Author: admin

Prelude

From behind the old school came the sounds of football practice. The whistles, voices yelling across the field and occasionally the sound of a hit too hard. Buses pulled from the front drive out onto the two-lane county road, some going north toward the communities of Hayfield, Jasper, Jefferson and Two-Creek, while the rest headed south toward Oak Hill, Pineville, Jackson’s Village and the even more sparsely populated region of Sandy Forks, the area too sandy for farming so most of the land was covered in pine. It was the end of another school day.

Nearly half the students in the senior class remained for they had practice for football, or basketball, or cheerleading or if gathered in the student union, debate club. The remainder either went to after school jobs or home, where many had chores on farms that had to be done each day. Some with their own car or truck may drive into town or to a friend’s house to study or merely play video games.

It was like any other rural school, small in class size, with a curriculum missing much of what a large school in a city may offer. But it didn’t differ in the cliques, the gossip between students or the way some were singled out for bulling or ostracized for coming from the wrong family. The jocks ruled the corridors between classes and the prettiest girls always had a boyfriend. And for those few students who were different, they kept to themselves, afraid to be revealed.

Paul

Practice had been worse than usual, first the weight room during sixth period then practice in pads on the field. He was exhausted, his hair still wet, hanging down into his eyes as he slipped on each shoe, loosely tying the laces. He heard the door swing open that led to the gym then the voices of those who played basketball coming in from their practice. He wondered who had it worse. He and his classmates that played football, hitting each other in pads till they were so exhausted it hurt to breathe or those who played basketball who had to run on that hard wood court, back and forth, till their legs quivered with fatigue.

Will, Brandon, Clay and Josh came in first wearing their baggy shorts, tank tops in hand or tossed over a shoulder. They were sweating profusely, their upper bodies shiny with sweat. Paul glanced up and noticed Brandon had skinned elbows and a red rash on his shoulder, and Josh had a bleeding knee.

“Damn, you guys playing tackle now?” said Paul as he stood up to move out of the way knowing Clay and Josh had lockers next to his.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it” Brandon replied as he held up his arm twisting it to see his elbow.

Paul was always made aware of their differences in the locker room. He was stocky, more muscular, having put on 20 pounds in the last year. Even though he was five ten standing next to Clay and Josh made him feel short. It was absurd, and he knew it but they were five or six inches taller. Clay pushed down his shorts and Paul couldn’t help but compare their builds to his own. Tall, lean, bodies that had few curves. Clay at least was broad shouldered, his torso tapering down to his waist, but Josh had a narrow body, a runner’s build he had heard his girlfriend say when she had seen Josh at a track meet last spring.

Heading toward the exit Paul’s mind circled around his relationship with Lisa, whom he had been dating since last fall. He thought everyone should have a relationship like the one Lisa and he shared. But he knew most were not dating seriously or in more cases than anyone cared to admit, no one at all. It was the case with Josh, his friend since elementary school, but a friendship that had changed in the last three years. There was a time the two of them grew apart in some undefined way.

It had bothered him how friendships changed. Over the years he saw others who were close for a year or so suddenly grow apart, have a disagreement or some other unseen event that ended the friendship. It had been different with Josh. There had been no argument, no real change in one of their personalities, some evident source of the divide that developed between them. Josh seemed to have become introverted, not nearly as outgoing as he had been.

Paul didn’t try to bridge this divide, not at first. He didn’t know how, or that is what he thought back in the ninth and tenth grades. When he had his fifteenth birthday party and Josh failed to show up that had been the catalyst to make him act. He cornered Josh after practice the next Monday, pushed him behind the gym out of sight of the others and asked pointedly ‘what was his problem?’

“Why are you avoiding me?” Paul asked stepping up closer.

Josh couldn’t look Paul in the eye for a moment, looking down then off into the distance. Paul saw how he was searching for the words, a way to answer and he waited. Josh finally turned to him, looked him in the eye.

“Because I’m different…and none of you will like it.”

‘Different?’ Paul had wondered, lost for a response. Josh stared at him with a look of defiance. He actually moved closer to Paul, less than a foot separated them. Paul remembered those eyes, hard, unflinching, contrasted with a look of sadness, tears pooling around them.

“Well…ask me. Come on, Paul, ask me.”

“Okay. How are you different?”

“I like…” Josh began, moving even closer, almost threatening, “…boys.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m gay.”

“No shit.”

“I guess you’re going to tell everyone?”

Paul then realized why Josh had isolated himself and he relaxed, stood back a step smiling at Josh.

“I’m not going to tell.”

“You won’t tell?”

“No man, I’m still your friend, or at least I thought I was.”

Paul remembered how Josh relaxed, smiling back nodding his head. It was the renewal of their friendship, in some ways even closer than before.

In the parking lot he climbed into his Jeep and headed home. The air began to fill like the heat of summer was finally breaking, the evenings getting cooler. He wondered how soon he would have to put the hardtop back on his Jeep.

Elijah

There were only three others on the bus as it turned on the narrow dirt road that would pass by his home. Eli looked around at Sarah, Mitch and Randall when he heard them laughing, wondering what was so funny. He knew he would never be welcomed among them even though they were all seniors, classmates for the last eight years when his father moved them to the community. His father, the minister of Black Water Baptist Church, a back woods church so primitive it had shocked his mother when they arrived. At school he was the crazy preacher’s boy.

The bus moved down the steep incline and bounced over the old bridge over Black Water Creek and rose up the incline to the next plateau heavily wooded by pine on the right side and natural woods on the left. After the quarter mile of straight road, they rounded the curve that brought the old church into view. It sat close to the road, too close, the front steps coming down only a few feet from the graded edge of the roadway. Under the trees surrounding the church was nearly barren ground, covered in pine straw with shallow roots protruding through the sandy ground.

As the bus slowed for his stop he grabbed his backpack and stood up holding on the seat backs either side of the aisle waiting for the bus to stop. Dust blew by the windows as the bus came to a stop and he began to move to the front.

“Bye, bye, faggot” came Mitch’s voice from the back of the bus.

No matter how many times he heard the taunts it still made him hesitate, caused him loose all concentration. Made him hurt inside. He knew how they viewed him, the skinny preacher’s son who couldn’t play any sports. Sissy, faggot, queer. It was worse when they associated him with the things his father had said in public. Sanctimoniously demonizing anyone who wasn’t white, Christian or straight. Sometimes Eli wondered if his father actually liked women the way he denigrated them as inferior. But it was the comments about gays that scared him the most. The way his father made them the scapegoat for every ill of society, the reason for every natural disaster. Eli had been scared of his father for as long as he could remember, but lately he was beginning to add another emotion to his feelings toward his father. Disgust.

Maybe it was just a defense mechanism, a way to push back at all the things his father said. A way to push through the taunts of his classmates. For in the end, he knew there was some truth to them. He had known since he was young, ten or eleven, that he was different. By thirteen he knew. Knew he was gay. Nothing since then gave him any doubt to this fact so he abided his time, doing his homework, doing what his father made him do, and whenever he was able, wandered through the woods down to the creek where he fantasized about his future. A future that at times seemed so far away but he knew was really just around the corner. One more year of high school, one more summer at home under his father’s thumb then he was gone. College first then off to some city. Some place progressive, accepting, with opportunities.

Walking across the church grounds to the small house that sat in back in a small clearing, the house he called home. As he walked across the church grounds Mitch’s taunt repeated itself in his mind, over and over. He went from shame and embarrassment to anger, fantasizing about being defiant about it, of going to school tomorrow and yelling down the corridor “I’m gay and all of you can fuck off.”

His father in his sense of protection isolated him and his sister. Made them outcast in their own community, never allowed to go to someone’s birthday party or camping with others till they were no longer invited. He excelled in class, especially science and world history for how they challenged his father’s primitive notions of the world. He had finally gotten a computer two years ago but his father wouldn’t allow him to use it without being monitored by his mother or himself. His father feared he would go on sites that were evil, the ‘work of the devil’, and he was right for Eli longed to go online and search for other boys like himself, others who were gay, isolated by circumstances or place. He wasn’t naive, he knew there were others like himself everywhere, maybe even his school, too afraid to come out, just as he was.

He climbed the wood steps onto the small porch and entered through the screen door where fans worked in futile, pushing around the summer heat and humidity. His mother sat on the sofa talking on the phone nodding her head toward him then motioning toward the small kitchen in the back of the house. On the counter were a couple of cookies and a glass of milk. Sitting at the table was his sister, only crumbs and an empty glass in front of her.

“Hey sis, how was school?”

She shrugged her shoulders, but he saw the look in her eyes and he knew. He had that look too when he was in sixth grade, one that only got worse with each passing grade. Leaning against the counter he ate one then the other cookie. He chugged the glass of milk sitting the empty glass in the sink, pushed off the counter and headed to his room, a small bedroom at the back of the house that was once the rear porch. The narrow room had all the furniture along the outside wall, his bed in the corner for maximum air flow with the windows up and next to it his dresser followed by his desk that faced out toward the rear yard and to the over grown woods beyond.

College was his escape, his way out and he sat at his desk to do his homework before his father returned. He had nothing else to pass the time and knew he had to have the grades for a scholarship, so homework was not a chore but a way to consume the time, to make the day pass, so he could make it to the next, and the next one after that, so on till he was gone from this place.

Joshua

Even showering at school after practice, Josh always took one at home. At school he rushed through it, soap smeared over his body with his hands that meant he never felt clean afterward. And he couldn’t take his time, always in a rush to get out of the showers for he knew it was dangerous to stay too long, to give himself time to let his eyes roam around the room, to see the others, naked, soap cascading down their bodies. It wasn’t like he was really attractive to any of the guys in his class as much as there was this innate curiosity. A desire to see other males, naked, nothing left to the imagination.

At home, he stood under the warm spray fantasizing about guys. Guys he saw in television shows or movies, athletes on a college or pro team or some guy he saw in town or down in Mobile or Pensacola. Navy boys, guys at a coffee shop with college textbooks spread out before them or at the beach in baggy swim trunks and muscular upper bodies with a tattoo on an arm, chest or shoulder. His cock quickly filled his hand as he re-imagined them, their masculine forms hovering over his prone body. He fingered himself imagining the penetration, his soapy finger sinking all the way inward. He imagined another’s hand taking him and he stroked faster, till he rocked on his feet and his breathing became ragged. He came, the first wad hitting the wall and he watched as the water washed it downward as he felt each release till he was spent, exhausted, leaning against the wall till the water ran cool.

At his desk he finished his homework after a couple of hours, saving the last report just completed, he opened up the site, the social media site for gays. Each night he looked at it, followed the conversations of others chatting or making plans to hookup, afraid to join in. There were aspects that were intriguing, tempting on so many levels. But he wanted more, wanted what the others had, like Paul and Lisa. The ritual of dating, going to school dances or movies in town. A normal life that too many worked to deprive them of. He knew no one could stop him in college. He only had to wait one more year.

Glancing up on the wall he looked at the photographs pinned to the bulletin board. A shot of himself at the beach, another in the mountains of Tennessee. A shot of his younger brother camping with the Boy Scouts. A shot of his old truck right after he had it painted last summer and a shot of his dream car, a Lamborghini in a bright green color. And then there were photographs of the basketball team from last winter and next to them a couple of Paul. One showing the two of them at the beach and one of Paul and Lisa at the party Shelly had last spring, everyone sitting around a bonfire looking radiate its warm glow.

His computer beeped, and he looked down at the scrolling conversation. So many where online it amazed him. He wondered how many in the community could be gay. How many in his school? In his class? There was a time when he wondered about Will, just knowing he had to be in the closet too. Last summer it was Bryan. He ran into him at the drive-in over in Monroe and they sat outside at a table eating the greasy burgers and fries. They joked around and talked about what they were doing that summer. Everything seemed of no consequence until he felt Bryan’s foot bump his own, slid up next to it then pull away. It had to be a signal, a gesture trying to lure him out.  After a few minutes he pushed his foot up against Bryan’s.

“Hey man, watch those big feet” Bryan had stated as he pulled away then resumed his story of Paul and Will fishing at his family’s pond.

The only other guy that came to mind was one too crazy to consider. It just didn’t seem plausible. And that was Eli. Elijah, as his preacher father called him. ‘What a name to be stuck with’ Josh thought as he pictured Eli, the way he carried himself, so introverted and awkward.

So many of the others bullied Eli, taunted him, and it left a knot in his stomach whenever he witnessed it. He felt sorry for Eli for he sensed how much Eli disliked his lot in life. He saw it several times when he had seen Eli with his father, how he stood behind him, eyes looking down or off into the distance.

Eli was skinny, made more obvious by his height, nearly as tall as his own six three. Last year when the basketball team struggled to get enough for the team with some backup, Steven and he had approached Eli about playing. The way Eli had looked shocked, surprised at being asked. For a moment he had seen how Eli was pleased. But in the end he shook his head no telling them his father would never allow it. It was like Eli’s father wanted his son to be an outcast, miserable all the time.

Josh wondered what Eli would be like away from his father’s influence. Maybe a party with alcohol or down at the beach out in the water or walking down the shoreline, water lapping around their ankles. He wondered if Eli could be gay, then banished the idea as ludicrous.

Paul

Backpack slung over his right shoulder, Paul followed his classmates out of English through the door and down the corridor heading toward the cafeteria. Halloween decorations were on the wall and hung from the ceiling and a few students had on elements of costumes. Ears, headpieces or some garment that gave clue to their costume to be worn later.

Glancing at the posters and banners Paul wondered about the party at Will’s that night. Who would come dressed in costume and who would forego the effort. He didn’t like dressing up but enjoyed seeing the costumes of the others. Especially those who created their own.

As he approached the door to the cafeteria Josh came up beside him grabbing the door handle holding it open.

“Ladies first” said Josh smiling at Paul.

“Damn dude, that is ancient” replied Paul as he moved through the door.

They fell into the back of the line. Leaning against the wall, moving forward slowly they scanned the dining room noticing their classmates sitting at their usual table. There was a steady stream of students moving along the serving line, with tray in hand, then into the dining area. Everyone going to their usual table.  Josh tried not to stare but when he noticed the tall skinny figure of Eli moving along the serving line he couldn’t stop himself. Ever since last Monday he had become more fascinated with him.  He had been in a stall in the toilet near the library when he heard someone come in. Keeping as silent as possible he waited for whoever it was to do their business and leave. He heard footsteps move into the room stopping at the lavatories. After a brief silence he heard Eli’s voice, obviously talking on his cell phone.

“Mom?…yes I’m at school…please…okay. You have to come get me after school…please. No…no. Dad will try to make me…I know, I know…mom…please.”

There was a long silence then the sound of Eli pacing back and forth.

“Goddamn it…fuck” utter Eli.

Water came on for a minute then shut off and a moment later Eli left the toilet. Josh was shocked at the outburst, having never heard Eli use any profanity in the past. And for the rest of the week he found himself watching Eli, wondering what other secrets lurk in that demure exterior.

“Are you watching Eli again?” asked Paul breaking Josh out of his trance.

“What? No…no, no” Josh stammered as he turned back to Paul. “Well…its…last Monday…” Josh began telling Paul about overhearing him on the phone and how he reacted afterward.

“No shit. Mr. Goody-Goody actually said goddamn…oh man” Paul replied laughing.

When they had their trays and seated at their usual table, Josh on one side and Paul opposite facing him they were silent as they ate, listening to their classmate’s banter back and forth. Josh would take a bite of food then look across the room to Eli sitting alone at a table near the teachers.

Leaning over close Paul whispered, “you still watching Eli?”

“It’s just…”

“What else do we not know about ole Elijah?  Maybe he is…I don’t know…” leaning closer, his voice even lower, “…gay?”

“What?  No…well, maybe” Josh replied sniggering at the silliness of his curiosity.

Elijah

Walking as slowly as he could, other students bumping into him as they passed rushing to get out of the school, Eli headed toward the parking lot for parents coming to pick up their children, knowing his father would not be there, not yet anyway. Every time his father said he would come pick him up he had been late, once over an hour. On the one day he wanted to get away as fast as possible he knew he was going to be stuck here till his father decided to finally show up.

He saw the costumes, the decorations, knowing the other students were going to parties to celebrate Halloween. He also knew more than he cared what his father thought of Halloween and how he had forbidden Eli from participating in any way, especially going to any party that would have alcohol, drugs and sex, for his father knew all the other students were guilty of these sins. Eli knew it was silly, a fear mongering notion about the holiday but he also knew there was no use trying to make his father believe otherwise.

Standing under the ugly aluminum canopy that stretched from the Science building all the way back to the dressing room at the gym, Eli looked for his father. Other parents were pulling out or waiting for their kids to get buckled in, but his father was nowhere to be seen. Moving toward a bench he was resolved to having to wait, anger building at his father putting everything else before him:  his own son.

Eli watched the others leave till the parking lot was empty. In the far parking lot, he watched the teachers begin to leave. Glancing at his watch he watched the minutes tick by slowly. He tried to read is English assignment, but his frustration and anger kept him from being able to concentrate.  He pulled out the novel he was reading, one he had to keep hidden from his father, reading it only late at night in his bed using a flashlight or while riding the bus to and from school or on weekends when he could get away from his father, sneaking off into the woods down to the creek.  

After a couple of paragraphs, he realized he was retaining nothing of what he read. Book closed and stuffed back into his backpack he glanced at his watch again. Only fifteen minutes since he last looked.

“Shit” Eli uttered under his breath. He stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder and began to walk across the parking lot, down the drive till he was walking along the shoulder of the road, the tall grass slapping his khaki pant legs. Across the road from the school was a general store. It was old, older than the school by decades, the exterior gray weathered boards with old metal signs rusting on the sides. In front were two gas pumps and barely enough room for a vehicle to pull in next to them.

Eli felt the two one-dollar bills and loose coins in his pocket as he walked toward the store. He wanted a drink, something on ice. When near the store he cut across the two-lane road and moved across the gravel lot. He had only been in the store a few times before and was always surprised by how dark it was inside, the dark wood walls and ceiling, the old stained tile floor, and the shelves with barely enough product to fill them. The bell rung as he opened the door and he stepped inside scanning the room. On the far wall at the drink station he filled a plastic cup with ice then selected an orange soda, watching the overly sweet, artificial colored drink quickly fill it.

“Dollar forty-nine” the older man behind the counter stated after ringing up the drink.

Eli laid one of the dollar bills on the counter along with two quarters. He didn’t wait on the penny, something he knew would irritate his father, and made his way back outside. There was a picnic table on the side of the store, so old the wood boards of the top curved and twisted, their surface carved with initials and symbols or just odd patterns. Cigarette burns lined the edges and stains from ketchup or mustard or some other food spotted the boards. He stepped up on the seat and sat on the table looking across the road at the school and the nearly empty parking lot.

Eli was always alone but it never felt so intense as when he was waiting on his father. He watched some farmer pass slowly by in his pickup, windows down, arm resting on the sill. After he passed Eli could smell the cigar the man had clamped between his lips. He sucked up the overly sweet soda through the straw till it was gone and set the cup down on the table. Looking back across the road once again he saw Joshua Hamilton walking from the gym toward his truck.

Joshua

Walking across the parking lot Joshua was trying to figure out what coach really wanted. His little talk was so obscure he wasn’t sure what to think. It seemed to last forever and coming out and seeing how empty the parking lot was just confirmed it. Keys out, Josh moved to the driver’s door and unlocked it. Pulling it open let out a wave of hot air that had been building all day in the closed cab. He rolled down his window then climbed into the hot interior, leaning over to roll down the passenger side window. The truck started and shifted into drive he took off, circling around in the parking lot he headed for the road.

Josh was in no hurry to get home for an Aunt and Uncle were visiting this evening and they were not his favorite. They were conspiratorial, homophobic and bigoted, the kind of people whom there was no middle ground. Anyone who disagreed with them was un-American, evil even, and Josh couldn’t stand to be in the same room with them.

He wished there had been an actual practice, something to take a couple of hours so he would have an excuse not to go home till nearly time to go to Will’s party. As he pulled onto the road, he accelerated slowly, then braked and pulled it the store parking lot. He decided to grab a drink to kill some more time. He eased past the pumps to the opposite side of the building. As he passed the corner he saw someone was sitting on the picnic table. He didn’t recognize them at first but when he pulled to stop they turned toward him and he realized it was Eli.

Josh was taken aback at first by Eli’s expression. A mixture of anger and sadness.

“What’s up?” asked Josh as he climbed out.

Eli looked up at him hesitating to respond, “nothing.”

“Why are you sitting out here? Waiting on someone?”

“My dad was supposed to pick me up after school, but…”

Josh caught the tone, the anger behind it and he walked over to the picnic table. Eli watched him approach and Josh noticed for the first time his dark brown eyes. No distinction between the iris or the pupil but there was something in the way they looked at him. Something hurt.

“Is there someone else you can call?”

“Not really.”

“I’m going to grab a drink and when I come back if you haven’t heard from him and want a ride…”

“Seriously. Josh, you don’t even speak to me in school, and now you’re offering me a ride?” replied Eli, scoffing.

Josh was surprised at the reaction but knew it was true. In school he always worried what other’s thought and fearful of being found out he always played it safe, stayed on the periphery, never the center of attention.  But still he couldn’t resist to want to help Eli. Not only to keep from going home, but also because there was something about Eli’s situation that made him want to do it.

“Seriously” said Josh as he turned and headed for the store not waiting for a response.

