bill showed the sketch to
Rusty and he gasped audibly, then looked towards Ed. Eddie had the
sinking feeling that he'd somehow blown it.

Bill let the way down the hallway and, at a door, he paused. "This is
our bedroom," he stated. "I'd like to show you something inside but
I'll ask that you respect my privacy concerning other things that you
might see in here."

Eddie was puzzled, but he said, "Certainly."

Bill opened the door and the three men entered the room.

The bedroom was dimly lit from the light cast by a small bedside lamp.
Bill switched on the ceiling light, and the shadowy form that Ed had
first perceived sprang to life. In the corner of the room, by the bed,
was man size cage with iron bars and a big lock hanging from the open
door.

Eddie didn't want to stare at what was obviously Rusty's cage, so he
turned his head to the side. Along the wall, near the cage, was a rack
holding various whips and manacles. Ed glanced at Rusty who was looking
down at the floor. Bill strode into the room, stopping before a large
painting hanging on the far wall.

Ed moved into the room to stand beside Bill and trying not to see the
things that he'd been asked to ignore. Bill was gazing at the painting
and Ed looked at it. He felt his heart slow to a crawl and the hairs on
the back of his neck began to prickle.

The painting, ornately framed, showed what could be a scene in an
English village in olden times. Your standard street scene, with people
walking, horses pulling wagons, and the types of shops one might see
back then. Yet, off to the side, was the blacksmith's shop and in
front, two big, uniformed soldiers were dragging some poor wretch from
a big wagon with barred sides. And on the sides of the wagon, set in
what looked like silver inlay, was a design very similar to the one on
the piece of paper that Bill was holding in his hand. Strikingly
similar.

"Oh my God," Ed softly exclaimed.

"Son," Bill said softly, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed
emotion. "Can you explain how your sketch here came to be so similar to
the design on this wagon?" Bill's fingertip hovered over the scene in
front of the blacksmith shop.

"I. . ." Ed began. "Sir, I have no idea. I've never seen this painting
before in my life. Though last night. . ." Ed's voice faltered as a
chill ran up his spine. "Last night, I dreamt of a scene almost exactly
like this.

Ed moved closer to the painting and framed the wagon and the shop with
his fingers. He looked closer and saw that the wagon, the design along
the side, the big horses pulling it, were exactly as he's seen them in
his dream.

Eddie looked closer still, at the young man that the soldiers were
dragging from the wagon. A young man, early twenties. Ed quickly turned
to see Rusty, standing by his side. The face of the boy in the picture
was Rusty's.

Eddie jumped when Bill asked, "Do you believe in fate, Son?"

"F. . . fate, sir?"

"Yes, fate. Like when something seems destined to happen."

"Well, no. I mean, I've never really thought about it, Sir."

"Hummm," Bill mused. "I picked this painting up in Vienna nearly twenty
years ago. It's rather old and it's not really worth anything, except
to me. For some reason I felt compelled to purchase it. You see that
lad in chains that the soldiers are removing from their wagon? I had a
sense that I would meet this boy one day. And four years ago, I found
little Rusty here."

Bill paused as he sat down on the bed. "I heard of your work from a
friend and I looked up your ad in the phone book. Somehow, I knew that
you would be the one to make my Rusty's collar for me. And then you
come with this design and telling of a dream about this painting of
mine. Call it fate, or chance. Call it destiny if you will. I think
that we three have come together for a reason. Some purpose. . . ."

BIll sat silently on the bed for several minutes while Eddie waited for
him to continue. This job had started out as a simple collar. Well, not
so simple, but now this man was talking about destiny and some higher
purpose. It might have been the sun going down, but all the colour
seemed to have drained out of Bill's face. After a while, Bill spoke.
His voice had a tired, worn out tone to it.

"You will do this collar for my slave, Eddie. The sketch you've showed
me is perfect, And I know that when finished, it will be beautiful.
Thank you."

Rusty took the cue and led Ed out of the bedroom. Before he left
however, Eddie caught a glimpse of the many bottles of pills on the
nightstand beside the bed. A few of the prescriptions he recognised. At
the door to the apartment, Eddie had to ask.

"Bill didn't look too good when we left him. Forgive me for asking,
but, is he all right?"

Rusty looked down and let out a sigh. "No. Master has the AIDS."

