Sometimes, Jack’s daredevilry can get him in hot water. He’s seen the signs posted around the concrete courtyard of the high rise a hundred times. “No loitering. No skateboarding.” Blah, blah, blah. If they didn’t want people skating here, they shouldn’t have made it so inviting. Jack grinds his board to the end of a handrail and notices a burly guy in a suit watching him with hands in his pockets. Feeling bold from the pumping adrenaline, Jack approaches the figure and says, “See something you like, old man?” Jack’s bold provocation is purely bluster and such talk is far more effective when his friends are around. Before Jack is within arms reach, suited security guards seem to manifest out of the casual passersby and flank the man. The man raises a hand dismissively and the guards withdraw. The man beckons Jack forward, a gentle smile on his face. “You have skill,” the man says in a thick, German accent. “I’ve seen you here before.” Jack looks the man up and down; expensive leather shoes, the sheen of silk in his suit, thick chains nestled in his chest hair; and… is that a key hanging from one of the chains? Not a regular door key, but an ornate looking thing, strung on the chain as if for safe keeping. As strange as that is, the man is exactly the type Jack fantasizes about propositioning him from an expensive car. Jack’s throat is bone dry and he’s suddenly keenly aware of his virginity. The man simply smiles and lays a hand on Jack’s shoulder before stepping around behind him slowly. The grip is strong but gentle, and causes Jack’s heart to race. He feels like the man has every inch of him cataloged; height, weight, shoe size… The man leans down to whisper in Jack’s ear, “You see… I own this building and everything in it.” Jack’s eyes are drawn up to the vanishing point at the top of the glittering edifice of glass and steel, causing him to lean back against the man. “I’d be well within my rights to have you escorted from the premises to the nearest police station, but…,” the man continues his circuit until they are standing face to face again, “I know potential when I see it. You look like an intelligent boy.” Like magic, the man produces a business card between two thick fingers and holds it out to Jack with that steady, subtle smile. Jack takes the card slowly, and the moment he does, the man gestures away from the building saying, “Off you go.” Jack’s head is still spinning. When he’d regained his faculties and looked at the card, all that he saw printed on it was an address over an embossed symbol of two crossed keys. Jack arrives at the address this same night. He is patted down by security and led to a dark room with a single beam of light illuminating a black, leather ottoman. Beside the ottoman is the man he had confronted downtown. Master Kamp knew the boy would come. He only ever initiates the ones who will come. This boy was practically begging for discipline and structure. Master Kamp can sense it. He tells Jack to kneel on the ottoman and then pulls the boy’s shirt off over his head. Jack’s lean frame shows every muscle and his nipples harden in the cold air. Master Kamp drops a bulb-shaped glass rod on the leather next to young Jack.