Josh grabbed a soda and a bag of chips, paid Mr. Jenson and exited back out the front door hearing the bell ring as it opened and closed. Pulling the bag open he tilted it over his open mouth savoring the salty chips. Rounding the corner of the building he saw Eli still sitting on the picnic table holding his cell phone to his ear then holding it in front of him shaking his head in frustration.

“No luck getting your dad?”

“NO…no, he’s still not accepting my calls” replied Eli as he shoved the phone into his backpack.

“My offer still stands. I don’t mind, really.”

“Seriously, you’ll give me a ride?”

“Come on, get in the truck.”

Elijah

It was unusually hot for October, and the cab seemed to radiate the day’s heat. The air from the open windows felt nearly as hot providing no relief.  The truck rode roughly, worse even than his mother’s old minivan, and the engine roar came through the fire wall along with the roar of the heavy treaded tires on the rough slag road. But there was something comforting about it, the heat and the vibrations and the noise. Even with sweat trickling down his back and each side he felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Glancing over he realized why Josh seemed to always be in t-shirts or muscle shirts or tank tops, like now with a loose t-shirt billowing over his stomach and chest, the sleeve pushed up revealing more of his bicep.

Josh reached for the stereo switching the station. Eli recognized the song as one popular with everyone, but he didn’t know the artist or the title. Turning away he looked out the side window watching the Mitchell farm pass then a stand of pine then the pasture for the Franklin’s cows, the herd moving slowly across the low rolling grade, most with their heads down. Near the fence two donkeys were eating the tall grass that grew underneath it.

“Why do they have donkeys in with the cows?” asked Eli without turning around.

“What was that?”

“Those donkeys…why do they have them in with the cows?”

“Oh, to protect the herd from coyotes.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Eli fell silent as Josh drove down the highway. Eli noticed he didn’t have to give directions, Josh turned where needed each time till they were on the dirt road only a mile from his home. The dirt road had been graded sometime during the day making the ride smoother than normal.

“Your church…house is just past the bridge on the left, right?” asked Josh.

“Yeah.”

“Eli, are you going to Will’s Halloween party?” asked Josh as they began the descent down leading to the bridge.

“Halloween party? You’re joking right?” asked Eli in reply, then when he looked back out the side window, lowering his voice, added “I don’t get invited to parties.”

“Eli…” Josh began falling silent for a moment, “look, there are no formal invitations. Most just show up. So why don’t you come. I’ll be there around nine, so why don’t you arrive then.”

“Do you know my father? Seriously, a Halloween party. Fuck…no way am I going to be able to…”

“Lie, tell him you’re going to a movie or to stay at a friend’s house.”

“Lie…movie…a friend’s house…” Eli mimicked Josh, laughing in frustration at him not understanding his life with his father.

The truck bounced over the rough bridge then settled back down on the opposite side, the engine roar increasing slightly as Josh pressed the accelerator to maintain speed up the steep incline.

“Look, I don’t know what it must be like with your father, but…”

“Yeah, you don’t” Eli interrupted but Josh continued.

“…but slip out or make up some plausible excuse then come to the party. Will lives just down the highway past your turn. It’s not more than a mile or so, I think.”

“Yeah, right.”

Josh slowed when he saw the church in the woods turning into the second drive closer to it.  Pulling into the open parking area under the pines he slowed to a stop obviously unsure how to get to the house off in the distance.

“How do I get to your house?”

“I’ll get out here. The drive is way over in that corner and I can just cut straight through on foot” Eli replied as he opened the door not giving Josh a chance to continue.

“Oh okay” said Josh.

Sliding down out of the truck slinging his backpack over a shoulder, Eli grabbed the door frame and pushed the door closed. Looking through the open window, he looked at Josh staring at him and for a moment he felt embarrassed at his thoughts, his response to seeing Josh sitting behind the wheel, the t-shirt twisted around his torso from the wind and a sliver of waist exposed, a narrow band of skin Eli’s eyes locked on just before he turned to walk away.

“Thanks for the ride” Eli called out over his shoulder when he was a few feet away and he turned back toward his home with his head down, increasing his pace. He heard the truck moving around the lot then drive away.

Eli’s mother was sitting on the sofa reading some paperback novel with a fan blowing across the room.

“Eli? Where’s your father?”

“I have no idea. He didn’t show up.”

“Oh Eli” she replied knowing how it hurt Eli to be left waiting, this not the first time.  Eli acted tough about it, but she knew, could see it in his face, the hurt and anger for once again this father demonstrating he was not one of the most important things in his life. Eli moved through the living room, then the dining room into the kitchen.

“Is there any tea made?” he called from the kitchen.

“Look in the frig” she replied, getting up and going to the door of the kitchen watching Eli put ice in a glass and fill it with tea.  “Who brought you home?”

“One of the guys from school.”

“Really?”

“Yes, mom, it seems they are not…” Eli hesitated then picked up the glass taking a long slow swallow.

“They are not all what?”

“Hateful” Eli replied going out the back of the kitchen to the small mudroom that led to his bedroom. “I’ve got some homework I need to get started on.”

Eli closed his door, leaning against it for a minute wondering why today was different. Slipping his backpack off he went to his desk and sat down, not bothering to take out any textbooks. He just sat there staring out the window into the backyard and the woods beyond. He sat for a long time, the light of day dimming as the sun got lower and lower in the west, shadows stretching out long across the yard.

Paul

As he drove along the highway heading to Will’s party he felt it, a coolness in the air that signaled fall was finally arriving. It had been unusually warm for so long Paul had not bothered to set the hardtop on his Jeep and now he wondered how cool it would become as the night wore on. Lisa was already at the party helping with the food and decorations, so he found himself alone thinking of the future, his future in college and Lisa’s, who was joining the Peace Corp soon after graduating.

They had been honest with themselves, telling each other they would be breaking up sometime in the summer, each going on to a new life, a different one from the other. He would be in Florida for at least four years, maybe longer if he decided on a dual major. Lisa was going overseas, something she had been wanting to do for years. Where she wasn’t sure but any place other than here was fine with her. She just wanted something exotic, a culture that was different, and the sense of doing something important.

But now he was having second thoughts. Not on college or on Lisa going into the Peace Corps, but on them breaking up. He wondered if he could wait on her. She would be away for less than three years, which didn’t seem so long at times but at other times it seemed like a life time away. He had broached the subject, hinted at how he was feelings and Lisa seemed to be feeling the same way. But neither had had the courage to come right out with it. He was going to see how tonight went, watch how she reacted when she was alone or with others, and how she acted when she was with him.

“Dammit” Paul uttered as he adjusted his costume once again, the wind whipping in through the low-cut side pushing it up. Lisa had gotten him a Roman gladiator costume, and in the Jeep, it kept blowing upward. He held the steering wheel with his right hand, adjust the costume with his left. He swerved back and forth on the road, once running along the rough edge of the pavement, the Jeep bouncing roughly along till he got it back up on the smooth surface. Glancing down he tried to see if he had the costume tucked tightly under his thighs. When he looked up he automatically jerked the wheel left, hitting the brakes as he did so, for someone was walking on the edge of the road and he didn’t see them until he was upon them. Barely missing them he slid to a stop in the middle of the highway, the stench of rubber surrounding him as he held the steering wheel tight aware of how close he came to hitting someone.

Turning slowly around, almost afraid to look he saw their outline on the shoulder. They were bent over, hands on knees and Paul swore he could hear them breathing hard only to realize it was his own gasping for air. Putting the parking brake on he climbed down and went to the back of his Jeep where he held on to the side feeling the need for support.

“You okay?” asked Paul in a tentative voice.

“You scared the crap out of me, but I’m okay” came the reply and Paul instantly recognized it as Eli.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I was…going to the party” Eli replied, his voice tapering off till Paul barely heard what he said.

“Really?”

“Really. Is that so hard to believe” Eli said with a harder defiant tone.

“Hey man, it’s just…you have never gone to a party before.”

Eli stood up, moved out of the tall uncut grass on the shoulder into the road, hands deep into the pockets of his khakis.

“You’re right, but I…” Eli stammered to a stop, thinking it had been a mistake, the sneaking out, the idea of walking the mile or so to Will’s party, and the idea he could fit in with his own classmates. That he might have some fun.

Paul knew all the rumors, how Eli’s father was so controlling and to see this small defiance was curious. He liked it, this Eli before him.

“Well, how about you get in and I give you a ride since I’m heading there myself?”

It was the second time today he had been offered a ride and this time it was easier to say yes, easier to walk over to Paul’s Jeep, hold the grab bar on the dash and pull himself up and into the seat. It was strange to be sitting in a vehicle without a top or doors, the road so visible to his side. The freedom of it, the openness to everything, the cool air and the sky above. It seemed like a sign, something mythic, showing him a new way.

“How did you talk your father into letting you go?”

“I didn’t.”

Paul laughed, nodding his head in approval.

“No shit.  Elijah Baker defies his preacher-man daddy” exclaimed Paul. Eli began to laugh with Paul and the awkwardness that had existed between them began to erode. “What do you think he’ll say when he finds out you’re gone?”

“He probably won’t even know” Eli replied, and Paul caught the tone, the hint of something unsaid and he let the topic end. They came upon the farm where Will lived and saw a few windows in the house lit from within, but it was at the old barn in the rear of the home site at the edge of a large pasture where most of the light came. The barn was lit up, the main doors swung open and they could see classmates milling around. Behind the barn in the pasture a bonfire was burning.

“We have arrived” said Paul as he slowed down, shifting down into third and pulling into the second drive that would lead them to the barn.

Joshua

It was nearing midnight, the party settling into that quiet time, music playing in the background, everyone in small groups around the bonfire or inside the bar still snacking at the long table down the middle of the room or up in the hayloft sitting in a circle talking, visible to those below through the open door. Josh came back from the barn, another soda in hand spiked with some of bourbon Bryan had hidden in the barn. He moved around the bonfire past one group after the next hearing the quiet conversations as he passed. He looked on the far side and saw Eli, sitting with Paul and Lisa. Lisa was in the middle telling some story that made Paul and Eli laugh. It made him smile, the casualness of the scene, Eli part of the group, no longer just in the periphery, but included. He knew not everyone accepted Eli, for he had heard some of the comments from others, the taunts by Mitch which made him burn inside, fighting the desire to punch Mitch in the mouth.

Eli and he had talked at times over the evening, usually with others around but there had been one occasion, standing by the fence looking over the pasture to the dark horizon of trees beyond with the half moon overhead, its silvery light giving everything it touched a gray tone. Their conversation had been superficial, talking about the party with Josh mentioning how much of a dick Mitch could be without specifically referring to the nasty comments made earlier. Eli had stiffened at the mention of Mitch, so he changed the subject quickly, suggesting they grab another drink. He had coaxed Eli into letting him spike his drink over the course of the night. Not much, but enough to taste and he had seen the effects on Eli. He loosened up, laughed more and began to approach others more freely.

Now he saw Eli sway just a bit, laugh a little louder and he worried he had gotten him drunk.

“Hey guys, make some room” Josh stated as he came near Paul, Lisa and Eli.

Lisa moved into Paul’s lap and pulled on Eli’s arm to slide closer to them, “sit here” she pointed on the other side of Eli. Josh sat next to Eli realizing how close they had to be to fit on the old bench. His leg rubbed along Eli’s, their shoulders touched, and his left arm felt every movement of Eli’s right arm.

“You were right, Joshua, this is a fun party” Eli stated as he leaned against Josh.

“You do seem to be having fun” replied Josh, “maybe a bit too much?”

“Oh, leave him alone” Lisa said reaching over Eli and jabbing her index finger into his thigh.

Josh laughed, “Okay Lisa, whatever you say.”

Over the next hour the party wound down. People left in small groups till only a few remained. Lisa was in the barn bagging the garbage while Paul helped put sodas not consumed into a refrigerator that was in the barn. Eli and Josh moved the chairs and benches around the bonfire back into the barn as Will hosed down the hot coals making sure the fire was completely out. There were three other classmates helping, putting open boxes or bags of snacks into containers or walking the area picking up trash.

As Will turned off the lights and closed the barn doors Paul and Lisa climbed into his Jeep with Josh and Eli standing nearby.

“Eli, you going to get home okay” Lisa asked leaning over Paul.

“Yeah, I’m just up the road. I’ll be fine.”

“Just up the road? It’s a mile or longer” exclaimed Paul, “get in back and I…”

“I’ll take him home” Josh interrupted.

“Good…make sure he gets home okay” said Lisa as she fastened her seatbelt.

“I will” replied Josh as he glanced over at Eli, red faced, swaying just a bit still and he knew Eli had over done it.  He wondered if Eli should go home like this. First, he snuck out now he was a bit drunk, something his father would freak out about. He wondered if he should take him back to his place. And if he was honest with himself, he wanted to bring Eli home, even if it was just let him crash on the floor of his room. There was something about Eli he recognized. Something that scared him a little.

He took Eli over to his truck, helped him to get buckled in and climbed in behind the wheel. The old truck started immediately, rumbling in its idle as he looked over at Eli who seemed to be zoning out, his expression suddenly different.

“What is it?” Josh asked as he put the truck in gear and eased down the drive toward the road.

“Nothing…I mean, the party was fun and I’m glad…” Eli hesitated, and Josh looked over seeing him looking back at him, his face all serious, “…you pushed me to come.”

“Oh hell, Eli you just have to make the first move sometimes, be bold, ya know?”

“I guess. Now I just have to face my father” Eli added giving a derisive laugh.

Josh stared down the highway as far as his headlights illuminated in the dark of night, “you can crash at my place tonight and face him in the morning…if you want?”

It was quiet in the cab for a long time, the only sound the engine and the air swirling around in the cab. Eli seemed to be frozen in place, not moving in any way, eyes looking straight ahead. Josh glanced over a few times waiting for a response.

“Serious? You’d let me come over?”

“Yeah, why not. My folks…well, they don’t freak out about a little partying so long as I don’t drive drunk or let my friends. And they are leaving early in the morning for Montgomery.”

After a long silence, Josh finally heard Eli reply, voice so low he barely heard him.

“Okay.”

Elijah

After using the small bathroom on the hall, Eli sat on the edge of Josh’s bed waiting for him to come back from using the bathroom. He pulled out his phone and saw several messages and texts from his mother, then his father. He didn’t bother to read them knowing what they were about. He pulled up his mother’s number and began to type.

I’m staying at a friend’s house and will be home in the morning.

He hit send and waited. It seemed like only a second passed, hardly enough time to read his text much less type a reply, but a text came up almost immediately on his phone. It was his father.

Come home immediately.

Eli ignored it pushing his phone back into his pocket and waited for Josh. Right now, he knew it would not be wise to go home. He felt rebellious in a way he had never felt before. Maybe it was the alcohol. But he knew should he face his father now it would be a fight like they never had before. And how it would end he had no idea. Grounded for a long time, as if that would be any different from the way things were, or worse, kicked out. There was a part of him that wondered if getting kicked out would be so bad, the idea of being free of his father now rather than later was enticing.

Looking around the room, the basketball trophies, the photos on top of the dresser and desk where a new laptop sat open and to the side of the desk a television with a gaming console beneath it on a shelf. All of it looked so normal. And to Eli, it looked so alien. He stood up and went to the desk picking up a photograph of Josh. It was recent, his hair cut short like it is now, smiling at the camera with his almost perfect teeth and dimples that framed his mouth. Josh was attractive, no doubt about it and Eli wondered what it would be like to have a boyfriend who looked like him. Tall, athletic, outgoing, leading the way through life. Looking at the photograph he realized the blue background made Josh’s blue eyes stand out even more.

“That was taken just before school started. Mom makes us have them done every year” Josh stated as he came into the room, towel draped over his shoulders wearing only boxers.

“When did you cut your hair?”

“Back in June. Got tired of dealing with it” said Josh as he moved into the room standing a few feet behind Eli. He had worn his hair long ever since sixth grade, so it had been a surprise to everyone when they saw the new look, hair close cut on the sides with some length left in it on top. “Eli? Do you want me to make you a place on the floor or do you want to just sleep in the bed with me? It’d be tight, but it would be more comfortable.”

“Whatever you prefer” Eli replied, his mouth suddenly dry and his heart racing in his chest. Why was he nervous? Was he afraid he would do something in his sleep like reach over and try to snuggle up to Josh?

Josh turned to his bed and pulled the covers back, “It’ll be easier to just climb in the bed. You don’t snore do you?” he added as he stood up looking at Eli, smiling to let him know he was joking.

“I don’t think so” Eli replied as he slipped off his shoes, then socks. He tried not to look at Josh, but he couldn’t refrain from looking at the tall lean body, the way muscle created curves and shapes under the skin. When Josh leaned over the bed he saw the knots of vertebrate along his spine that disappeared when he stood back up. There was the flex of biceps, his neck that was slightly long, and the shoulders that were angled out either side. Eli moved to the far side and started to get into bed.

“Hey man, get out of your clothes. They smell of the bonfire” said Josh as he turned on the lamp then went over to turn out the overhead light.

“Oh yeah” Eli mumbled suddenly embarrassed, wondering how Josh was see him without his shirt or pants on. He unbuttoned the shirt slowly, timidly, till it fell open revealing his lean torso, flat from chest down to his waist. He looked over into the mirror seeing a pale skinny kid then his eyes moved down and saw Josh. Josh seemed to be watching him, eyes serious but hiding the intent behind them. Pulling the shirt from his shoulders it fell down his arms till he was able to slip free of it.

“Just lay your clothes on the chair” Josh whispered.

As Eli worked his khakis free, the button then zipper he felt his heart racing, the pumping of blood around his head and he subconsciously turned away from Josh as he pushed the khakis down his legs. Tossing the pants on top of his shirt he felt himself in his body, tall, long legged, long arms, skinny in his mind. Glancing in the mirror he saw Josh was still watching him. He felt embarrassed, at how he looked and at the cheap white boxers he was wearing, comparing them to the blue plaid pair Josh had on.

“Come on, get in bed. It’s late and we should get some sleep” whispered Josh.

Easing into bed as Josh turned off the lamp the room fell into darkness. He lay on his back, arms crossed on his chest afraid to move. He normally slept on his stomach and wasn’t sure he could really sleep like this, but he lay still, not moving, listening to every sound Josh made. The room lay in silence for a long time till Eli wondered if Josh was asleep. Then Josh moved, shifting position till one leg brushed up next to his and an arm lay next to his side barely touching him. But he felt it, the warm sensation it gave him, this casual contact. He lay still, wondering if Josh would move closer, hoping, pleading with him in his mind to do so.

Joshua

Josh replayed the events of the day over in his mind, till he thought of that one conversation where he told Eli to be bold, to go for what he wanted. It was good advice. If only he could take it himself. He listened to Eli, not moving, completely still barely breathing. The darkness of the room gave no sight, nothing but a pitch-black darkness that concealed everything, including his right hand at his crotch, fingers fishing through the fly to touch himself. He was half hard with his thoughts of being next to Eli. Of Eli taking off his shirt so slowly, revealing his chest then stomach, smooth, flat, with skin like white marble. He thought of the tall lean body and how the baggy fitting clothes had concealed it. He grew anxious, feeling his sexuality, aroused by having Eli next to him. He thought he could feel the heat of Eli’s body, the bed warming quickly with the two of them in it.

“Oh hell, Eli you just have to make the first move sometimes, be bold, ya know?”

‘Yeah, be bold’ he thought as he shifted closer to Eli, just enough to let his leg brush up against Eli. He moved his arm till he felt the warmth of Eli’s body along its length and he waited. Would Eli move away, shift over breaking the contact? He knew Eli was still awake, could tell by his breathing. Eli lay still, didn’t move keeping their contact.

‘Be bold.’

Josh rolled onto his side facing toward Eli. He couldn’t see him, but he felt his presence. Tentatively he reached out, his right hand shaking with nervousness as he brought it over where Eli’s stomach would be, easing it down till he rested on the undulating warm skin. He felt the way Eli’s breathing increased.

“Is this okay?” Josh whispered.

It seemed an eternity before Eli replied as he felt the heat of the touch, the contact of his hand on Eli’s stomach.

“Yes” Eli whispered back, his voice hoarse, broken.

Josh felt movement then Eli’s hand touched his arm just above the wrist, fingers grazing over his skin, almost ticklish, as they moved up his arm and back down. He felt embolden and slipped his hand over Eli’s waist and guided him to roll over on his side facing him, their bodies inches apart. He moved closer till he felt their chest touch, their knees, then Eli’s hot breath on his neck just before he felt him nestle in against it. He pushed forward with his hips feeling his cock then hips touch Eli and he pressed himself tightly against Eli. He felt Eli against him, hard, flexing against his abdomen.

He moved his hand downward, slipping beneath the waistband of Eli’s boxer till he felt the curvature of his ass. His fingers slid down between the cheeks and he flexed his hand feeling the firm cheek as he pulled Eli closer, grinding their crotches together. He was aroused, fully erect. Eli pulled back and Josh soon felt fingers tracing his hardness through his boxers, felt them search for the fly then work through it till those fingers were touching bare skin. He gasped as they encircled his shaft.

“Take off your boxers” Josh whispered in Eli’s ear and he moved back giving himself room to work his own boxers down as Eli did the same.