Those four letters set a knot in Eddie's stomach. The scourge of the
gay community. A desease with no cure. Since Ed had first learned of
AIDS, he'd been extra careful in his relationships with others to avoid
contracting it. And he'd seen, first hand, what the desease could do to
a person.

"Do you. . . ?"

"No." Rusty looked up. He had tears in his eyes.. "Master was always
careful that I not be exposed to it. But I. . . ."

Eddie put his hand on the man's shoulder.

"The doctors say it could be any time now," Rusty sobbed. "I don't know
what I'll do if. . . ."

Eddie took him into his arms. He felt the skinny boys wracking sobs
and he held him closely to try and comfort him. He whispered in his ear
that it would be all right, but he knew it wouldn't be. Rusty would
have to face it someday soon. His master will be gone.

Ed took a tape measure from his pocket and made a few quick measurements
of Rusty's neck. "Take care, Rusty," said Ed as he left the apartment.
"I'll call in a few days, about the collar."

The next day, Eddie got to work on the collar and wanted to get the job
finished as fast as possible. He wasn't sure how much time Bill had and
he wanted the man to enjoy what was left with his friend Rusty. Eddie
went to the metals supplier and picked up a length of silver bar an
inch wide by one quarter inch thick. Then, back at the shop, he traced
out his design on the shiny surface. The design would be repeated on
the front and the back of the collar, with a single curving line at the
sides connecting the two. The joint, he would make on one side.

An idea hit Ed then. When he saw the design laid out there was an area
centered where the front and the back of the collar would be. A round
shape would fit nicely in there and would blend into the design. Ed
spent a few hours in making up a mock up and, when he was sure it would
work, he milled out two rounded depressions in the silver bar. A bit
more machining and then it was off to the jeweler.

A silversmith he knew did the carving on Ed's silver bar in bias
relief, that is, the design was higher than the background.. The design
would be kept shiny and bright from wear but the background would
attain a darker colour from the silver tarnishing. Just like the design
on the wagon in the painting, with the bright silver inlay against the
darker wood.

Three days later Ed picked up his bar from the silversmith. He'd told
the man that the two round holes were to be for two gold medallions
but, in reality, they were for two titanium rings that Ed had
fabricated. After fitting the rings onto the collar, they could be
pressed down into the surface and would look like part of the design,
or be lifted up to create two strong attachment points, front and back.

Eddie carefully bent the bar into an open C shape and then fitted the
rings into the cavities in the centers of the designs. The curve of the
rings didn't quite match, but he knew that once the collar was bent
fully closed they would. That evening he called Bill's house and spoke
to Rusty.

Bill was feeling unwell but Rusty agreed to come to Ed's shop the next
evening to have his collar fitted. The next night at his shop, Ed
struck off Rusty's rusty neck chain with a blow from a hammer and
chisel, then fitted his new silver collar on. The welding went without
a hitch and after a bit of grinding and polishing, no one would ever
suspect that the piece hadn't simply grown that way. Ed led Rusty to
the washroom and the mirror and watched the young man's eyes pop out at
the sight of his new collar.

Eddie was still debating how much to charge Bill for the job when, a
few days later, he received a note from him. It read: "I cannot express
my deep gratitude for the lovely work you've done for us. The piece has
exceeded my expectations in every way and we'll treasure it always.
Thank you." A cheque was enclosed for an amount that exceeded Ed's
expectations as well.

Life continued on for Eddie. With his business booming and the
occasional lover drifting in and out of his life, he was happy. Then, a
year and a half later, a man walked into his shop. A slim, youngish man
who had a shiny silver collar around his neck. It was Rusty. He handed
an envelope to Ed, then sat down heavily. Ed opened the envelope and
began to read.

"Master didn't have any family," Rusty said, his voice thick with
sorrow. "There was no one else. Last year, Master asked me what I
thought, and I thought of you, Sir."

After a long and painful two months, Bill had succumbed to his illness.
The papers in Ed's hands were the man's will, leaving everything to
him. All of Bill's worldly possessions, and that included Rusty.

Eddie moved to where Rusty sat with his head bowed low. Eddie placed
his hand on the boys shoulder and then moved it upwards to let his
fingertips touch the silver collar. Rusty looked up into his eyes as
Eddie hooked a finger underneath the collar. Rusty's eyes said a silent
thank you, while Eddie looked down and smiled.

   _________________________________________________________

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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