He felt Eli’s cock touch his own, the momentarily rub of skin against skin and he shuddered, feeling his arousal, the total hardness of his cock. In the dark, only the sensation of touch and sound he was acutely aware of every movement or the noise of the Eli’s breathing. He reached out and felt Eli’s hips, let his hand move along the long straight line of Eli’s torso then down between them, his fingers raking over the undulating stomach then touching it then letting it fill his hand. Every move was mirrored on his own body, every touch, as Eli mimicked him till his own cock was held firmly in Eli’s hand. It made him flex within the tight grasp. Moving forward till he felt a smooth cheek against his own, knowing his own would feel of rough, the stubble of a beard coming in. He kissed the smooth skin then lips that kissed back.

The room seemed to disappear, the two of them occupying only the dark space within, as hands moved over the other, lips kissing lips then moving over skin, along jaws or along necks, tugging on earlobes and nipping the flesh. Josh didn’t want it to stop, wanted these sensations to last forever but his arousal drove him, pushed him toward the need for release. And Eli grew aggressive, suddenly alive beside him, arms and legs seemed to be everywhere, touching him all over, manipulating him, pushing him for something more.

Josh was surprised when Eli took each of his hands, held them tightly as he was rolled over on his back, Eli moving on top holding his hands down over his head. He felt the kisses, along his neck, then along the side of his face then on his own lips. He opened his mouth letting the tongue move beside his own. He pushed upward with his hips and felt his cock pressed between their bodies. Eli began to move over him, rock his lower body back and forth and it rubbed over his hardness, stroking his arousal. Clinching his teeth Josh stifled his desire to cry out.

Eli let his hands go, sitting up and rocking his body with greater urgency. Josh felt the way Eli moved his ass over him, the way he would rock smoothly back and forth then grind down on his cock making him push upward increasing the pressure.

“Put it in me…please” Eli whispered as he rose up. Josh thought he was going to have to do it, hold his cock up for Eli but he felt the long delicate fingers take him once again, holding him up straight. There was pressure on the head of his cock, a push downward then he felt it, the opening stretching to let him in, squeezing down on the head of his cock. Slowly, painfully slow, the tightness moved down his shaft till he felt the head in the heat of Eli’s body, soft, almost sucking him deeper inward.

“Jesus” Josh uttered as he felt his cock sink deeper and deeper till Eli was sitting on his abdomen.  Eli leaned over and kissed him then hovered over his face breathing hard.

“Josh…” Eli whispered in the darkness as he began to move, upward then back down, working his body along the length of Josh’s cock. He moved in a slow deliberate pace and Josh felt the tight ring of Eli’s opening as it moved along his shaft, stroking him till he couldn’t stop himself, aroused beyond all reason and he pushed upward with Eli’s downward movement, their bodies smacking together.

“Fuck me…fuck me…” Eli whispered in the dark and Josh felt him slow, a hesitation in what to do next, and he hugged their bodies together and rolled him over on his back. He came up between Eli’s legs and lifted each to his shoulders, shifted forward sinking back into Eli’s depths he moved over him, folded him over beneath his body till he was kissing his lips and neck, till he felt Eli’s hot breath on his neck and lower body turned upward for him, angled for his fuck, and he drove inward hard then pulled back so he could drive in again, over and over. He felt this primitive urge, this desire to fuck till release and he drove his hips faster and faster. Eli began to moan and cry out and he pressed his lips to Eli’s to quiet him.

Josh fucked with all his strength, his entire being focused on Eli beneath him and the connection between their bodies, his cock sunk into Eli’s depths, thrusting through the tightness. He felt Eli against his stomach, a hand stroking cock in rhythm with their fuck.  

“Yeah…come of Eli…come…come for me…do it” Josh whispered as he drove into Eli’s depths, felt his own arousal build to imminent release. Every thrust inward, sinking into Eli’s depths rocked the bed making everything seem to move with them. The bed, the room, even the darkness and time itself as Josh felt the heat of Eli’s body against his skin and enveloping his cock. He pushed inward with urgency every time. Then he felt it, the hot spatter against his chest and stomach, the warm release by Eli against his skin. He smelled it, the oddness of it yet so familiar. Eli was uttering small gasping cries beneath him as his own body shivered with release. He fucked harder, faster, his own release surging through him filling the depths of Eli’s body.

Elijah

The sun slipped through the blinds, bands of light cutting across the floor, the bed and over the far wall. Eli woke slowly, fitfully, feeling the embrace of arms around him, the heat of someone’s body against his own. As he woke he felt his own nakedness, the way his cock, piss hard, stuck out freely in front of him. The bed was warm, the bedsheet soft against his skin. He felt warm breath against the back of his neck and he opened his eyes as he realized where he was at, in Josh’s room. Dried cum clung to his chest and inner thigh and he felt Josh’s cock pressed against his ass. He remembered it being in his ass, thrusting deeply within him and a moment of panic over came him. Then he remembered this was a mutual thing, something Josh had wanted too. He raised up slowly looking over his shoulder and saw Josh looking back at him.

“Good morning. You okay?” Josh asked as he snuggled up closer.

“Yeah…it’s just…”

“You didn’t know where you were at first?” Josh asked suddenly smiling.

Eli smiled, “something like that. What time is it?”

“A little after nine.”

“Oh shit, seriously. I have to go, I have to…”

“What? Go face your father. What’s the hurry?”

“But…it’s just…I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Let’s get up, shower and get dressed then have some breakfast, and then I can take you home.”

Eli hesitated to climb out of bed, conscious of his nakedness but when Josh threw back the covers revealing his body he relaxed. He watched Josh rake off dried cum from his stomach.

“Jesus you cum a lot. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Well, it was everywhere. I can’t let mom see these sheets” Josh laughed as he moved his feet to the floor and stood up. “Mom and dad left early this morning going to Montgomery, so we have the house to ourselves. Come on and lets shower.”

Eli didn’t know what was better. Lying in bed with someone, their arms holding him, or being in the shower with them, the hot water steaming up the bathroom and relaxing their bodies. Josh ran soapy hands over his back, around his torso across his chest and stomach and down till they toyed with his cock, manipulated it till he was hard.

Josh kissed the back of his neck as water cascaded down over his head and down his body. Looking down he watched the hands moving over his body, slickly rubbing his skin, then stroking his cock till he began to pump his hips involuntarily, the urge to fuck, this primitive need, rising up within him.

“Eli…do me” Josh whispered into his ear and moved away from him. Turning he saw Josh turned to the far wall, hands on it bracing himself, body bent over slightly offering himself to Eli. “Come on Eli, do me, I want to feel what it is like” said Josh as he held his head down waiting.

Eli moved to him, took his cock, soaped it up then rubbed it along the cleft of Josh’s ass, up and down raking over the tight opening till Josh was pushing back.

“Stop teasing me…please…” Josh exclaimed as he pushed back more.

Eli put his cock to the tight opening, pressed against it feeling it resist him, fight to keep him out. He wrapped one arm around Josh’s waist and held his cock with the other. Pulling Josh back as he pushed forward he felt the tightness give, the opening stretch till he was penetrating Josh, his cock squeezing through the tight ring. It was so tight, milking his cock as he forced it in, slowly, inch by inch. He leaned over Josh, hands placed over each of Josh’s and pushed the final inch through the tightness.

“Oh FUCK…” Josh uttered as his whole body quivered with the penetration.

Holding Josh against the wall, Eli began to fuck, his tall lean body undulating against Josh, driving inward all the way then pulling out till he nearly slipped free. He drove every inch through Josh’s tightness till he felt it loosen, felt his cock move with ease through it. Josh began to move with him, pushing back to meet his forward thrust. Their bodies smacked noisily against each other. Josh’s cries, his pleading for Eli to fuck him echoing in the small room.

Eli reached around Josh, knocked his hand away from his cock and took it, stroked it with his own, with a furious pace, roughly, rocking Josh back and forth. Josh shifted in his arms, slamming their bodies together then rocking forward. He stroked Josh’s cock faster, felt it swell in his grasp as Josh shuddered against him. Then he felt it flex in his hand, over and over, and he knew it was with release. He felt it not only in his hand, flexing with each ejaculation, but in the way Josh milked his cock, the spasm around his shaft as he shoved through it. He felt his own release, his cock so sensitive to his every move, and he leaned forward, lightly biting Josh on the shoulder as he came, jabbing inward with every ejaculation.

After their shower, back in the bedroom Josh went through his closet pulling out some clothes that he thought Eli could wear, since he was larger in the waist and across the chest knew most of his things would be too big. Eli was going to put on his clothes from the night before, but Josh had insisted, refusing to take no as an answer.

“Get your ass dressed and meet me in the kitchen. We’ll eat something then I’ll take you home.”

Joshua

He drove slowly, not sure if he wanted the morning to end like this, not sure he wanted to take Eli home, knowing as soon as he did things would change. He wondered if Eli would be grounded, his father tightening down on his control over him. Or could it be worse, for the way Eli was acting made him wonder.

“Hey, Eli?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not regretting what we did are you?  I mean…I’m not.”

“No. I’m glad I…we did it.”

“What do you think it’ll be like now?”

“What do you mean?” Eli asked turning to Josh.

“Next week, the month after, or next year when we graduate?”

Eli knew what he meant, had been thinking the same thing himself. Would they even speak to each other now letting things go back to the way they were before? Or would Josh want to do be with him again?

“Josh…” Eli began, hesitating, afraid to say what he wanted to say in case it was not what Josh wanted. He searched for the words but a different way of asking he couldn’t work out, “do you want to forget about last night and let things go back as before?”

“No…no, Eli, I don’t.”

“Then you want to get together sometimes, and…”

“Yes. We’re finishing high school, in this small hick community and as far as I know, we only have each other. Look…I know with your grades you’ll be able to go wherever you choose for college, full scholarship, the works. My grades are not perfect, and I’ll go to state or…somewhere. Come next fall I know the two of us will go our separate ways, but till then, till we leave this place…”

Eli smiled at Josh, nodding his head.

“Till we leave this place” Eli repeated as some mantra that was to sustain them for the remainder of the year.

Josh turned onto the dirt road that led to Eli’s home, accelerating back to speed, dust kicking up in their wake.

“Till we leave this place” Josh repeated.

He slowed down, drove at a leisurely pace.

“Eli?”

“Yeah?”

“I know at school I seem to be right in the middle of everything. One of the popular kids, on the basketball team, invited to all the parties but most of the time I feel on the edge of things, not part of the core group. And I know for you it has been worse, but after last night, at the party and later, well, don’t stay off to the side. Don’t let your father dictate who you are.”

“That is easier said than done.”

“Stand up to him. Now, as soon as we get to your place. He left you waiting remember? Don’t tell him you went to the party, just tell him you were at my place, angry for being left waiting again.”

“I don’t know…you don’t know what he is like.”

“You’re right but sooner or later…”

Josh turned into the first drive and headed to the back corner of the lot where a drive looped around to the house behind the church. He eased along the rough two rut drive bouncing over the ground till he was at the house. He let the truck coast up near the front and stopped as Eli’s father, the preacher, came out the door. He was a tall man, lean in build, his short hair turning gray, his face weathered and rough looking. Eli opened the door and slid out onto his feet.

“You can leave. Go on, Josh, just go.”

“No” replied Josh as he too climbed out and fell in behind Eli.

“Get into this house, now. And you, get off this property.”

Eli had been prepared to go in, to take whatever was to come, but when his father turned on Josh something snapped, and he moved up close to his father showing he wasn’t afraid any more.

“No. He’s my friend who…”

“Friend? You don’t have any friends.”

“Until now, that was true and that is because of you. And yesterday you showed me how much you don’t care by leaving me stranded again. How many times, dad?  Five, ten…no twelve times you’ve left me stranded and you expect my obedience, some total submission to you? No, not any more. Josh let me stay at his house last night, so I wouldn’t have to deal with this…whatever this is…but no more.”

Eli hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t gotten in his father’s face, instead he spoke calmly, evenly, facing down his father’s unholy wrath. Opening his mouth to speak his father leaned forward and Eli expected the worse.

“Leave him alone” came Eli’s mother’s voice from the porch. “This stops now. You leave him alone; do you hear me?” She moved down the steps till she was on the last one, reaching out for Eli. “Come on son, it’s okay. And I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” addressing Josh.

“Joshua…Josh.”

“Josh, thanks for taking Eli in. I appreciate it. Unfortunately, I must ask you to leave and let us…deal with this.”

“Yes mam” Josh replied as he backed up to the driver’s door. He wanted to smile at the preacher, to let him know what he thought but looking at Eli he couldn’t do it.  He backed the truck around and started to head out the drive when he looked back at the porch, only Eli and his mother still out. They waved, smiling his way and he knew things were going to be different for Eli. He had no expectations of things being what he considered normal, but he felt Eli would have an easier time at home till he finally was able to leave.

There was no sunshine on Monday, the sky dark, clouds moving from the southwest heading northeast releasing rain in their path. Running late after over sleeping, Josh just knew the bell had rang for classes to begin. He ran across the wet parking lot, up the sidewalk and into the corridor, glad to see the bell had not rung for the first period class. Everyone was milling around the corridor in their usual groups. Mitch and the other bullies standing by the bathroom door waiting to do mischief, and the others grouped along the corridor, standing at lockers or in doorways, talking and laughing, watching others move down the corridor. Everything seemed the same, till he came upon Lisa and Paul standing with a group near their first period class door. Josh recognized him immediately, the dark hair, the tall lean body, but it was different, looser in its stance and he moved up behind him, throwing his left arm around his shoulders as if they had been best buds for years.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are your ears burning” asked Lisa laughing.

Just for a moment Josh wondered if they knew, if they knew about Eli and him. He glanced over at Eli and saw the slight shake of his head. No, they didn’t, and he relaxed, knowing it was just the usual banter, only now it included Eli.

The bell rang, and the day began, one class after the next, till the lunch break, then back to the next class. In the last class Josh sat in usual seat next to Paul, sliding down till his legs lay either side of the desk in front of him. The teacher was late, and they sat waiting, Josh staring out the window watching it rain, his mind going back to the weekend, as it had all day.

“Okay asshole, spill?” Paul whispered, leaning over the aisle closer.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You. You’ve been in la-la land all day” said Paul, then leaning closer he added, “did something happen after the party?”

“After the party?”

“Come on Josh, you know what the fuck I mean. You have been acting weird all day, and Eli, well, he has been acting normal, I mean, he is talking to others, hanging out with everyone and it has not escaped my attention that whenever you two are in the same class…fourth period?…or in the lunch room, you’re sitting together. And at times whispering to each other.  Come on, Josh, I hope you have, but I’m going to be shocked as shit if…Eli is the one.”

“Well…” Josh hesitated but knew Paul was just trying to be the friend he needed, and he leaned closer lowering his voice so no one else could hear, “you’re just going to have to be shocked.”

At the end of sixth period, Josh went by his locker, grabbed the books he needed from other classes packing them into his backpack and headed for the door. It was still raining, and he saw some of the others under the aluminum canopy waiting to see if the rain slowed. He moved through them weaving back and forth till he came to the nearest point with his truck. He didn’t hesitate, getting a hold of the backpack strap to hold it firmly in place he took off across the parking lot. He ran up to his truck and grabbed the door handle knowing it was already unlocked. Tossing his backpack inside he climbed in behind the wheel and pushed his wet hair back from his forehead, so it wouldn’t drip into his eyes.

“You look like a drowned rat” Eli exclaimed stifling a laugh.

Josh looked over at his passenger, his dark hair hanging down concealing one eye, clothes as wet as his own.

“Have you looked in a mirror?”

Truck started Josh pulled into the line of cars heading to the exit. They inched forward as one after the next pulled out heading home.

“Your mother okay with you coming over?”

“Yeah, I told her you needed some help with homework.”

“That isn’t a lie. What did your father say?”

“Nothing. We haven’t talked much since yesterday. Actually, we haven’t talked at all” said Eli smiling.

Josh turned into the drive pulling to the side of the house into his spot. Eli followed him as they crossed the carport going by the truck and car parked within, through the side door into a mudroom, the washing machine running and a laundry basket full for the next load. In the kitchen Josh laid his backpack in a chair motioning Eli to do the same.

“Let’s get a drink before heading to my room” said Josh as he reached for the refrigerator door.

Empty glasses set in the sink Eli followed him into the family room where Josh’s mother sat reading. They talked with her for a minute, Josh telling her of his day after introducing Eli, then telling her they were going to do their homework. As they left the room Josh’s mother called out to them to get out of their wet clothes and put something dry on. Josh told her they would as he led Eli out of the room, going down the long Hall, past a couple of bedrooms down to his room, the room Eli had been just the morning before.

Their backpacks tossed on the bed, Josh pulled open a dresser drawer taking out gym shorts, handing one pair to Eli. They stripped out of their wet clothes, down to their boxers then slipped on the shorts.

“Take my chair and I’ll go get a chair from the dining room” said Josh. Eli sat in the desk chair swiveling around to face the door waiting on him to return.  He rummaged in his backpack pulling out a couple of textbooks and his notebook. Josh returned with a dining chair setting it down next Eli. “Let’s do this first for it is what I’m struggling with the most” said Josh pointing at the science textbook.

Settled down, Josh leaning over the book listening to Eli explain the subject making notes as they went. They went through each subject till they were moving to their fourth period class, calculus. Josh eased his hand onto Eli’s thigh, moving it upward toward his crotch. Eli stammered, his concentration broken, and he glanced at the smiling Josh who’s raised eyebrows showed the mischievousness lurking there.

“Josh, you boys doing okay” Josh’s mother said as she came into the doorway causing him to jerk his hand away as he turned to her.

“Yes, almost done, I think” replied Josh wondering if she saw anything.  He saw her smile as she leaned against the door frame and knew she had not seen his hand on Eli’s thigh.

“Good. I’m going to follow your dad to Greenville. His truck has something wrong, some sensor or something. We’re going to drop it off at the dealer. Afterward we’re going to the grocery store. We should be back by seven or so.”

“Okay.”

“Eli, you want to stay for dinner? I’m going to pick up a couple of pizzas that just need to be popped into the oven when we get back.”

“Huh, yeah, if you’re sure.”

“It’s no trouble and you are helping Josh, so it’s the least I can do. Josh, you guys get your homework wrapped up so when we get back there is no rush to eat and get back to it.”

“Okay.”

As she went back down the hall Josh looked at his watch, seeing it was five. Looking at Eli he smiled nodding his head.

“How much more do we have?” Josh asked Eli.

“Just these six problems here.”

“Let’s get them done.”

Eli was very good with calculus, quickly explaining the problems in a way different than Mr. Baird which helped Josh work through each problem. The sixth problem done, pencil dropped on his notebook, he leaned back looking over at Eli. He pointed at his watch.

“It’s five twenty.”

“And…” Eli replied smiling knowing what he meant.

“And we have nearly an hour and half with no parental supervision” said Josh as he pushed his chair back easing down to the floor on his knees, swiveling Eli around facing him. Slipping his hands between Eli’s knees, a hand on each he slowly spread them apart. Leaning forward, he put his face into the soft cotton crotch of the gym shorts working his mouth over them till he felt Eli’s growing erection. He moved his mouth along its length feeling it swell up thicker, longer, till it pushed back against his mouth. Hands moving to Eli’s waist he tugged down on the shorts and boxers, Eli raising his hips letting him slide them down easily.

“Nice” Josh whispered as he went back down to the hard cock lying over to the left. He went to the head, tonguing it, feeling the smooth skinned head flex with his ministrations. Slipping his mouth over it he brought it up allowing him to take it, letting inch after inch move through his lips. Eli shuddered, leaning back till he was looking up at the ceiling feeling the heat, the wet slickness of Josh’s mouth on his cock.

When Josh released Eli he sat back on his heels and tugged at his own cock, it painfully confined inside his boxers. Eli stroked his spit wet cock, slowly, hand moving up and down maintaining his arousal. Josh watched as he stood up, slipping his own shorts and boxers off. He moved to Eli, straddling him, till his cock raked over Eli’s chest leaving a trail over the smooth white skin. Eli held his cock up waiting, impatiently, his desire for Josh consuming him. Neither said anything, didn’t have to for they knew what they wanted.  Josh eased down dragging his cock down Eli’s chest and stomach as he brought his ass down to Eli’s cock, working his hips back and forth feeling the slick head rake over his opening. It stirred his desires, stroked him up till he couldn’t stop himself. He felt the stretch of his opening, the penetration as he moved  down on Eli’s cock,  inch after inch sinking into his depths till he sat in Eli’s lap.

They kissed, and Josh felt Eli’s hands rub his back, downward to his ass and back up to his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, urgent, wanting. Eli moved to his neck then his ear, tongue following its curvature. He shivered at the sensation of it all. Moving upward he felt Eli slide through his opening. Then he went back down, taking Eli once again. Over and over Josh moved up and down till the chair moved with their fuck.

“Jesus” Josh uttered as he savored the way it felt to have Eli sunk into his depths, they way it touched something deep inside him. The way it locked them together, the connection of their bodies. He worked his body up and down till sweat beaded up on his skin. Eli hugged his waist, kissing him on the chest. He held Eli by the head moving him to his right nipple. Eli tongued it, then sucked it.

“Bite down on it…come on, do it” Josh pleaded with Eli and he felt the teeth take the hard nub and bite down.  It sent shivers down his spine and made his cock flex, hard and leaking on Eli’s stomach. Josh rocked his hips, moved up and down faster and faster till he was exhausted, his legs shaking.

Sitting on Eli’s lap he kissed him, passionately, then whispered in his ear.

“Let’s move to the bed.”

Backpacks tossed onto the floor, covers pulled to the foot of the bed Josh laid back on the bed pulling Eli down with him.

“Fuck me…come on Eli, shove it back in” Josh pleaded as he put his legs around Eli’s waist.

Eli was soon over him, cock sunk into his hole, hips rising and falling with their fuck. The bed rocked against the wall and squeaked with their motions.

“Fuck…fuck…” Josh uttered as Eli’s pace remained furious.

He felt the way Eli’s pace grew ragged, the thrusts hard, as if Eli was trying to shove deeper within his hole and he urged him on, begged him to fuck harder.

He knew Eli was at the point of release, saw the way he moved, felt the way he shuddered, eyes closed and mouth open crying out. Jabbing inward, once, twice, three times then collapsing on top of him, he knew Eli was spent.

Eli moved down beside him. Hands touched him, rubbed his chest then manipulated his cock. He was hard, leaking, Eli’s hand smearing the slickness down along his shaft. Rolling on his side, he turned Eli till he was facing away from him. Hugging their bodies together, Josh worked his cock up to Eli’s opening, pushed against its tightness. Eli pushed back forcing the head of his cock through its tightness. Josh pushed inward sinking into Eli’s depths. He held the long lean body against his own, his hand moving up till he cupped Eli’s chin pulling his head back.

“Take me…take me Eli…take me” Josh whispered as he fucked him, worked his hips driving all the way inward.

Their movements were different from before, side to side, a slow rocking motion the bed mimicked. Josh buried his nose in Eli’s hair capturing his scent. He kissed the smooth skin of Eli’s neck as he let a couple of fingers slip inside Eli’s mouth.

“Goddamn…fuck” Josh uttered as he pushed his cock through Eli’s tightness.

Josh felt the surge of release, felt his cock grow so sensitive he could barely take it, and he shoved inward as he ejaculated his load. He jabbed his cock inward with each ejaculation till he felt the end of his release and he fell still, totally spent.

Eli

(August after graduation)

The summer passed too quickly. As excited as he was to leave for college, he was going to miss Josh and their time together. They knew this day was coming, this day when they would part ways. They had talked about it, joked about it, supported each other’s plans, offering encouragement over the last few months. He looked around the narrow room that had been his bedroom making sure he had packed the personal effects he wanted to take with him, knowing he was not coming back to this place.  His mother planned to come visit him in a month and he knew she would come other times too, always alone. He went over to his desk and thumbed through the few books left on it making sure they were the ones he didn’t want. His fingers traced the spines of each book, the titles faded and obscured by the many readings endured at the hands of previous owners, then his own reading.  Near the end he realized one novel was there he wanted, one of his favorites by a Japanese author, the cover of the thick paperback torn and creased from several readings. He put it in the box that was open and taped it shut. It wasn’t much really, the things of his life, just two small boxes and two suit cases. His backpack held the used laptop his mother bought for him along with some notebooks, pens and pencils and a calculator.

He turned and listened, wondering what his mother was doing now. He knew it was some unnecessary task to keep her occupied. His father was gone, some revival he organized over in Mississippi. Eli knew his father did it on purpose not wanting to be here when he left. They barely spoke to each other over the last year. For the last couple of months Eli wondered if his father knew about him and Josh, knew what they were doing anytime they could get alone, which was frequently.

“I’m ready” Eli called out. His sister and mother came into his room and helped him carry his things to the minivan. They loaded everything up and climbed in. They would take him to the bus station where he would take it north, for the nineteen-hour drive, stopping in small towns and cities along the way to the next phase of his life. Josh had come by last night for he was leaving this morning as well, heading west to college in Texas.

It was still morning when his mother and sister returned home, neither talking about his leaving, the silence that would grow worse, his mother knowing he was probably never coming back. She knew her son, knew the things no one wanted to discuss. His struggles, the unfairness of it all, but she had seen another side of him in the last year. One that gave her hope for his happiness. In the quiet of the house she made her way to Eli’s room wondering what was left knowing the old toys he was too old to hold claim too now, the certificates of achievement and perfect attendance records would be there.  She moved into the narrow room seeing the made bed and the dresser, the drawers nearly empty. On the desk she saw it, Eli’s Bible laying in the center of it, left behind with the other things he didn’t want.

Paul

(Spring Semester, Freshman year)

He sat at his desk in the dorm room trying to ignore the noise coming from the corridor. He closed his laptop and took out the stationary he kept in his top drawer. Lisa was overseas, in Africa, working with the Peace Corp in an area without electricity, and their best means of communication was old style letters.  He hated it at first, the long waits between each one, but over time he grew to accept it and the excitement of each letter he received from Lisa. They were in a box in his bottom drawer where he could reread them, which he did often.

 Taking up his pen, he began another letter to Lisa.

Lisa;

How are things there? Did you guys get your compost toilets built? I cannot imagine you doing that, but then again, the whole primitive thing is surprising. Classes are okay, my grades not bad, if I say so myself. I have an English paper due Monday and no idea what to write about. The hardest part!!!

 I heard from Josh. He seems happy and I think I know why. He has finally found someone that he actually talks about in a serious manner. The first since you know who. I’m just glad he is doing well in his classes. He seems more focused than he ever was in high school. But that last year with Eli seemed to help him.  If everyone knew what about the two of them last year they would freak out, but if they thought about how it made both of them better, especially Eli, then I can’t understand why it is so bad.  

 And speaking (writing?) of Eli, he sounds great too. Blowing through his classes and still working at the sports bar near campus. The preacher’s son cutting loose. Ha-ha. Mom told me his father lost his position at that church and has moved away. All Eli would say was his mother and sister are in Birmingham with some of her family and he didn’t know where the preacher moved. Eli has come out formally, joining some gay group on campus and is dating this guy who is from Oklahoma. He refers to him as his cowboy. Yeah, the jokes tell themselves. It is strange to be in a conversation that involves Eli and Josh but everything between them is…I don’t know how to say it. But you know. Some of their posts to each other are, shall we say, a bit coarse. I laugh out loud at some of them but dare not reply. Josh jokes I’m scared some guy will see them and hit on me. 

 Josh wants to go up and see Eli and wants me to go with him. A reunion tour he calls it, saying we can meet in Atlanta and drive up together. I’m thinking about going. Eli will be taking one class this summer and working more hours but told us to let him know when and he’d take some time off. If only you were here, because it would complete the gang. Damn, one of those ‘missing you’ moments.

 I’ve got a tennis match in fifteen so I need to stop now, but I’ll add more tomorrow before mailing this to you.

 

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I was out squirrel hunting one hot summer day but wasn’t having much luck at it I decided to take a break, find me a shady spot and do some still hunting instead of wondering around the heat. I found big oak tree next to the creek and settled down leaning back against the trunk.

I paid attention to the trees around me hoping to see a squirrel, but after a half hour with no luck my mind began to wonder. Since I was only 19 and forever horny at the time of course I started thinking about sex. I started thinking about the guy who lived next door. He was an older guy I’d know most of my life. Really nice and handsome in a rouge kind of way. I worked for him part time every summer since I had been 13, baling hay and helping take care of his stock. He had never been married and had no one to help him other than the guys he’d hire during the simmer. One benefit of living next door was the fact that he had a nice pond where I could swim. The day before I’d gone over to swim and as I came through the woods I realized that not only was he swimming he was naked! I started to turn around and head back to the house, but my curiosity got the better of me. I eased up behind a tree where I could see him.

He was swimming from one side of the pond to the other and from where I was standing I could look down and watch him. For a guy who had to be in his 50’s he looked trim cutting through the water, at least a lot trimmer than when I normally saw him wearing overalls He made a couple more laps then rolled over and floated on his back. Damn he had a huge cock! I could see it flopping back and forth as he swam on his back. I was close enough to see that he was uncut and even catch a glimpse of his balls. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have my hand wrapped around it or to have it in my mouth. I had been jacking and sucking guys of for a few years by then but never one that size.

I moved back into the trees a little to make sure he couldn’t see me and unzipped my pants. I headnote hard the minute I saw his cock and I pulled mine out and jacked off as I watched him. I was more excited that I had thought, and it only took a few strokes before I was coming. I watched awhile longer then headed back home.

I was getting hard just thinking about it and since I was in a part of the woods with no one else around unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, pushed them down below my knees and started playing with myself as I thought about his big cock. I wasn’t working it very fast. I wanted to take my time while I thought about stroking his and taking him in my mouth. I’m not sure how long I had been sitting there when through my half open eyes, I saw a shadow move in front of me. Not knowing what it was I open my eyes the rest of the way and was shocked to see another guy leaning against tree about 20 feet away. I was in shock! Very seldom had I ever run across anyone else in the part of the woods and here I was, pants around my ankles, legs spread with my cock in my hand! I grabbed my pants and started pulling them up when he stepped away from the tree.” Don’t mind me son” he said, “looks like you’re having fun and it don’t bother me none.” I didn’t know what to say and kept trying to get my pants up. He took a couple of steps toward me. Nice-looking cock you got there. You might as well go ahead and finish. I’ll even turn my back if you want although I’d kind of like to watch you finish if you don’t mind.”

I stopped pulling on my pants and took a closer look at him. He must have been close to or older than my neighbour. He was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, about 6 feet tall with bit of a belly. The main thing I saw though was that he had his cock out of his pants! He’d been jacking off while watching me! His cock was hard, and it was from watching me! How exciting! Mine had gone soft as soon as I’d seen him but know what he’d been doing and that it was because of me made it stiffen right back up.

I hadn’t said award so far and didn’t bother to now. I pushed my pants back down a little and took my cock in my hand while starting at his. He walked over until he was standing right in front of me. Could you take you pants all the way off and spread your legs like you were before?” he asked. I was so excited by then I would have stripped naked if he’d asked. I just nodded, sat up, pulled my shoes, pants and underwear off, slid down the tree a little and opened my legs. He took his cock in his hand as I started stroking mine. He watched me for a couple of minutes then stepped to my side which put his cock right in front of my face. Without even thinking about it I reached up and put my hand on Hiscock. He stopped stroking it and just looked at me a minute the moved his hand. I wrapped mine around it and started stroking. It felt so good! It was an easy8 inches and nice and thick I couldn’t believe I was jacking a strangers cookoff in the middle of the woods.

He unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down to his knees. He had nice big balls hanging from his bush and I dropped my own cock, so I could take them in my other hand. I figured I’d just jack him off and that would be the end of it but the next thing I knew he pushed his hips forward enough for the tip of his cock to brush my lips. I stopped and looked up at him. His eyes were closed, and he was knelling down a little to bring his cock in line with my mouth. I can take a hint, so I opened my mouth. I didn’t take him, just opened it to see what he’d do. I wasn’t surprised when he pushed it in.

I held still while he slid it in and out of my mouth a few times then pulled it out and stood backup. I thought he’d changed his mind until he took my hand and asked me if I’d mind getting on my knees. He made some remark about his ole knees killing him but by then I was already moving. Once I was on my knees I cupped his balls in my hand and took his cock in my mouth. Now it was his turn to stay still while I sucked on him. I tried to take it all in my mouth, but it was just a little to long for that, so I worked every bit of it I could. It wasn’t long before I felt his hands on the back of my head and he started moving. I guess he got excited then because it quit being me sucking him and turned to humbucking my mouth! He was ramming it hard and I was doing my best not to choke. I know he got it all the way in at least a couple of times cause my gag reflexes kicked in. I was just about to put my hands on his hips to push him back and keep him from going so deep when he shoved hard again and started coming! I didn’t have any choice but to swallow! It was either that of choke. It sure seemed like he came a lot but finally he pulled back far enough for me to breath. I kept sucking until he pulled out of my mouth. He kept his cock against my lips for a minute then dropped down to lay beside me.

When he turned on his side facing me I stretched on my back nest to him. He reached over and took my cock in his hand and started stroking me. I just lay back and enjoyed it. He stroked me for a while then he’d run his hand down and cup my balls, rubbing them lightly, then back to stroking. The next time he reached down for my balls he slid his hand between my legs and pulled them open then slipped his finger down and rubbed my hole. It felt so good that I didn’t say anything. I guess he figured it was OK with me because he stuck his finger in his mouth and that time when his hand went sown he stuck a finger in me. He did it nice and slow, so it wasn’t bad, and I reached over and took his cock in my hand. I was shocked to feel a hard cock, not the soft one I had expected. He only had a little of his finger in my hole but as soon and I touched his cock the shoved the rest in mean started finger fucking me.

I had only been fucked once before and wasn’t sure about letting him go any farther. The first time I hadn’t really wanted to do any more than jack and suck the guy, but he’d had too much to drink and since he had been quite a bit old and bigger than me didn’t have much to say about it when he rolled me over and shoved his cochin me. Thank god he came quick cause it hurt like hell. This time he was sliding his finger in and out slowly and it didn’t feel too bad, so I figured I’d let him continue for a bit while I jacked him off or sucked him again if he wanted. I was surprised at how good it felt after a bit, but I was really surprised when he pulled his finger out and rolled over on top of me!

I’d had a guy on top of me before, but he had been on my chest with his cock in my mouth never stretch out full length with him between my legs! Before I could get my mind wrapped around what was happening he had put his hands between my legs and pulled them up all most to his shoulders. I felt his cock slip between my ass cheeks and the head of it rubbing against my hole. I was sure he was going to try to fuck me and I was so naïve I didn’t know a guy could fuck a guy in this position! I was even more surprised when he raised up on his knees, pushed my legs even farther up and out and started licking my hole! I’d never had my ass licked before! He was poking at my hole with his tongue! I was so shocked it took a couple om minutes for me to realize that DAMN it felt good!! He got my hole so wet he was e to push the tip of his tongue inside me! I came while he was licking me! I had never done anything that felt that good!

I was still shaking from his licking and coming when he stopped licking and lowered my ass down a little. This time not only was his cock against my hole he had his hand around it and was guiding it to my hole. My brain was still lagging and before could get it together enough to say anything I felt a sharp pain as he slipped the head of his cock in me! I put my hands against his chest and tried to push him off but wasn’t able too. He just held still with just the head inside me and gave me time to relax. I was positive I wasn’t going to be able to take this but after a few minutes the pain started dyeing down. I still had my hands against his chest and was determined to hold him back from going any deeper but when I felt him slide a little more in me it didn’t hurt like it had at first. I took my hands off his chest and wrapped my arms around him as he pushed a little more in. It still hurt a little but not as bad as though it would. My ass had never be stretched this much! I knew from sucking him that his cock was lots bigger than the first one I had in my ass but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad, He kept sliding it in a little at a time until I felt his bush and balls against my cheeks the just held it there. After a bit the pain well went away, and the pleasure started. I was even able to squeeze my as which made him moan and sent a jolt for pleasure through me!

It was nice having him hold still with that stiff cock buried in me, but I began to feel a little like I wanted him to move. Since he wasn’t moving I dropped my ass down which made it slide out a little then shoved it back up to take it all again. That must have been the signal he was waiting for because he started pumping my ass nice and slow. I could believe how different than the first tin. He would pull his cock out till just the head was inside me then slide back all the way. It seemed like it felt better with each slide! I still had my arms wrapped around him and now I wrapped both legs around his waist and tried to help pull him back in. As he started moving faster I got hard again both from his cock being in me and feeling his stomach rubbing against my cock. The more he speeded up the more I wanted. I could fell his balls slapping against my ass and it was feeling like he was trying to shove them in me also! I was taking his full strokes now! He’d pull back till just the head was in me the slam back in hard enough to make my ass cheeks bounce. He started talking about how great my ass felt and how he was going to fill me full of come. The more and the nastier he talked the more excited I got! He broke out of my arms and raised back on his knees grabbed my ankles and pushed my legs so far back and out the he was driving that cock straight down into me. When he hit bottom that first time I started coming! He slammed it in a few more time than a hard shove and I knew he was coming. I could feel the heat in my ass and knew that must be his cum

He held me up with his cock buried in me until he was done. I felt his cock slip out of me as he eased my legs back to the ground. We lay there for a bit catching our breath then he stood up and got dressed. I just lay there with my legs open, relaxing. When he was done he bent down, put his hand on my ankles pushed my legs up adjust looked at my hole. I could feel his cum leaking out of he and he said, “Thetis sure one nice ass and but it looks quite a bit bigger right now than when I first saw it.” I didn’t know what to say about that. Then he smiled and said, “Don’t worry, it will be just as tight the next time and I sure hope there’s a next time because I sure do like fucking it!”.

Never know, we made a date to meet the following week.

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Eighteen months before, after having lived in an apartment for five years, I decided to buy a house. The home needed quite a bit of work but the two-acre garden, having been neglected in the preceding years, needed a miracle. The house renovation was the easy part of the transformation and within four months it was looking great. Two months later I met Antonio, a gardener, who was recommended to me by a neighbour.

Antonio was stocky, with the most beautiful brown eyes and long black eyelashes I had ever seen. He was heavily tanned, hardly surprising given his vocation, with the most butch hands I had ever seen on a man. He had hairy legs and one further physical feature that drove me to distraction. He had extremely bandy legs. Don’t ask why, but bandy men have always driven me wild. Antonio had a reserved demeanour and always treated me in a deferential manner. He always referred to me as Mr. Stanley, despite my constant requests for him to use my first name, Stanley. I eventually gave up trying to persuade him otherwise and went with the flow.

Antonio worked in my garden on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Wednesdays he would do all the weeding, bed edges and mowing, and on Saturdays mornings we would visit nurseries to buy all the plants required to transform the garden. Fortunately, money was no object, as I earned a good salary. A year later, Antonio had transformed the garden into a wonderland and passers-by often stopped to ogle and gawk.

When Antonio, therefore, informed me that he would no longer be able to work for me, I thought my life had come to an end. The accommodation he had been renting had simply become too expensive for him after a recent increase. Although he was employed six days a week, he simply wasn’t able to make ends meet any longer. He had been offered a job on a farm, where although he would receive a lower salary, it included free accommodation.

Stunned, I went into a flap on a Saturday when he informed me of this development. As he busied himself with his work, my mind went into overdrive. By lunchtime, I had found what I hoped would be a solution. When I mentioned that he was welcome to use my garden cottage in exchange for free garden service from him on Saturdays, the look of delight on his face was unbridled. That afternoon we made an assessment of what needed to be done to the cottage. We went off to buy all the paint required, and he offered his service on Sunday to do all the necessary painting.

Antonio arrived early on Sunday with two friends, and by that evening the place was looking remarkable. The following week, I took some overdue leave to ensure that all the other work that needed to be taken care of in the cottage was done. I purchased all the bits and pieces needed, and by weeks end the place was looking fantastic.

When Antonio arrived the following Saturday, he was stunned. What especially delighted him was the thirty-two-inch flat screen television that I had installed. I had won it in a raffle six months earlier, but already having two televisions had never needed to use it.

By Sunday evening Antonio had moved in, lock, stock, and barrel. In all honesty, I had long planned to fix the cottage. Having killed two birds with one stone, however, I was thankful to be retaining my brilliant gardener.

The following week we got into our normal routine. Cooking for two was actually easier than cooking for one. Mondays to Fridays I would plate up Antonio’s food for him, and he would eat in his own quarters. Antonio took care of his own breakfasts and lunch. On weekends he also did his own thing where food was concerned. Most weekends he would leave after work on Saturdays, to visit what I presumed were family or friends.

A few weeks after Antonio moved in I was standing in the back garden one evening. I found myself inexorably drawn to his bedroom window. With his curtains slightly open I peered in. Moments later I observed him enter his bedroom after a shower. The sight arresting my eyes was one of complete wonder. Antonio had a thick uncut dark sausage which nestled on the plumpest balls I had ever seen. The entire package was framed by a dense bush of black hair. My knees almost gave way from under me.

As he dried his hair his knob flopped about. When he pulled the towel between his legs to dry his arse, my heart almost stopped. I had always thought him good-looking, but naked he was totally mesmerizing.

That night I had a sexual dream about him.

The following evening I repeated my performance from the previous night. In fact, this obsession now took complete hold of me. My jerking sessions were always about the Hispanic god that lived in my cottage.

Two weeks later, on a Friday evening, as I was visually feasting on the beauty before me, Antonio exited his room after putting on a pair of shorts. I hung around a short while longer, hoping for another glance at my compulsion.

“Mr. Stanley,” I heard a voice behind me inquiring.

With my heart spinning in my chest I turned. “Are you looking for something?” he asked.

With my mouth hanging open like an idiot, I just stood there stupidly. All I could manage to say was, “Please, call me Stanley.”

Smiling he replied, “I think you like looking at me naked, Stanley.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” I said quietly, before he interrupted.

“That’s okay,” and then after a brief pause, he rubbed his crotch before asking, “Would you like to chupar miverga amigo?”

“Si,” I replied, nodding with embarrassment.

“Do you like tequila,” Antonio questioned.

“Yes,” I answered, surprised by the question.

“Great, come,” he replied, gesturing with his head.

Antonio led me into his cottage. After pouring each of us a shot he handed me my drink. Having slugged back our drinks he again produced the bottle and poured us each another tot. Again we gulped the liquid down. Antonio then took my glass from me and placed it on the counter. His eyes had a look in them that I had never seen from him before. The shyness was gone and had been replaced by an assertive gaze. With a horny grin he moved closer and pulled my t-shirt off me. My body shuddered as he placed his beefy hands on my shoulders, before running them down my arms.

“No hair on your chest, just the way I like it,” he said, caressing my torso.

Next, after lifting my arms he sighed. “That hair needs to be shaved,”

Astounded, I didn’t reply. Then, after pulling the front of his shorts down and placing the elastic under his balls, his tackle flopped out on full display.

“Is this what you are looking for?” Antonio asked smiling. As I looked down, the object that I had admired for so long had grown substantially.

“Yes,” I whispered.

As I toyed with his silky fat tube Antonio placed his hands on my cheeks and ran his thumbs over my lips, before pushing them into my mouth. Wedging his broad thumbs between my upper and lower jaw he asked, “Will you be able to take this pinga, Stanley?”

“Yes Antonio,” I spluttered.

Removing his thumbs, he lightly patted my cheeks before saying, “I hope you don’t disappoint me, Stanley. Do you want to be Papi’s woman?”

“Yes,” I pleaded.

“Are you sure, chica?” He inquired.

I nodded lustfully, little realizing where this situation would ultimately lead. Antonio then led me through to the bedroom, pulling by my wrist.

After pushing my shorts down slightly Antonio said, “This hair also has to be shaved, Stanley, and the hair on your legs as well.”

I was totally confused, wondering what all the hair removal shit about.

Pulling the elastic confining my ponytail off, he then ordered me to shake my hair loose. My blond hair was shoulder length; I had decided to grow it several months before. Antonio’s broad fingers approvingly pushed their way through my thick mop of hair.

“Make sure you are smooth when I arrive back on Monday,” he ordered.

“Yes Papi,” was all I could think of saying.

Pushing me down onto my knees, he shoved his thick cock towards my mouth. Antonio clasped the back of my head and began pushing forward. Because of his girth, I could only manage fifty per-cent of his cock in my mouth. After a minute or two of frantically spluttering on his knob, he came. I swallowed a bucket load of cum as he grunted loudly.

After I got up he said, “On Monday I want to meet Stacey, shaved and smooth like a woman.” I nodded.

“Goodnight, Antonio,” I said, as I left bewildered.

On Saturday we didn’t need to buy any plants and our interaction was brief. I was, however, astonished to find the regular Antonio working in the garden and our interaction was as it had always been. I was even referred to as Mr. Stanley once more.

That afternoon, I went to the mall in somewhat of a daze. In a large and well-known department store I encountered a very effeminate, young male sales assistant.

Playing open cards with him, he took me under his wing and an hour later I left with makeup, depilatory creams, and an assortment of lingerie. Fuck knew why, because I had never wanted to dress up like a woman and felt like I had just entered the twilight zone.

‘What the fuck am I doing,’ kept repeating in my head.

When I arrived home quite late that afternoon, Antonio had already left for the remainder of the weekend.

On Sunday morning I walked around in a stupor.

“Seriously,” I kept asking myself aloud. “Am I really going to go through with this shit?”

However, thinking about the heavenly Hispanic who had taken control of my life, my mind answered a resounding, “Why the fuck not?’

That morning, I actually had more fun than I had had in a very long while. I had never contemplated giving vent to my female side. But, amazingly, I was having a great deal of fun.

After all the hair removal had taken place I had a shower. I even found an old hair dryer and fluffed up my locks to give them a rather feminine look.

Next, I set about applying makeup to my face, which was a lot harder than I had realized. After an hour or so, however, I had done a pretty good job.

‘Mmm, perfect,’ I thought.

Next, the bra, panties, and stockings followed. I had chosen a chocolate brown ensemble, which the effeminate assistant advised would suit my fair complexion best. He was right! The slightly padded bra also gave me a wonderfully feminine frame. Fortunately, I had small hands and feet and so the final result had a very authentic look and feel. The stockings were epic!

After putting on the silk slippers I had bought I minced around before the mirror, transfixed by my metamorphosis. The sheer nightgown I had bought was the cherry on the cake.

“Fuck, me,” I said aloud, “I could pass as a woman any day of the week.”

Having had my dry run I returned to my normal persona.

The following afternoon when I arrived home after work I made our dinner as usual. By six-thirty Antonio had collected his food.

At around seven-thirty I went to my bedroom and began my transformation, and by eight Stacey was standing on the back porch.

Shortly, I observed Antonio’s front door open, but he did not emerge.

I slowly moved toward his door with a great deal of trepidation. As I arrived at the door I saw him sitting in his lounge. Observing me his face lit up. The relief I felt was enormous, pleased that I had read the situation correctly.

He arose and walking toward me, he said, “Welcome, Stacey, you look beautiful.” I smiled demurely.

Taking me by my hand he led me into the lounge where two glasses of tequila were awaiting us. After picking up both glasses he presented me with mine. Once the liquid was consumed he placed the two glasses back on the table.

Next, after moving toward me and placing his right hand on my neck, Antonio pushed his fingers upward into my hair. Very slowly, he moved his lips towards mine and lightly kissed me. He then moved his lips toward my neck and uttering a sensual sigh, gently kissed my neck.

Antonio’s left arm then encased me as he pulled me into his body. Returning to my lips, he began to kiss me more fervently. With both arms now embracing me, he began rubbing my back as his oral attention escalated even further. Then, with his left hand controlling my head and his right hand on my back, I could feel him pushing his hard knob into my body. As the grip and grind went along for the next while, I became increasingly intoxicated by his manly odour. Antonio had obviously not showered yet that evening.

After our bodies moved slightly apart, he unfastened the cord of my nightgown and let it drop to the floor. Again he enfolded my body and continued his sensual embrace. A short while later, Antonio asked me to place my arms around his neck before he lifted my body and cradled in his arms, carried me to the bedroom. After placing me on his bed he pushed his shorts down and kicked them to the side. As he moved up and over my body, he gently pushed my legs apart before resting on top of me. With my head nestled in his hands, his kissing further intensified.

As his hips swayed rhythmically he ground his cock into me. After a short while Antonio lifted onto his knees, before he slowly began removing my panties.

“Turn for Papi, chica,” he uttered softly.

After turning, Antonio began to rim me. He did so in a leisurely manner, lapping at my hole like a person savouring an ice-cream. Whimpering like a girl I convulsed with pleasure. When his body finally moved over me he apologized for not having showered.

“I hope that you will only shower in the mornings from now on,” I sniggered hornily. Antonio then let out an approving laugh.

As Antonio encased my body, the heady smell of his hairy pits infused my nostrils. Slowly, I began to feel his dick searching for my hole. After nudging my arse-lips for a short while, I felt him prizing me open. Again I let out a feminine whimper as his urgency strengthened. My manhole capitulated to his excavation as he delved ever deeper. I had never enjoyed such fulfilment before. His fat knob stretched and dilated my hole to its limit.

When he eventually commenced thrusting into me I howled approvingly. My ears and neck were lovingly nibbled and kissed, as he plunged his dick into my backside. I prayed that the bliss would not end too soon and begged him to take his time. On and on, my pleasure ensued as he kept altering his pace and intensity. Antonio’s grunting and the rich smell of his body drove me out of my mind. My cock finally erupted all over his sheet as my body shuddered.

A minute later, Antonio growled loudly as he seeded my hole on outstretched arms. Collapsing on me afterward he groaned his approval as his body continued to twitch on top of me. He did not get off me for the next few minutes and we lay there united in bliss.

The Stacey transformation had been well worth all the effort.

When Antonio finally lifted off me and got off the bed, I followed and fell to my knees to worship at the altar of his manhood. As I ran my hands over his butch bandy legs, I paid tribute to the cock that had given me the best fuck of my life. Antonio’s approving groans were loving and sensual, as he smeared his knob all over my face, while massaging my head with his rough hands.

When his hardness began to return I was totally delighted. My mouth welcomed his dick enthusiastically, as he again began to manipulate his hips in a lustful manner.

Fortunately, given my horniness, I at least managed a little more of his cock on this occasion. Regrettably, I never managed the entire knob because Antonio’s cock was just too thick.

After five more minutes, he pulled his dick out of my mouth and after a few lusty tugs on his knob, shot his second load down my throat.

After another brief kissing session, I returned to my home and I had the best sleep of my life.

Over the following year I enjoyed a sexual relationship with Antonio. Truthfully, I knew it wouldn’t last. Antonio wanted to marry and have a family.

Finally, he accepted a job offer on a farm close to his bride to be because of her attachment to her family. He was very emotional on the final evening before his departed.

After Antonio had left I disposed of all the makeup and creams from my former existence. Strangely, I retained all the lingerie which had grown substantially over the previous year.

Over the next month, I had to endure the services of a really disagreeable gardener whom I really did not care for.

Mercifully, a month later I received a call from Antonio asking me if I would employ a younger cousin of his named Joao, a twenty-one-year-old whom he highly recommended. I offered Joao the same deal as Antonio. Fortunately, all Antonio’s former employers also agreed to use Joao’s services and we were all finally rid of the miserable gardener, whom we all despised. Joao turned out to be brilliant!

Joao was not as good-looking as Antonio, but not too shabby. He was taller and slimmer than Antonio and sexy in an odd way.

A few evenings after Joao started working for me, I was standing outside on the back porch. After a short while, Joao exited his front door and waved to me. As he casually rubbed his crotch I felt a sense of Deja vu.

After re-entering his cottage I saw him opening his bedroom curtains moments later. Entranced, I moved towards his bedroom window. When I peered in Joao was standing with his legs apart, tugging on his knob.

‘Jesus’ I thought, ‘this family was in the front row when cocks were being handed out.’

Plucking on his dick with a shitfaced grin, he motioned me to join him.

Obediently, I headed for the front door, which had already been opened. Joao was already in his lounge and continuing to languidly stroke his pole. Engrossed, I entered and was immediately instructed to get on my knees. His cock was not as thick as Antonio’s, but longer.

Gripping my head he slid his knob into my mouth. Because of its smaller girth, his dick was soon sliding down my throat with ease. Joao was not as gentle as Antonio and a lot more verbal. My face-fucking was vigorous and noisy. Unlike his cousin, Joao appeared to be very happy with me being a man.

Sex with Joao was always rougher than with Antonio, which did not worry me in the slightest. As much as Antonio’s sexual ‘female’ requirements had never really troubled me, this new approach was much more enjoyable. An added bonus was that Joao had an even stronger body essence than Antonio.

Two weeks later, when Joao moved into the main house with me I could not have been happier. Joao was totally disinterested in women, which was also infinitely preferable to me. He had a mega sex drive and there was a place in our home, where I wasn’t anally or orally infiltrated.

Much as I always remembered Antonio with great fondness, Joao was definitely more suited to my needs. In addition, Joao was a brilliant cook and as a result my culinary mediocrity finally ended in our household.

 Who could ask for more?

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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   I have been bored since I retired as an international flight purser but I didn’t want to go to work full time so I decided to try that on line “rent a spare bedroom” gig.  Being out here in the middle of nowhere probably means only rare renters but what the hay, hey?  So I dusted and vacuumed and got a request from a single guy driving from Lincoln, Ne. to Denver, CO. for one overnight stay.   Great!!  The doorbell rang about 9pm and I opened the door to see a tall, black haired, blue eyed, high cheekboned hunk.  But on second look the shoulders were slumped, the hair kind of oily, and the blue eyes were red ringed and puffy.  My sympathetic cooing and clucking only seemed to annoy him and he made it clear he only wanted to shower and get some sleep so he could leave early the next am for Denver.  So I showed him his room and the bathroom and retired to my tv room where I was watching an old Tab Hunter movie.  I heard the shower start and what with Tab on my big screen and a naked hunk soaping up in my shower, I soon had a Levis Rise that demanded attention.  After cleaning the splooge off my pants, my t-shirt and my chin, I decided to hit the hay myself.  No sound as I passed his room and soon none from mine as I drifted off thinking of Tab and the tall, soaped up stranger and the few tasty gobs of my own jizz I had wiped up off my t-shirt and popped in my mouth.

   I awoke about 2am needing to pee (that happens at my age) and staggered to the bathroom only partly awake.  I barged in with dick in hand ready to start the waterworks when, behold!, there on the toilet sits the hunk.  When he looked up, I saw tears in his eyes and he saw me with my dick in my hand.  We were both quite surprised but then my nurturing side took over and this time my cooing and clucking worked.  He stood up with a chocked sob and wrapped me in his muscular arms.  Held me tight to his heaving chest.  Laid his head in the curve of my shoulder and neck and let his hot tears run down over my chest.  Which, of course, left no place for his groin to be but pressed up tight against my own.  None of this was covered in the business manual of course so I just winged it.  I stroked his now clean thick hair and patted and stroked the amazing  muscles in his back while inhaling that hot soapy clean body smell.  I just hoped that Junior down there would realize this was not play time and would stay quiet.

    So the story came out.  He had driven to Lincoln with engagement ring in hand to give to the girl of his dreams.   But she (the heartless bitch!) had already engaged with somebody else.       But, why?       She didn’t want the itinerant life of a football player he sobbed.   Truly a heartless bitch.      Football player??      I’m the backup to the backup to the Broncos Quarterback.  My mind reeled.  I was in the arms of a pro football quarterback!!  How many times watching football games had I imagined this scenario?  But without the crying and the sad story.

He was calming down now and seemed over the worst.  Then I felt a stirring in his groin and the unmistakable rising and pushing of a hardening dick against my own.  He was lightly kissing the side of my neck and then the side of my face and then a tongue probed the edge of my mouth.  I welcomed it in and then we were kissing.  Not hot and heavy but sweet and lingering.

“Will you come to bed with me?” he whispered.

To myself a gave a huge “DUH!!” but aloud I only said “of course”.

In bed the slow and lingering became very hot and heavy.  Tongues were lashing, hands were groping and dicks were docking and smearing each other with precum.  Then Junior, boned up and spewing precum, found his delighted self in the mouth of this manly mans man who proceeded to swallow him down so my balls slapped his chin and his nose was in my pubes.  Spectacular sucking began while I clutched the bedding and moaned in delight.   Then he pulled me up so my ass was open, my legs spread wide, and he licked and kissed and probed my ever so welcoming asshole with the tongue you would expect an NFL quarterback to have.  Long and muscular and hard and amazingly agile as it swirled around my sphincter and then plunged in as deep as some dicks I have had.  Then he dropped me back down so my ass was nestled in his crotch and I could feel that hot dripping cock rubbing up and down my crack.  He leaned over for some more face sucking and I got the taste of my own dick and my own ass juice off his tongue and lips.

Then, his lips against my ear, “can I fuck you?”

Again with the mental “DUH” but the raspy voice, “Yes!  Fuck me!  Fuck me like you’re throwing a 60 yard touchdown pass!  Fuck me like I was a teenage towel boy in the locker room!  Oh, Fuck!  Just fuck me any way you want to but hurry up before the anticipation kills me!”

He spit on his hand, rubbed it over my ass crack and positioned the slimy precum slathered head of his dick against my hole.  My asshole was twitching and it felt like it was grasping for that big hard dick to hurry up and ravage it.

It didn’t have long to wait.  My sphincter welcomed that big mushroom head in and then clinched and unclinched as inch after inch slid in until all thick 9″ inches were in deep.  His hairy balls were tight against my ass crack and I could feel the throb of his dick against my prostate.  Junior was ready to spew right then but somehow I held him in and waited for the intense pleasure of that cock sliding in and out to block out any other feeling.  My entire being was centered on that exquisite torturous high of a superlative fuck.  I was only remotely aware of his lips against my ear as he moaned and gasped and steadily pounded me to total nirvana.  Then there was a sharp intake of breath, his entire body shuddered and with a final thrust he started spewing his jizz into me.  I felt the hot rush of it over my prostate and deep deep into my gut.  This was more than Junior could handle and he sprayed his own joyous dick cream in hard spurts that ended up on my belly, my chest, and my chin and lips. 

     I looked up at my quarterback.  His head was thrown back in ecstasy, his long golden neck melted into his gorgeously defined chest  which turned into a long waisted six pack that in turn became his hairy loins which peeked out above my now softening dick and balls and all framed by my legs flung out to open as much of my ass as possible to his dick.  Then he leaned forward, smiling, and licked up some of the cum on my belly and shared it with me in a long deep, languorous kiss.  Then we fell deeply blissfully asleep.

    When I awoke feeling totally happy and fulfilled, I turned to kiss him good morning only to find him gone.  But he had left a note on the dresser for me.

    “Thank you for your compassion and your sympathy.  You helped pull me back from the edge of disaster and if I’m ever in that condition again I will know who to contact.  Thanks again.

PS  I haven’t fucked a guy since high school but I had forgotten how great it is.  Maybe I need to reorient a little.  

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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Colter Rougeau just signs a new contract to help train the new team for the USA Olympic team. He will spend most of his time during the fall all the way up to when the games started later on into the winter.  He just arrived at the curling rink on the outskirts of St, Paul Minnesota and was greeted by the team leader Sam Parker and the head coach Mark Smith Jr.

Their first team meeting went over very well as the sat down trying to figure out what the team Olympic Uniform that they will be wearing for the games. Mark and Colter both agree to go with a light gray material along with a powder blue team shirt as the home team. As for the visitor that was another thing that they could not agree with. Mark had to call in one of the women curlers to help them both decide. She really impressed by the pure white Under Armour curling pants that just came onto the market, along with a dark navy blue shirt that matches it very well.

Over the next few days, the practice went over very well as the five-member team got along very well. Just around 2 weeks before the game Colter got great news that the team would like to make him the head coach for the games. Sam Parker made the final decision after himself and Colter went up on the town for the evening. Sam had just got a divorce from wife number 2 and had kids in their early 20’s. Colter was another story he loves living the male single life to the tee.  

Team USA went 3 and 2 in their first 5 games and began to practice for their huge game against the team from Canada who is rank number one in the world. Team Canada skipped by a Firemen from the city of Calgary Mike Royce who was built like RoboCop. He Stood well over 6’3 with short dark hair and a Tom Selleck trim mustache for the 80’s. Colter was very closet BI-Sexual who would love to get his hands on this fellow for some fun.

Colter who is also Canadian game from the city of Montreal and could speak fluently French and English. His father came from Quebec city as for his mother who came over from France in her late teens. He had a great job for well over 15 years working for Molson brewery along with being vice president of the union there.  He learns how to curl at a young age and went on to win the provincial championship by the age of 22. For a short fucker, he was in great shape from head to toe. He stood around 5’9 and weigh a solid 150 with huge biceps. He had lovely short curly brown hair and kept his beard very trim.

Mike invite him over to the Canadian house for some beers later on that day. They both party well into the night. Both team USA and Canada had a by day tomorrow and which they both can enjoy a day off from there sports. Colter got his nerve up and invite Mike up to his room for a beer after the bar just close down for the night. By the time they got back to Colter room, they were both feeling no pain at all. 

They both chated about curling and had a good laugh about the Swiss team pants that they are wearing for the games. Colter let it slip out that they turn him on a bit. Mike was a little shock by the comment and finally realized that he had the same opinion. 

” Holy shit Mike, I never knew you had the same feeling. “

” Yes, Colter some men turn me on. “

” When was the last time you had some fun Mike “

” It has been almost a year ago “

” I play water polo Colter and meant a guy from Hungary at one of the tournaments. “

” Holy Cow Mike, I love watching water polo dude. “

” You mean the men dude. “

” That so true dude! “

 ” How about you come over here and plant your mouth on my cock? “

Colter got up slowly from the couch as he made his way over to were Mike was sitting. Mike stood up fairly fast and began to unzip his wrangler blue jeans that he likes wearing. Colter was truly amazed by the size of Mike package as he slowly began pulling down Mike jeans to his ankles. 

” Lick my Balls Colt! “

“Yes, Sir Mike. “

Colter’s mouth was enjoying every ounce of Mike precum pouring out of his 9-inch cut cock as the blowjob got more intense. It took Mike a good 20 minutes until his shot off a huge load of spray from his balls that splatter all over Colter beard and mouth.

” Holy fucking shit Mike that felt great dude! “

” Know kidding Colter, You really know how to suck a cock.”

” How about you be a man Mike and fuck my horny ass? “

” Wow, have not fucked a stud like you in years dude.”

It took a good minute for Mike huge cock to slide all the way up inside of Coler small tight hole. Colter was in great pain until Mike took out a small bottle of poppers that he brought with him.

” Take a shot of this Colt, this will help you relax a bit. “

” OMG, Have not done poppers in a few years, Mike. “

They both took a huge snort of the poppers as the fuck got wilder. Mike dick was sliding in of Colt ass like a bullet as his huge set of sweaty nuts are slapping against Colt wet juicy hole. 

” Pass the bottle Mike, I need another shot of the poppers. “

” Take a good snort dude, I’m getting close a bit. “

Mike body began to shake like a volcano going off as he was almost there in cumming.

” I am going to shot now Colter! “

” Give it to me Mike, Shot it, Mike! “

” Here it fucking comes, Jesus Colt! “

Mike scream out through the top of his lungs as his sweaty body jilted forward during his orgasm inside of Colter juicy wet hole. You can smell all of their sexual body order from the fuck as both of them are totally exhausted. 

” That was so fucking hot Mike! “

” You got that fucking right, Colter.”

Mike finally left Colter room just after 3 am as he made his way back to team Canada village. Over the next few days, Team USA came into fourth place just missing the bronze middle from team Swiss. As for Mike, Team Canada won the Gold medal once again.

The End

THE INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES – PART 6

PATRICK’S FINAL TERM AT RIGBY SCHOOL

A Homoerotic Story

by

Jason Land

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CHAPTER 1

Patrick Ingram-Lewis, the Head-Boy had just returned to Rigby School after the Easter holidays. It was the last time he would be returning to the school at which he had been a pupil since the age of thirteen. At the end of this, his final term, he would be leaving the place for ever to start the next phase of his life as a young adult.  As we all know, Patrick was a sexually very active young man; handsome, muscular and sexually very well endowed; he enjoyed sex with both men and women. When he was at school deprived of female company, he never missed an opportunity to fuck the butt of any of his willing classmates of the upper sixth: all boys; or rather young men, now in their final year.

Since his appointment as Head-Boy, he had, however, cut back on his sexual adventures with his contemporaries and restricted his activities to his close friend, Roderick Pennington. But towards the end of the previous term, he had also developed a new liaison with a senior prefect called Atkins. This was a particularly attractive relationship, for Atkins liked to be beaten and then have his freshly caned arse fucked hard. Patrick loved both aspects of their liaison, for he loved beating arse; and the cream on the cake was then to able to shaft what he had just beaten. For him it was a marriage in heaven of two acts which gave him great pleasure.

 

And, of course, we have not to forget the extraordinary relationship Patrick had with the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, for whom he had become what we, today, would call a sort of toy-boy. Mr. Godber was himself an aging, lonely homosexual whose life partner had died a few years earlier and who had found in Patrick a willing means to meet his occasional urge still to have sex. And so Patrick had found himself giving his Headmaster what was referred to in polite terms as “anal stimulation” each Sunday evening. After the first few occasions, Patrick had discovered that he had developed quite an affection for the old boy, who was to retire at the end of that term after lord knows how many years in the service of the school. But Patrick had also to thank Mr. Godber for giving him the status “in loco domini”, which, coupled with his position of Head-Boy, gave him practically full control over all corporal punishment out-of-class time at the school. And as readers of the earlier episodes of this story will know, Patrick loved thrashing boys’ arses almost as much as he enjoyed sex; almost; but not quite!

Patrick was, in spite of his young age, master of the Ingram House, the estate in Northumberland and the Ingram Family coal mining business, which he had inherited as an only child, quite a few years ago on the unexpected early death of his father. He had had to good sense to leave the management of the estate and the mining business, in which he had not the slightest interest, in capable hands and was able to sit back and enjoy the very considerable income which it brought in. Money was not a problem for Patrick Ingram-Lewis; but having it, did not mean that he was obsessed or motivated by it; not in the least! He was not always hankering after this that or the other, which only money could buy. Basically his sex life and enjoyment of it was much more important to him than money.

He had spent a very agreeable break at Ingram House, his ancestral home a few miles west of Newcastle, the nearest big city. He had been basically alone over the holidays in the house apart from his rather remote and, to his mind, miserable mother, Mildred Ingram-Lewis, who went through life with a chip on her shoulder as she was not received by the great and the good of the region by virtue of the fact that the Ingram-Lewis family was what was then referred to as “trade”. At the time of this story, England was still deeply divided by class (today it pretends not to be, but in fact, it still is!) and although it was accepted to have inherited wealth, which the owner had done nothing to merit beyond being born rich, to have become rich by actually earning the cash was a definite no-no! Patrick cared not one jot for what the aristocracy thought of his family, but for his mother it was a cross she had to bear; and bear it she did: openly and never-endingly; in fact it had contributed greatly to the development of both her vinegary character and her miserable outlook on life in general.

When I say that he had been alone over the holidays, I mean that on this occasion his friend Roderick Pennington had not spent his holidays at Ingram House as Patrick’s guest. But Patrick did not in any way lack company with whom to be able to satisfy his sexual needs, for the footman, Geoffrey, and the assistant Gardener, Tom, both of whom were very nifty with their cocks, were on hand and more than willing. And as for female company the nubile nymph of a kitchen maid, Rose, made her considerable expertise available whenever Patrick felt inclined. So all in all, the holiday had been very pleasant and Patrick returned to Rigby feeling sexually quite refreshed and raring to start his final term as Head-Boy in loco domini. In a word he was more or less in charge of all discipline at Rigby school and his word was more or less equivalent to that of God.,

 

CHAPTER 2

It was Monday, the first day of the summer term. All the boys had arrived back and were at the first morning assembly, awaiting the customary announcements to be made by Mr. Godber, the Headmaster. He began: “It came to my notice at the end of last term, that there was still a lot of smoking going on in the dormitories at night, in spite of the strict rule that smoking is not tolerated in this school, or for that matter outside the school premises. And that applies especially to boys of the upper sixth, who being eighteen years of age, are legally allowed to smoke. However, let them be warned; whilst they are at this school, which has the responsibility in loco parentis for all its pupils, whatever their age, smoking will not be tolerated. I trust I make myself clear.”

There was utter silence from the assembly, as the boys waited for what was still to come. It was quite clear that old Godber was not intending to stop with a simple reminder of what everyone present already knew to be the rule. The Headmaster went on: “I am sure that you are all wondering why I chose today, the first day of term to remind you of a rule which I am sure you all know exists and which many of you, I am quite sure, are breaking on a regular basis. Well, gentlemen, let me tell you why I am drawing this rule to your attention today. You have all just returned from your holidays and I suspect that many of you will have taken the freedom which your absence from school has given you to acquire illicit stocks of cigarettes.”

“Now gentlemen; here is what is going to happen. There will be a seven day moratorium, starting now and ending on Sunday evening, during which time you will all hand over to your form-masters any and all cigarettes which you have in your possession. So I trust I am making myself clear. I want all cigarettes handed over by Sunday evening; I repeat: all cigarettes. There will be no punishment of any boy who obeys and hands over any cigarettes, even the odd one or two that he has in his possession must be handed over. By midnight on Sunday, Rigby School will be a cigarette-free place.”

“After next Sunday, any boy found still to be concealing cigarettes will automatically be given twelve strokes of the birch. I will repeat that, so that those of you who hard of hearing are quite certain of what I have said; twelve strokes of the birch; there will be no ifs and buts; no excuses: no extenuating circumstances. If you are found with cigarettes in your possession, then you will automatically be birched at eight o’clock in the evening that same day. Now, for any boy actually caught in the act of smoking a cigarette, the punishment will be even more severe; he will receive fifteen strokes of the birch. There will be no exception to what I have just told you. It is applicable across the entire school, from the first to the upper sixth forms and prefects are not exempt. Indeed I expect them to set an example to the rest of you. I will tolerate smoking no longer as of today in this establishment. I trust I have made myself abundantly clear.”

Mr. Godber had, however, not yet finished. “Now additionally, you all know that consumption of alcohol in any form is strictly forbidden. And that applies equally to you gentlemen of the upper sixth who, having reached the age of eighteen, are legally allowed to drink. I particularly mention the upper sixth form, as many of you, I am sure, think that you may do as you wish as far as drinking is concerned. Well so you may – out of term time; but whilst you are still at this school you will respect the no-drinking rule along with the younger boys.  There will be no exceptions to this rule: and any boy, I repeat, any boy, caught drinking, will automatically be birched. I repeat yet again so that you all understand the punishment you will incur; you will be birched.”

After the assembly, Atkins came up to Patrick and said: “The old boy’s really got the bit between his teeth on this one, it smacks very much of a witch hunt.”

“I am inclined to agree with you Atkins, but have you realised who will be obliged to enforce this. It will be we prefects who have to deal with the whole business. Where are the cigarettes? Well I can tell you they are hidden away in the dorms just as they were when I caught Tomlinson Major and Newby puffing away last term. And in case you have forgotten more than half the boys in their dorm had caches of fags hidden away. I can tell you now, my friend; this business could turn into a real bloodbath. And what’s more, old Godber won’t want to wield the birch himself; it will be me that he expects to take the skin of the arses of any boys caught.”

In general the school took seriously to heart what the Headmaster had said and by the end of the week there was quite a pile of packets of cigarettes which had been surrendered. But, as ever, certain boys always thought that they could beat the system and so quite a lot of cigarettes were still stashed away, especially in the two sixth forms. The attitude of what we might call “the hardened smokers” was that they had to be caught at it and the art was, of course, not to get caught. But lads took all sorts of stupid risks and it was on that very first day of the new term, after the assembly with the fateful warning, that three boys from the lower sixth, Baxter, Carrington and Godfrey, found themselves standing outside the punishment room in their gym strips, waiting to have their arses birched.

These three lads had decided, quite stupidly, to light up in the lavatories, where smoking had been rampant in the past. They been caught, puffing away, by one of the junior perfects who had referred them to Patrick. As you will remember, Rigby had a Prefects’ Court which dealt with punishments on a day to day basis; but as smoking was now a mandatory birching offence, and only Patrick as Head-Boy in loco domini was authorised to wield the dreaded rod, such cases were now automatically referred to him. And truly frightening were the latest versions of the birch used a Rigby. As related earlier in this story, Mr. Patterson the head gardener had come up with a new form of birch made of fine, wiry maple twigs, which in the right hands was capable of delivering excruciating pain to the bare buttocks of the recipient; and this is precisely the instrument which was to be used on these three lads this evening; they had no idea of what was in store for them!

 

Patrick went along to the punishment room a little earlier to check that everything was in order. As Mr. Patterson had predicted, the new version of the birch was much longer lived its classic predecessor and all three original specimens seemed to be in perfect order. That evening he again asked Atkins, who had become Deputy Head-Boy in all but name, to assist him. Promptly at eight Patrick and Atkins arrived at the punishment room to find the three penitent and unhappy looking  lads waiting their fate in the corridor. Opening up the door, Patrick said: Right lads, in you go. I want the three of you against the wall, there, shorts off completely, arses naked, hands on heads.

The three boys obeyed the instructions with a certain understandable reluctance; to stand there naked from the waist down, their hands on their heads and their cocks fully exposed was embarrassing for them. It is strange how nudity works on the mind in different circumstances. All three lads were totally at ease with each other and with their other classmates naked in the showers or in the sports changing rooms; but to be made to stand there, immobile, displaying their naked cocks, which had a mind of their own, and await punishment was a totally different matter and all three of them were clearly acutely embarrassed.

Patrick had selected the longest of the three maple birches, a truly wicked looking implement, from which he shook off the water in which it had been sitting and then swished it a few times trough the air for effect. He could see his future victimd flinching at the thought of what was now about to happen to them. Patrick looked at the three of them, and saw that the full horror of the situation had now dawned upon them and that in the case of two of them, that uncontrollable piece of meat between their legs was already showing clear signs of tumescence. By the time he had finished with them, Patrick fully expected all three lads to have total erections, for naked beating in addition to being painful was also a very homoerotic procedure, both for the beater and the beaten.

“Right; I’ll deal with you in alphabetical order; so, Baxter, if you please, kindly step forward and mount the Rigby Horse. Atkins, would you be good enough to attach Baxter’s ankles and wrists with the straps. Now, Baxter, I suggest you brace yourself as I am going to give you twelve cuts of the birch as laid down by the Headmaster. I will not pretend that this is not going to hurt, because it is; in fact it will probably be the most painful thing that has ever happened to you in your entire time at Rigby. But you have brought upon yourself by your flagrant disobedience and must suffer the consequences of your action.”

Now usually, when several boys are to be punished one after the other, it is normal practice to have those lads who are awaiting their turn, to face away from the horse and their unfortunate classmate. However, on this occasion, Patrick did not accord the two lads who were waiting even that slight courtesy. Carrington and Godfrey found themselves confronted with a full view of Baxter’s soon-to-be-birched arse. And as they watched their cocks became harder and harder until by the time the beating began, they both were fully erect. And when Patrick Ingram-Lewis, Head-Boy in loco domini wielded the birch it was not a pretty sight for the onlookers. Birching should not be turned into a spectator sport as it had been on this occasion; it is an utterly horrific experience for the recipient; the birch cuts into the naked flesh of his buttocks and the pain just builds up and up until it becomes totally excruciating for the recipient.

 

“Atkins: would you be good enough to call the strokes, please,” said Patrick. Atkins obliged and called the first stroke, and Patrick brought down the birch with a tremendous swish to land with a crack across the middle of Baxter’s arse. By the third stroke, Baxter was howling with pain and asking him to stop; but as we all know Patrick would deliver the twelve mandatory strokes with his usual vigour and by the time he had finished, Baxter was reduced to a sobbing wreck.

 

His two partners in crime had looked on, terrified by the thought of what they saw was also going to happen to them in a few minutes time. With consummate skill and with twelve strokes to deliver, Patrick was able to ensure that every square inch of Baxter’s arse was touched by the birch. When he had finished, the boy had a flaming red pair of buttocks, peppered with the small cuts made by the individual twigs of the birch. “Atkins if you would be so good as to release the straps from around Baxter’s wrists and ankles, I think that he may now be allowed to get up from the horse and rejoin his accomplices against the wall. Baxter; I want you with your hands on your head and facing the horse so that you can have the pleasure of watching the fate of your two friends here. Carrington: you’re next; come on lad, jump to it and mount the horse; we don’t have all night! And as for you Godfrey; don’t worry; your turn will come; we have not forgotten you; just be patient!”

 

By the time Patrick had finished with the three lads, they were all feeling very sorry for themselves. He finally told them to put their shorts back on and allowed them to leave. They were all in tears and rubbing their backsides trying, in vain, to relieve the excruciating pain which Patrick had inflicted. One had to believe, looking at the three lads that the maple birch was a very, very painful implement indeed.

 

CHAPTER 3

 

Left alone in the punishment room, Atkins said to Patrick: “You know Ingram-Lewis that was a real virtuoso performance you just put on there. I don’t think those three knew whether they were coming or going after you had finished with them. That birch is really a deadly weapon. How did Patterson ever think of making it like that? With the really whippy twigs, or shoots of the maple he used, he moved from the normal birch into realms which defy the imagination. My God, the pain that that thing is capable of delivering!”

 

Patrick listened to this and said to himself: “Don’t tell me that the arch masochist, Atkins, would like a taste of this new birch himself. If he thinks I’m going to thrash his arse with it, he’s out of his mind. Has he any real idea of just how painful the bloody thing is?”

 

But of course, Atkins was not out of his mind; far from it in fact. For someone who is not himself a masochist, it is difficult understand what the true masochists gets out of any painful encounter which he manages to have inflicted on him. The simple fact of the matter was that there was something in Atkins’s makeup which enjoyed pain; he got what we would today call a kick out of allowing someone else to inflict pain on his body. And having seen this new maple birch in action, he truly wanted to sample the joy of feeling those lissom maple shoots caress his naked arse. I am not sure that the words joy and caress are truly apposite, but that was how Atkins thought of the act which he so much wanted to be visited upon him. He was not slow in coming to the point for he had on an earlier occasion persuaded Patrick to thrash his arse with the junior willow birch (another imaginative punitive implement imagined and made by the one and only Mr. Patterson).

 

“Look here Ingram-Lewis, you know my weakness so why don’t you just give me a few strokes of that birch and then, in turn, you can indulge your own erotic fantasy and fuck my arse which you will have just birched. I presume that you still enjoy thrashing a guy’s arse and then fucking it; well here’s your second chance to do just that. Come on Ingram-Lewis; it’s just between you and me and we will both get something we desperately want out of it. I’ll get my arse beaten by you and you’ll have the pleasure of fucking it; and don’t now tell me that you don’t want to do that because I know you do.”

 

“Atkins; have you any idea what you are asking me to do. Listen man; that birch is a bloody painful implement: twice as painful as the normal birch at my guess. You cannot compare it with the thrashing I gave you last term, again at your request, with the junior willow birch. It’s chalk and cheese; you’ll be screaming for me to stop after a couple of strokes. You saw what it was like for those three I’ve just dealt with; well you’d be exactly the same.”

“But that is precisely what you do not understand, Ingram-Lewis. The fact is that I want to feel real pain: really excruciating pain in fact; that is exactly what I want. I know it’s difficult for you to understand why I want to experience it; but just accept the fact that I do. As the maxim puts it, there are horses for courses and that’s what I want. So, do be a good chap and give me a few cuts and then you can assuage your guilty feelings and fuck my butt. And then we can take it from there.” Atkins concluded, with a knowing smile.

 

As we all know, Atkins was quite nifty with his own cock and it was certain that what started as a birching would quickly turn into a private fuck-fest between the two young men, for they were both highly motivated sexually, as were many of the boys in the upper sixth. I keep referring to them as boys, but they were really all young men  as they were  now all aged eighteen or over.

 

Patrick hesitated before replying: “All right Atkins if you really insist; but on your own head be it. Look we had better get out of here and go back to my study where we will be undisturbed whilst I administer this extraordinary painful implement of discipline to your arse. But listen here, Atkins; I’m not going to strap you down and I am giving a maximum of six cuts. You will just have to bend over the Head-Boy’s beating stool (again conceived and built by the ever inventive Mr. Patterson). So, my friend, you will be free to get up whenever you wish, which I reckon will be pretty damn quick once you have felt the pain that this bloody weapon delivers.”

Once in Patrick’s study. Atkins stripped off completely. Patrick could not but admire his muscular physique and sexual endowment for Atkins was a well set-up young man and he knew it! “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, Ingram-Lewis,” said Atkins, “Then when you have finished dealing with me, you will be ready to take your reward.”

So Patrick too stripped off and the two young studs stood there, stark naked, looking lustfully at each other. By this time each of them was sporting a full erection and it was obvious that what was about to happen was to be a truly homoerotic experience for both of them. Atkins went to the beating stool and bent across it and said: “Now, Ingram-Lewis, don’t hold back. I want to feel the birch correctly applied to my arse as if you were thrashing a miscreant. So don’t hold back; just lay the bloody thing on.”

 

Patrick still had certain misgivings. It was not that he did not enjoy beating a boy’s backside; for he did; and it always gave him considerable erotic pleasure to see some miscreant squirm as he applied stroke after painful stroke, whilst he himself made a vain attempt to control his own burgeoning erection, which inevitably accompanied such occasions. But this was somehow different and he had to steel himself to make the first cut. However, once he got started and Atkins started making what passed for appreciative noises, he laid on the birch with his customary vigour.

After six strokes he threw the birch down and said: “Come on Atkins, up you get. I said six and I meant six and I’m not going to give you any more. You should just see your arse, man: it’s a horrible mess already.  Frankly I don’t know how you stood it. And as for how you are going to explain the state of your arse to your classmates in the showers, well, that’s your business; but kindly leave me out!”

 

“Ingram-Lewis, that was one of the best thrashings I have ever had; and, you know, I enjoyed every minute of it. Now, over to you. What position do you want me in for the first fuck?”

 

Patrick noticed that Atkins had said first fuck which was encouraging as Patrick was feeling in fine fettle for an evening of sexual excess. So Patrick led his friend into his bedroom, pushed him face down on the bed and told him to stick his arse in the air. Then with true professionalism he reached for a bottle of oil, lubricated Atkins’s anus and his own rock-hard tool before thrusting it deep into Atkins, who let out a moan of pleasure as he took Patrick’s full length inside him.

 

Remember that all this was taking place whilst the two young men were still at school, but both of them had become highly experienced at anal sex. Indeed, what had started as a simple act of buggery, as was the case between many of the frustrated sixth formers, had quickly developed into a serious sexual relationship. The young men were at the age when sex was very important to them and lack of any access to the opposite sex led many of them to form serious homosexual liaisons with their schoolmates: liaisons which for main part disappeared when the boys left school and entered normal society. But whilst at school many of the lads went at it like rabbits.

 

As Patrick was fucking Atkins, he suddenly had a feeling of guilt as he reflected on his close relationship with Roderick Pennington. What concerned Patrick at the present moment as he pounded away at his partner’s arse, was what Roderick would think if he knew what was happening. Would he be insanely jealous or would he just accept it as normal? Roderick had not been with Patrick for the holidays just gone and Patrick had had no qualms about satisfying his sexual needs whilst at home with Geoffrey, the footman, Tom the gardener and Rose. But here at school might things be different? Patrick had not yet talked to Roderick since the start of term yesterday. But fate intervened and resolved the problem and dispersed any doubts and guilt feelings that Patrick was experiencing.

Patrick had just settled down to the job of fucking his partner; he had just got into his stride; the steady powerful rhythm with long strokes of his cock, which was his style and he was intent on giving Atkins’s anus a very thorough hammering indeed. But then, when did Patrick ever do anything by halves? It was the same thing with sex as it was with beating the boys at Rigby: he put his heart and soul into such acts. When a boy had been beaten by Patrick, he knew that it was an experience he would not like to repeat; although many, stupidly, did! And when he fucked butt, his partner knew that he (or she, in the case of Rose, the kitchen maid at Ingram House) had had a rare treat, as Patrick always endeavoured to bring his partner to a climax at the same time as he himself shot his load, which few men engaged in casual sex ever do. And so Patrick was usually a welcome sex partner for any proffered arse as he gave such satisfaction to his partner.

 

And so, totally intent on serving Atkins, he was taken completely unawares when he suddenly felt a long hard shaft thrust against his own anal sphincter and enter his own rectum. Then a pair of hands gripped the side of his buttocks as his assailant synchronised his thrusting with that of Patrick’s. Glancing round he saw to his utter amazement that it was, of course, his close friend Roderick who had entered the bedroom unobserved and had decided to profit from the occasion and to join in the fun. And so what had begun as a two man act suddenly became a three man act with Patrick in the middle fucking Atkins and in turn being himself simultaneously fucked by Roderick.

 

Patrick and Roderick had together, during two holidays at Ingram house, enjoyed what I suppose were mini sex-orgies with Geoffrey, the footman and Tom, the assistant gardener and so to find himself in the middle position of a three-man fuck was nothing new for him. So both young men pressed on and all three of them managed to climax at the same time, after which they all collapsed laughing on Patrick’s bed. What the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, would have thought had he caught them in the act, lord only knows. It would, of course, have been very difficult for him to take any serious action as although he overtly stood by the school rule that sex between the boys was totally impermissible, he himself relied on Patrick each Sunday evening to give him a dose of anal stimulation.

 

But Mr. Godber did not catch the boys in the act; and Patrick quickly rectified the error he had made when he and Atkins had returned to his study. So eager had they been to indulge their sexual fantasies that Patrick had totally forgotten to lock his study door behind them and Roderick had simply entered quietly, thinking that he and his regular sex partner might have a little reunion. Finding his friend already  engaged he had seen no reason not to join in himself which is how the present little “ménage à trois” had come about.

And so the three young men continued for another full hour, indulging their sexual fantasies together, before retiring to their respective beds. Patrick was relieved to find that Roderick had not taken his liaison with Atkins amiss, and in fact, the three of them enjoyed several other sessions together during that final term at Rigby. What was interesting was that when they all left Rigby to continue their future post-school careers, the intimate relations that had held them together as Rigbyans, played no part in their future lives and the three young men each went their separate ways. Sex at Rigby at been a short lived necessity, fulfilling the urgent sexual needs of three well equipped young studs; but it ended when they each went they each finally left the school.

 

CHAPTER 4

 

It was just the next day that Patrick had occasion to go down into the town to buy some shaving soap. He made his purchase at a chemist’s shop and, plucking up courage whilst blushing inwardly with embarrassment and feeling his cock hardening between his legs at the utterly erotic thought of what the was about to do, he asked the sales assistant for two packets of condoms. The word condom was not then in popular use as it is today, but knew the brand as Geoffrey had provided him with them for his trysts with the lovely and nubile Rose back at Ingram house.

He was not at all sure what he would do with them for he had no female company in mind; but Geoffrey, the footman, and impressed upon him the need always to be prepared and so he bought them. To add to his embarrassment, the shop assistant asked him nonchalantly if he would like a tube of lubricant to go with his purchase. He took the shaving soap, the condoms and the proffered tube of gel, paid and hurried, red faced,  out of the shop to avoid any further embarrassment as his cock was by now quite hard and pushing the crotch of his trousers into a tent-like shape..

 

Luckily it had been a man who had served him for had it been a female employee, his courage would surely have failed him and he would have left empty-handed apart from the shaving soap. He noticed that the shop assistant had not raised an eyebrow when he had told him, what he wanted, for in fact, quite a few young lads in their late teens, who fucked around with any girl they could get their hands on, were regular customers and a sale was a sale. The morals of his customers had nothing to do with him! If young lads wanted to fuck the girls, then good luck to them!

 

It is difficult for us, living in the sexually permissive world of today, where condoms and lubricants are commonplace items and available freely on any supermarket shelf, to realise just how embarrassing the purchase of these essential items was for a young man, especially one in the Rigby School uniform of pinstripe trousers, short- tailed coat, white shirt, black bow-tie and wearing a prefect’s mortar board to boot. Such essential items were never mentioned by name and often the commonest source was the barber’s shop frequented only by men. But even there, in the all-male environment men were quite shy about making such purchases. Thinking back personally, I can remember only one occasion among dozens of times I have had my hair cut, that a customer bought a packet of condoms. It was in my student days and the guy was a uniformed airman, who asked the barber how many rubbers there were in the packet.

 

And I can well remember my own first purchase, as a university student, which was from one of those doubtful shops, sort of pseudo chemists, often found in run-down parts of towns, which had large Durex Transparent Latex signs in the window.  And I can tell you that like our friend Patrick I felt quite embarrassed as I made made my first purchase; and like him, I left as quickly as possible. I don’t even recollect what the proper name for them was in those long-gone days, for the word condom came into popular use much later; as lads, we crudely called them rubber Johnnies. But make no mistake, embarrassing or not though their purchase might have been, lots were nevertheless bought and there was just a much sex in the early 1900’s as there is today: it was just not so overtly talked about.

So to come back to Patrick with his shaving soap and condoms in his pocket, with no immediate use for the latter in mind, whom did he now see walking towards him as soon as he left the shop, but the Tomlinson brothers: Colin the major and Thomas the minor. Neither lad was wearing the mandatory summer headgear: a straw boater with the house ribbon around the crown. So as every Rigbyan knew, getting caught without his hat down town or for that matter anywhere outside the school grounds, meant a bare bum beating. Patrick saw the two boys, who were engaged in chatting to each other, before they saw him and he stood waiting on the pavement until they were almost upon him.

“Tomlinson major; I thought that it was you I saw approaching and I see that on this occasion you have your younger brother, Tomlinson minor, in tow. What, if I might ask, are you two boys doing down town late afternoon on a weekday? Surely you know that such visits to town are forbidden unless you have an exeat signed by a master, which I assume that you both have. And I notice also that you both seem to have forgotten your hats, which as you know the school rules state quite clearly you must wear at all times. So boys, to clarify matters perhaps you would each show me your signed exeat permitting you to be down-town at this hour on a weekday and then we will discuss the reason for your lamentable lack of head-gear.”

 

Tomlinson major, as ever, never sort of a word, launched himself into what he intended to be an explanation and justification of what was clearly a flagrant breach of two of the school most important rules. Patrick stopped him: “Tomlinson please spare me another of your long-winded fantasies. I simply asked to see your signed exeats. Now do you have them or not? Come on boys, hand them over if you have them.”

Patrick knew full well that neither lad had ever asked a master for an exeat or given any thought to that fact that they were not wearing their hats; they had simply decided, for some reason or other, that they would slip off into town for some as yet undefined purpose had now been caught in the act, for which both lads knew full well that they would each now have to pay a very painful price in the form of a very sore arse.

 

“Ingram-Lewis sir,” began Tomlinson major, as ever undeterred, “Perhaps if you would allow me to explain the circumstances which have….”

“Tomlinson; I did not ask for an explanation of your presence in town, but merely to see your signed exeats. Now do you or do you not have them?”

 

“Well Ingram-Lewis, we really did not think that we needed an exeat as we were….”

 

He was again cut short by Patrick who said: “Tomlinson major; it is clear that neither you nor your younger brother have the required exeat allowing you to be in town today at this hour. And to compound your offence, neither of you has even bothered to wear your hat. And so, I shall look forward to receiving you both in my study this evening at eight sharp, immediately after supper, when we shall thrash this matter out once and for all in the time honoured manner. And as usual for such appointments kindly note that you should arrive wearing your gym strips and no underwear. I trust I have made myself abundantly clear. Oh, and please don’t forget to bring your bums with you, for they are going, as ever, to play an important part in the proceedings.”

 

But Tomlinson major was still not finished and attempted to have the last word now that he could see that the die was cast and that he and his younger brother were not going to escape a beating that very evening: “Ingram-Lewis sir, I realise that you are going to punish us for breaking the rules, but please, sir, the fault is entirely mine. I persuaded my younger brother to come with me into town and it was really against his will; honestly it was sir; so he is actually a completely innocent party in this affair and you should not punish him as he does not deserve it: truly he does not, sir.”

 

“Tomlinson, it really is very noble of you to shoulder the entire blame for this unfortunate lack of respect for the school rules yourself, but I think that your brother is old enough to know that when he agreed to come down town with you he was breaking a cardinal rule of the school, not to mention the lack of any head gear, which simply makes matters worse. So I am afraid, Tomlinson, that I shall require you both to attend tonight’s meeting when you will both suffer the consequences of your joint lapses of judgement. So until this evening: eight sharp in my study in your gym strips. Now both of you; get back to school before another prefect catches you breaking the rules.”

 

Patrick was secretly a great admirer of Tomlinson major in spite of the numerous beatings he had given the boy. Colin Tomlinson did not have a bad bone in his body and had always taken his punishment with good grace and without question. He was, in fact, not a bad boy or a bad student in anyway; it was just the he was mischievous and disregarded any rule which did not suite his purpose at any given moment. And so he often ran down the school corridors, in the full knowledge, that if caught, he would get this arse thrashed, which happened on regular occasions; Patrick and other prefects had caught him in the act on numerous occasions and had had the pleasure of beating the boy’s arse. But that did not deter him from running in the corridors in the least.

 

But to return to the present infraction; the two Tomlinson brothers duly presented themselves in their gym strips at Patrick’s study that evening. The younger Thomas Tomlinson had asked his brother what he thought would happen to them that evening after his elder brother, had attempted to take the entire blame on his own shoulders. To this question he received a not very reassuring reply to the effect that knowing the Head-Boy as he did, they were both likely to get their arses thoroughly roasted. “Ingram-Lewis is a really hard caner in my experience,” said Tomlinson major to his brother. “So I reckon we’ll both come away with twelve strokes at least as that’s the minimum he ever gives. Pull yourself together, Tom, as we are both in for a bloody good hiding as Ingram-Lewis really does know how to lay it on with the cane.”

 

Knowing what was about to happen to them, it was not surprising that the two boys entered Patrick’s study in a state of extreme nervousness. Patrick was sitting behind his desk looking very serious. He had decided, for dramatic effect, that he would beat the two lads together, to which end he had already placed in the centre of the room, two chairs, back to back, but with large space between them. Across the seat of one of the chairs one of Mr. Godber’s mature canes was ready in waiting. Patrick had chosen a light junior cane, but one which had seen many years use and was very flexible and closely knotted along its length: a really viciously effective instrument of punishment; one guaranteed to inflict great pain in spite of its lightness.

 

“Well, gentlemen, thank you for presenting ourselves so punctually this evening. Now just to get things quite clear, you are both aware, I presume that by going into town today you broke two of the school’s cardinal rules. Neither of you had a requisite exeat allowing you to go into town and neither of you were wearing our school boater. So, to be quite clear, both of you were fully aware that you were breaking the rules and that if caught you would be punished.”  Patrick paused and waited until both boys admitted that they had known what they were doing at the potential painful consequences of their actions.

He was about to continue when Tomlinson major, ever ready to proffer some far-fetched excuse in an attempt to salvage what was obviously a lost cause, decided to make one very last attempt to divert Patrick from his purpose and said: “Ingram-Lewis, sir, if you would perhaps just allow me to explain, then I think that you will see that the whole thing is a complete misunderstanding. You see sir……”

 

Patrick cut him short and said: “Tomlinson, the only

misunderstanding is yours, in that you think you can smart talk your way out of any unpleasant situation entirely of your own making. You chose to break the rules and you are now going to pay the price for your actions. There is nothing to explain, Tomlinson, so kindly shut up as I do not want to listen to another of your long-winded, feeble excuses.”

 

Patrick picked up the cane which was exceptionally long, some some 36 inches, and very, very flexible. Patrick demonstrated to the two boys just how the cane could be bent into a complete circle without breaking: “So you see gentlemen, that when this splendid implement from a bygone age mates with its targets, to wit your arses, the free end bends around and ensures that the flank of the further buttock is also included in the stroke. And as you will each shortly appreciate, this type of cane guarantees extremely good value from each and every stroke.”

“But enough of this talk and let’s get down to business. The two of you, step out of your shorts and bend across the chairs there. Tomlinson minor, I want you on the left and your brother on the right. Come on now, quick about it; bend well over the chair, keep your hands on the seat and both of you stick your arses well up so that I can see what I am doing. We don’t want things to go off half-cock do we? I always aim to deliver an artistically well beaten arse; one that I can be proud of as Head-Boy and one which the bearer can be equally proud when he shows off his battle scars to his classmates.”

But having got both boys in the appropriate position to beat their arses, Patrick still went on with his monologue. “I see, gentlemen, looking at your backsides, that you clearly did not misbehave at home during the recent holidays and that your father did not have occasion to correct either of you. So, your bums are both in perfect condition to be reintroduced to a dose of the Rigby Rigour. Tomlinson major, it is indeed fortunate that your arse and my cane are going to commune together so early in the new term, for to miss an early intervention with you would be like a day without sunshine for me. So I can tell you, that your presence, today, is much appreciated and I shall do my very best to put a little colour back into what is a rather pallid looking pair of cheeks. Rest assured Tomlinson major, that I shall leave you with an arse which will be the talk of the dormitory tonight when your classmates examine your stripes in the showers. But don’t you worry, Tomlinson minor that your brother is getting all the attention; your needs will not be forgotten and I can assure you that you too will be the proud bearer of your battle scars in the showers this evening.”

 

Whether either of the Tomlinson brothers much appreciated Patrick’s long-winded remarks, extolling the artistic masterpieces into which he was about to turn their arses we shall never know; but to judge by the expressions on their faces they were both increasingly terrified by what was about to be visited on their posteriors. And they had good cause to feel apprehensive; as already observed, Patrick was a hard caner and always laid on the strokes with the maximum force, but which he judged would not break the skin of its target.

His philosophy was that if a boy was to be punished, then it had to hurt, otherwise what was the point. And so, no matter what the offence or the age of the victim, Patrick always laid on the cane with vigour; the Tomlinson brothers were just about to be treated to one of the most painful experiences in their lives. Of course, for the older boys he used a senior cane, of which he had a good selection of mature specimens, provided to him at the beginning of the school year by the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, himself a true believer in the beneficial effects of the cane on a boy’s backside.

“So, gentlemen, if you are both ready shall we begin? Now, as you were both caught red-handed together, I thought it appropriate and would be of some comfort for the pair of you if I were to beat you together. And so, I shall begin by giving you, Tomlinson minor, your first stroke and then do the same for your brother. And then I shall give each of you strokes alternately. Oh; I’m so sorry; for I seem to have forgotten to tell you; you are each getting twelve, which should guaranteed each of you a well warmed arse to take to bed tonight. I have decided to be lenient with you in spite of your two offences, both of which under normal circumstances would merit twelve strokes. So as you will appreciate. I am letting the pair of you off very lightly. (Lightly? Twelve strokes of a flexible rattan cane across a naked arse and Patrick called that “lightly”). Gentlemen, brace yourselves, keep your hands on the seat of the chair and do not move until I have finished. If either of you resists or moves, then I shall be obliged to begin again.”

Patrick placed himself between the two boys and checked that he could, from that position, apply the cane exactly where he wished. He intended to start by applying strokes forehand to the younger brother and then backhand to the elder boy, He had been practising this technique and now felt that he could place his backhand strokes as accurately as those given forehand. He was particularly keen about this, as it was a matter of pride to him to be able to place twelve evenly spaced cuts across a boy’s buttocks with no stroke ever overlapping, In a word, Patrick saw himself as an artist with the cane and wanted, each time he beat a boy, to have the satisfaction of seeing a neatly beaten arse with good clean stripes: a sort of temporary work of art. The recipients would probably have disagreed with this view had they been aware of it.

Patrick began by first tapping the cane several times lightly across the younger Tomlinson’s arse, before settling on a central spot to place the first cut. As he tapped, he could see the boy’s arse muscles flexing and relaxing again in quick succession, in anticipation of what was about to happen to him. “Relax your arse, Tomlinson” he said. “You will find it best that way.” Finally Patrick raised the cane above his head and brought it down with a tremendous swish directly onto the centre of the boy’s bum. The young lad drew in an enormous breath and then let out a howl of pain. Patrick then paused for a few seconds before addressing his brother’s expectant backside.

This time he placed the cane exactly in the centre and then without any further preparation, brought it down with another resounding crack precisely on the intended spot. In both cases the end of the cane wrapped itself over the further buttock and prolonged the painful cut still further. Then with slow and deliberate strokes, each separated by what he fancily thought of as a pause of appreciation, he continued the ritual for another five strokes, by which time neither boy could hold back his tears.

Patrick then repositioned himself on the opposite side between the two suppliant lads, now making Tomlinson major his forehand target. He then continued to administer the other six cuts, by which time both boys were howling with pain. He surveyed his handiwork which was in the form of twelve neatly placed deep red welts on each boy’s arse. No welt touched another and with twelve cuts, Patrick had effectively covered the entire surface of each boys arse with painful stripes. It was quite clear that the two lads had undergone an excruciatingly painful beating and well they knew it.

“Well gentlemen. I think that concludes our business for today; so you may now both get up and put your shorts back on. I hope that you have learned a lesson and will in future observe the rules. However, knowing you as I do, Tomlinson major, I have little doubt that we shall probably have another encounter during the term. After all this is only the second day and already you have broken two rules. Now let me just say this to you; if I have to bring you in here for another beating within the next month, then I shall have no hesitation in upping your punishment to twelve strokes of the willow birch, no matter what the offence. You Tomlinson are an inveterate recidivist: a piece of mischief just looking for somewhere to happen and you have to be brought to heel.”

“As for you Tomlinson minor, I suggest that you do not emulate your elder brother or allow yourself to be persuaded by him to enter into any of his hare-brained activities, otherwise you too will find yourself with a perpetually sore arse. Make no mistake boys; if I catch either of you breaking the rules again, any rule at all, then I shall have no hesitation in beating you. Now you may thank me for correcting you and get off to your respective dormitories and take what solace you can from your classmates’ undoubted admiration of my artistic work on your bums.”

 

The two lads left, massaging their painful backsides in a somewhat futile attempt to ease the agony of the beating. Young Thomas said plaintively to his brother: “Colin; why did we go down town in the first place? We didn’t actually buy anything and all we have as a result of looking in shop windows is a killingly sore bum each. So why did we go in the first place? Ingram-Lewis is right, Colin; I shall paddle my own canoe from now on. I don’t want anything more to do with any of your hare-brained ideas. Jesus, man, my arse is absolutely killing me; I don’t think I’ll be able to sit down for days; and it was all for nothing!”

For once his brother was lost for words.

CHAPTER 5

The second week in term bore witness to a radical change in Patrick’s sex life.  Hitherto, when at school, as was also the case with his fellow sixth formers, Patrick’s sex life had been limited to acts of anal sex with certain of his classmates.  But Patrick had gained considerable experience of sex with a woman thanks to his footman, Geoffrey, who had introduced him to Rose, the nubile and highly sexed kitchen maid at Ingram House, who during his holidays at home in Northumberland had proved an excellent teacher for Patrick. And so, here he was aged eighteen pushing nineteen, sexually experienced way beyond his age, but stuck in an all male environment. Whilst he loved fucking his school-mates, he really felt that he would like to widen his sexual horizons to include more encounters with members of the opposite sex,  as he had truly enjoyed having sex with Rose.  In fact, Patrick was equally at home in his sexual activities with either men or women and here he was, highly frustrated, confined to a boys’ school with not a nubile female in sight: or so he thought. 

But he was wrong as he discovered quite by accident.  The school had its own laundry, which worked five days a week washing not only the bed linen linen but also the shirts, underwear and socks for the boys, every item of which had its owner’s a name tag sewn to it.  It was when he received his week’s clean clothes from the laundry that he discovered a shirt was missing and so he went to the laundry himself to find out what might have happened to it.

The laundry was in a completely separate building into which under normal circumstances the boys themselves never ventured. Indeed it would be safe to say that most of them were totally unaware that a school laundry existed. They packed up their dirty washing each week in a wicker hamper and received a replacement back with their clean things each Friday.  And so it was that Patrick, enquiring after his lost shirt, discovered that there were, in fact, female staff at the school and that one of them, the very girl who dealt with him was an extremely attractive young thing somewhere about twenty years of age.  Patrick  he looked at her and she looked at him it was clear that they found each other mutually attractive; it was not a case of lust rather than love at first sight. But once having located his lost shirt, he said goodbye to the girl and returned to his study.

 

 

But he could not, nevertheless, get the girl of his mind as he had clearly discerned her interest in him in much the same way that a knowing look over the dinner table at Ingram House had brought him and the footman, Geoffrey together; and we all know what the consequences of that one look had been. I suppose today we would say that there was some immediate chemistry between them, but such high flown ideas were then unknown.  Patrick racked his brain trying to think how he could find out who the girl was and how he might meet her, but he drew a blank until that marvellous thing, chance, came into play.

It was on the Saturday afternoon that Patrick had gone into town to make a few purchases of writing materials, when leaving the stationer’s shop, he ran slap into the laundry girl, who more or less finished up in his arms.  They each recognised the other and laughed; Patrick apologised for his clumsiness and not unnaturally then walked at her side for a short way. Patrick was as captivated by the girl now as he had been when he met her the previous day in the school laundry and it was evident from the easy way that she allowed him to walk beside her that she was not at all shy and that she also found him attractive.  This was not at all surprising, for Patrick was a well set-up young man with those general sort of handsome good looks guaranteed to set any girl’s heart pounding.  In modern parlance Patrick was a very attractive hunk.   

 

Passing a tea shop, Patrick asked the girl, whose name he still did not know, if she would like to have tea, to which she agreed with alacrity.  And so it was over tea that the two young people got to know each other and Patrick, by now totally smitten by what he could see of Carole, for that was her name, began what I suppose was his first seduction.  He could already feel a certain stirring between his legs and it was quite clear that his companion felt the same about him. Carole Whitaker, to give her her full name, was nineteen years old and had been working in the school laundry since she left school aged thirteen.  She hailed from a remote village in North Yorkshire and now lived by herself in a room she rented in the town centre.

Tea over, they left the teashop and Patrick wondered what would happen next, for he did not want to leave Carole at that moment,  but he had no idea what the two of them could do, walking together down the street as they now were.  He just knew that he desperately wanted to have sex with this girl; but in spite of her apparent openness towards him, did she reciprocate the feeling? But he need not have feared that the embryo seduction was about to fail, for for Carole clearly felt the same as him about what was happening. She now took up the reigns and coyly asked Patrick if he would like to see where she lived: “It will be quite quiet now,” she said, “As my landlady works late on Saturday evenings; so we won’t be disturbed.”  We won’t be disturbed!  Could anything have been sweeter to Patrick’s ears? The girl was obviously as keen to pursue whatever was about to happen as he was.  Patrick jumped for joy inwardly, as Carole uttered those deliciously inviting words: “We won’t be disturbed.”  

Patrick  drank in this piece of new with an inward feeling of euphoria; it was clear that Carole was as attracted to him as he was to her and what was, in fact, his first attempt at seducing a young lady appeared to be progressing swimmingly. Once inside Carole’s room, which was quite spacious and really pleasantly furnished, the two young people could not keep their hands of each other and it was obvious that Carole needed no encouragement: in today’s idiom, she really had the hots for him as much as he had for her.  But for Patrick there was the problem of coming to terms, for the first time, with the paraphernalia of clothing which ladies wore in 1900. 

In his previous amorous encounters with Rose, his kitchen maid, she had always arrived in his bedroom in a state of almost total undress or was already naked in his bed before he himself arrived. But now things were different. He was confronted by a fully clothed young female with whom he had every intention of having sex, but he first had to get her clothes off and her into bed.  It is difficult today for us to imagine just now complicated was the female dress of that period. Zip fasteners, Velcro and the like had not been invented and dressing and undressing was always an elaborate ritual:  multiple buttons had to be undone, hooks and eyes separated, cross lacing loosened to enable foundation garments to be removed. It was not surprising that grand ladies needed a maid to help them with their labours. To say that Patrick stripped the girl (as today might well have been the case) and lifted her into bed (which he ultimately did) would have been the understatement of the year.

Once Carole was finally freed of her multiple skirts, petticoats, vests, bloomers and lord know what else,  Patrick saw for the first time that he was in the presence of a lovely and desirable young woman, whom he simply could not wait to fuck. With Carol now in bed, he shed his own clothes with no embarrassment at all and Carole made appreciative noises as she viewed her prospective lover. And well merited her appreciation was, for in his nakedness, Patrick was a muscularly handsome young stud with a very large and, for Carole, desirable “endowment” which was already rock hard and raring to go.

And it was now for the first time that Patrick fully appreciated the wisdom of his footman, Geoffrey, who had told him always to carry condoms on him and be prepared, as one never knew what unexpected opportunity might present itself.  Today, by chance, here was just the opportunity he had been dreamed of, which had simply walked unexpectedly into his life that afternoon. And even though he did not really know Carole at all, there was something which had clicked between them and she was clearly willing a party as to what was about to happen. As he lay down at her side, Patrick was under no illusion that he was about to deflower his first virgin, for it was obvious that Carole was a girl, who like Rose, had certainly some experience with men.

Now Patrick felt that he was fully conversant with gay sex and knew exactly what he was doing and in the light of his numerous encounters Rose he did not feel at nervous to be with only his second girl ever.  But even the slightest trace of nervousness which he might have had, disappeared as soon as he touched Carole, for she literally melted into his arms.  Here was a dream girl who clearly wanted sex as much as he did and he was in a position to give it to her.  Rose had taught him not to rush things; to treat a woman gently, and not to forget to coax her private parts to life with his fingers before attempting to penetrate her.  But Carole really did have the hots for him, for he had barely touched her clitoris before he realised that she was already fully lubricating and ready for him.  So he rolled on the rubber and with Carole willingly on her back with her legs spread wide open to receive him, he very gently eased his large cock into her and gave her a few gentle but firm thrusts to test out the new territory.

So Patrick and Carole made ardent love in her room for the first time that afternoon. He was very gentle with her, but nevertheless used firm and long strokes of his cock to bring her and himself to a simultaneous climax. Rose had taught him to try to bring his partner to orgasm at the same moment as he himself shot his load and with his considerable experience at gay anal sex, he had learned to control his cock and his emotions so that he could delay his own climax until he judged his partner too was ready. To his credit he managed to do this and at the climactic moment, Carole clung to him and shook with emotion as she experience a shuddering orgasm; he pumped his sperm into her: sperm which was caught in that all important piece of transparent latex he was wearing.  As a first act of sex between them it was a divine and utterly successful occasion.  When it was over, Carole clung to him like a limpet until they both calmed down.

It was, for him, an absolutely heavenly experience to penetrate so deeply such a willing partner; a sentiment that was echoed by her, judging by the appreciative moans she made.  And for the first time his partner addressed him by his Christian name alone with no honorific: “Patrick,” she said, “You are so big and gentle; you are utterly divine. I have never felt anyone like you.”  This confirmed to him that he was not the first person to enter her private domain; but to be fair, he was not exactly a beginner himself and what the hell, Carole was utterly delicious and he revelled in the way in which she simply melted into him. So even though he realised that he was with an experienced partner, he did not in any way disdain her for that.

Suddenly, Carole was holding Patrick’s cock in her hand and she started gently to massage it. Patrick was, of course, totally unable to control himself as his man-meat responded automatically to Carole’s ministrations. Within a minute his cock was again rock-hard and Carole then slid down and took his cock head in her mouth.  This was a shock for Patrick as it was the first time that anyone had ever actually sucked his cock: a new experience which became ever more delicious and enjoyable as Carole persisted with her tongue.  As he lay there letting the girl service him with what we would today call a blow job, he reflected on the fact that, much like Rose,  Carole was clearly a sexually very experienced young woman who enjoyed what she was doing enormously. 

After a few minute, by which time he was in a great state of arousal, Patrick suddenly rolled over on top of Carole, reached out to the side table where he had placed his condoms, rolled on a fresh rubber and with no warning thrust his cock deep into her again.  This time he gave Carole a really hard and vigorous fuck in contrast with the gentle way in which their first coupling had taken place.  As he grew ever more forceful, Carole urged him on: “Yes, yes Patrick, don’t stop; go on; I like it really hard; do it: do it: do it; Patrick you are just so hard and big; I just love what you are doing to me; please don’t stop.”

Patrick, who by now needed no urging, could not have stopped had he been asked to do so.  On and on he went, until he again climaxed and shot his second mighty wad, as his cock sank deeply into his partner. Carole climaxed simultaneously again and clung to him as she shuddered with that incredible feeling which only a true orgasm can give to a woman.  And it is precisely that feeling of ecstasy which only a man can truly produce in a normal heterosexual woman, which Carole clearly was. It is exactly this feeling which, once experienced, becomes like a drug for many women; they cannot do without it and it often keeps them together with a man whom they basically hate. In a word they enjoy being fucked by a guy who can satisfy them and love does not really enter into the equation: it becomes just raw sex.

Lying there together, arms and legs entwined in what I suppose must be called post-coital bliss, Patrick said: “Carole, you really are a girl of hidden talents; that was just about the best sex I’ve ever had. Where the hell did you learn what you know?”

His question as to Carole’s experience went unanswered and was met with: “Patrick, for a guy still at school, you truly do know what you are doing.  You know, I don’t want you to get the idea that I am a whore who has sex with men for money; I don’t, but I just have certain sexual needs which I have to satisfy and I have met them with several different lovers. But you, Patrick are the tops: the absolute tops; and don’t pretend that you are inexperienced either because you are certainly not.  You are a highly competent lover and I enjoyed every minute of having you deep inside me; I didn’t want it ever to stop.”

Carole then went and surprised Patrick with her perceptivity: “I know that we have become what are called “lovers”, but realistically and I am a realist, Patrick, what we have is a mutual sexual attraction and I know that you will leave the school at the end of this term, never to return. But what I hope we might be able to do is to spend the next few weeks together doing something we both clearly like;  So what do you say; shall we make hay whilst the sun is shining can we make a habit of Saturday afternoons here?”

Patrick could not believe his ears when he heard Carole’s proposal.  This girl was half a century ahead of her time, proposing to him that they become sex partners of convenience for a brief period.  He almost fell in love with the girl there and then. And before anything more was said, he was again on top of this delightful young female, fucking her as hard and vigorously as he had done a little while ago.  My goodness, how delicious sex was and especially so with such a soft and welcoming partner, who clearly enjoyed taking it as much as he enjoyed giving. It was an afternoon made in heaven and it had all happened by chance; and all thanks to a shirt lost in the school laundry. Chance was such an important feature in life!

So Carole and Patrick become regular Saturday afternoon lovers for the rest of his term at Rigby. The day before he left the school for ever, he went into town to Carole’s room and spent the entire night with her in a monumental frenzy of sex.  As Carole had said; what they had together was not love but a mutual enjoyment in satisfying each other’s sexual needs and neither of them ever regretted for one moment what they had done.  For 1900, or even for a half a century later, they were a very forward thinking young pair.  Patrick bought her a modest gold pendant and necklace by way of a farewell gift. After that final night together, they never saw each other again, but Carole was someone Patrick remembered with fondness for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER 6

 

Back at school and at supper that evening. Patrick would have dearly loved to boast about his conquest.  It was quite common for the lads of the upper sixth, in their final year at Rigby, to boast about their sexual experiences with women; it was, for the main part, just a load of hot air. But Patrick held his tongue, deciding that there was some sense in the old maxim: “Discretion is the better part of valour”  So his sexual exploits with the delicious Carole remained a secret between her and him and no one ever knew that the Head-Boy had had a regular female lover during his last term at school.

 

But today was Saturday and Patrick had already received a note from the Headmaster in his pigeonhole inviting him to a start of term with supper the following evening.  Patrick sighed somewhat as he read the missive.  He knew that Mr. Godber would want to discuss the term’s arrangements with him, but he also knew equally well that he would be called upon to render his usual Sunday evening service to his lonely, sex- starved old Headmaster; once again he would be expected to fuck the old boy’ s arse. It was not that he minded as he enjoyed sex in any form, and he had become quite fond of the Headmaster, who had treated him very well as Head-Boy of the school; but after the time he had just spent with Carole, he would have preferred a Sunday evening with her rather than exercising his cock on the Headmaster’s arse.  But “Needs must when the devil drives”, and he saw no way of avoiding what had, after the last two terms, become a Sunday ritual.

As ever, the Headmaster and Patrick sat together and first discussed the school’s business. Mr. Godber was remarkably well informed as to what Patrick’s activities had encompassed during the first week. Patrick wondered from where he obtained his information and, more alarmingly, how much more he might know about Patrick’s illicit sexual activities.  “Well Ingram-Lewis, at the first assembly as you heard, I proposed coming down very hard of term on the question of smoking  and drinking, both of which I want stamped out completely.”

Patrick said nothing but asked himself how the Headmaster reconciled his edict against alcohol with the fact that he would probably offer him a glass of sherry before they sat down to supper, which would then be accompanied by a glass of wine and some port to finish off the meal.  A modified version of Tennyson’s famous verse came to mind as he mused over the Headmaster’s thinking on matters of alcohol: “Ours is not to reason why, but to accept things as they are.”  So Patrick abandoned any hope of understanding the Headmaster on the subject of alcohol,  but accepted the fact, that for some reason, it was acceptable for him, Patrick, the Head-Boy, to consume sherry, table wine and port in the presence of the very man who had publicly strictly forbidden their consumption by the pupils of the school. “If it were anyone else,” mused Patrick to himself, “He would be slated for a birching.”

“So Ingram-Lewis, I gather that the words were barely out of my mouth when you found three senior boys smoking, I presume that you dealt with them as I had said at the school assembly and birched them.  As I told you at the beginning of term, as Head-Boy in loco domini, you do not need to refer to me if you feel a boy deserves to be birched,  Just do it; thrash his  deserving backside and send him off wondering why he ever broke the rules. Yes, Ingram-Lewis, I am a great believer in the beneficial effects of the birch; well applied to the naked buttocks, it is a very salutary experience: one most boys don’t wish to repeat.  I remember birching you myself when you were younger and that put you on the right track; and just look at what you have achieved. (If only he really knew!) I hope that you gave them the full tariff of twelve cuts each and as they were senior boys and I hope that you visited that that new fangled thing that Mr. Patterson made from maple twigs; very effective I thought it would be when I saw it.”

Patrick replied: “Well sir, you are very well informed. It was a junior prefect who caught the three boys from the lower sixth smoking in the lavatories. However as the punishment is now a mandatory birching, they were referred immediately to me to deal with, rather than being sent to the Prefects’ Court as would normally have happened.  The maple birch is reserved for the punishment room but I do maintain a lighter willow birch, also a confection of Mr Patterson, in my own study; otherwise only the cane is used in the Prefects’ Court.  But I am happy to confirm to you Headmaster that the three boys in question were each given twelve cuts of the birch as per your order. As you observed sir, the new maple birch of Mr. Patterson’s is a remarkably efficient and painful implement.  Oh and just one small point sir; as they were caught in the act of smoking, they should have received fifteen cuts according to your announcement.  However, as they were caught before the expiry of the moratorium period of one week,  I felt I should  be lenient and gave them just twelve each. But I can tell you sir; they left the punishment room feeling very, very sorry for themselves indeed. If I might be forgiven a vulgarity sir, the boys left with flaming hot arses, wondering what had just hit them. I doubt they will ever be back for more.”

Mr Godber had listened approvingly to this account and said: “Well Ingram-Lewis you do seem to have matters in hand and I have to say that what you did sounds to have been very satisfactory.  I just want to be sure that in this final term for both of us, we do not turn soft on the boys and let our rigorous standards slip. You know my philosophy, “Give them and inch and they’ll take a mile” and that is the very last thing we want to happen.”

“The enforcement of the school rules and strict discipline in the form of corporal punishment are the backbones of the success of Rigby.  Not for nothing is the expression, Rigby Rigour, well known among the public school fraternity and it is the discipline and its enforcement that is our strength and which gives the parents of our boys the assurance, that in sending their sons here, they will receive a good, formal education and emerge as young gentlemen. And let me add, in my view it is largely due to the liberal use of the cane and the birch that we maintain our reputation.  We shall both be quitting Rigby for good at the end of this term and it is my intention to hand over to my successor, a well run and well disciplined school and I look to you, Ingram-Lewis, as my Head-Boy, to help me in this task. Now what else had happened this week which I should know about?”

“Well sir, I did myself catch red-handed two junior boys, the ever mischievous Tomlinson brothers, down town without exeats and without their boaters. And so, I dealt with them in the normal manner. I gave each of them twelve with the cane and sent them off to bed with well beaten backsides and feeling very sorry for themselves.”

“Just one small point, Ingram-Lewis; you always beat the boys bare I presume; I don’t want to retrogress and allow them to wear their shorts or trousers when being punished. I insist on the traditional Rigby method; the cane and the birch must both be applied directly to naked buttocks. We must not allow our standards to drop otherwise we shall find ourselves emulating the state schools, where where caning bare is rare; and the next thing we know, we shall be applying the cane to the palm of boys’ hands.   No Ingram-Lewis, we must maintain our standards: all punishment directly to the bare buttocks and twelve strokes the standard tariff. The boys have got to know that if they break the rules, they will be well and truly punished; it’s got to hurt and hurt a lot. A sore arse, as you put it, never did any boy any harm.”

Patrick went on: “Otherwise sir, the Court of Prefects has caned a couple of boys with punishment slip referrals from their masters but it has been a relatively quiet week.”

“Well, Ingram-Lewis you seem, as ever, to have things well in hand so that I can once again breathe easily and leave things in your capable hands as far as keeping the boys under control is concerned. As I say, don’t hesitate to thrash any miscreant, you will always have my support. Just come down on them like a ton of bricks.  But to change the subject, tell me now, as I am curious to know, what do you intend to do yourself after Rigby? You will be leaving at the end of this term; have you obtained the offer of a place at either Oxford or Cambridge? I presume that you are intending to go on to University or are you thinking of the Civil Service?”

“Headmaster I am intending to go neither to University nor into the Civil Service.  I have decided that after my time at Rigby, I am not an intellectual who would benefit from a university education. Frankly I doubt that I could knuckle down and do the work. Remember Headmaster that the expression used is to “read for degree” and I am afraid that is something that left to my own devices I would not do too well. Nor am I interested in moving into one of the Civil Service departments as many Rigbyans do.  Searching my own mind as to what I would do for a career, I decided that I would prefer a much more hands-on occupation, And so, Headmaster, off my own bat entirely and with no discussion either with any of my masters or my mother, I have applied for a place as a cadet at Dartmouth Naval College with a view to obtaining a commission in the Royal Navy and becoming a regular serving commissioned officer.”

“Headmaster, I do not know how much you know about my family, but on the early death of my father several years ago, I became head of the Ingram-Lewis family and owner of Ingram house and its estate,  where my mother lives. More importantly I also became sole owner of the family coal mining business in Northumberland. In this I have no personal interest or intention to become involved and I have for the past several years left its management in the very capable hands of a Managing Director, who has been with the business for over thirty years and who does a good job.  And so I shall be more or less turning my back on all that I own and taking off in a new direction.”

“It must be evident to you, sir, that I do not have to worry about money and so I am as free as I wish to be.  My mother does not yet know of my decision and I can tell you that she will be appalled to learn that I am not intending to run the family business. But at the end of the day, my life is my own and she will have to come to terms with my decision. In fact, for her, my decision to join the Navy will not affect her life at all as she lives alone with a paid female companion at Ingram House and is surrounded by a bevy of indoor and outdoor staff.  I shall, of course, still visit my ancestral home when my schedule in the Navy permits and the ownership of the Ingram-Lewis interests will remain mine to dispose of eventually as I see fit.”

Mr Godber had listened in silence to this exposition of Patrick’s intention and then said: “Well young man, I have no idea whether or not you have made a wise decision or not, but I admire you tremendously for being so clear in what you intend to do after leaving this school.  If you feel the Navy is the place for you, then by all means take that path. And who knows; perhaps one day we shall welcome Admiral Ingram-Lewis as a distinguished old boy of the school. Now I see the butler has brought in the sherry decanter, newly replenished; so shall we take a glass before dinner?”

The dinner was, as ever, very good and Mr. Godber produced and excellent bottle of claret to accompany the main course. Port was served with the dessert; and then as ever, Ingram-Lewis became Patrick, which was the signal to retire to Mr. Godber’s bedroom and for Patrick to fulfil what had become a regular Sunday ritual and provide his Headmaster with his weekly dose of “anal stimulation”.  What had hitherto happened on such occasions was that the Headmaster had retired to his bedroom, had undressed and installed himself in his bed. Patrick had then followed and done his duty, so to speak, after which he had left with no further discussion. Patrick had, in fact, grown quite fond of the old boy, who demanded nothing more than being given a good hard fuck. But on this occasion, when Patrick had satisfied his bodily needs, the Headmaster rolled over onto his back and engaged Patrick in what promised to become an embarrassing conversation.

Mr. Godber now moved back into his Ingram-Lewis mode, for to call him Patrick evidently appeared, in the Headmaster’s eyes, only appropriate for their more intimate moments, which he clearly now considered to be over for that evening, Mr. Godber began: “You know Ingram-Lewis, at the assembly the other day, I set out very clearly the punishments which all boys would receive if they broke the smoking and drinking rules of the school, both of which I am determined to  stamp out completely. And so I was delighted that you had already had occasion to use the birch on three boys you caught smoking.  So I was just wondering whether I should make it clear to the boys that any of them caught in unnatural sexual acts with each other would also be birched. Now I know that acts of buggery, sodomy, love, sex, call it what you will, do go on between boys and I know that I can preach abstinence until I am blue in the face and that I shall not stop it. You must realise this yourself, Ingram-Lewis, for you are quite a well equipped and competent performer in this respect, as I can vouch from my own experience with you.  And I suspect that I am not the only person in this school with whom you have regular sexual relations. Indeed if I were, I would start wondering if there was something wrong with you. But what do you think about my formalising the punishment for boys caught in the act, in the way I have done for smoking and drinking?”

By this time, Patrick was feeling very uneasy, for the Headmaster was beginning to discuss Patrick’s own sexual activities, which were not only forbidden by the school but were also illegal under the then law of the land. And he also found it hard to comprehend how the Headmaster could justify offering him alcoholic drinks without a qualm, when any other boy would be thrashed for drinking any form of alcohol.  Add to this that the Headmaster clearly understood that sex was such an unstoppable force in the lives of many senior boys, that come what may it would have to be tolerated or ignored unless the culprits were actually caught in the act by a master or prefect.   But even then, Patrick found it difficult to stomach a prefect thrashing a boy for buggery, when he knew full well that many of the prefects themselves indulged in the pastime: he himself included. What made the whole thing worse was that here he was, the Head-Boy, lying in bed with the Headmaster whose arse he had just fucked and who prior to that had been feeding him with the forbidden drink – and plenty of it at that!

Patrick began: “Headmaster, forgive me if I say so, but I think that we are in risk of going places with this conversation which neither of us should wish to visit. I know I certainly do not. And sir, being utterly realistic, if you look at what you and I have just done together this evening and have done every Sunday evening for the past two terms, forgive me, sir, if I tell you frankly, that I do feel somewhat hypocritical in the outward face which I have to show to the boys as Head-Boy in loco domini. I have already thrashed three lads with the birch for smoking and will probably find myself obliged to have to thrash several more both for smoking and drinking before the term ends. And I do hope you will understand when I look at where our personal liaison has led, where you provide me with drink and we indulge in sex together, I would find it hard to accept that boys succumbing to their sexual desires would be automatically punished.”

“And Headmaster, if boys are to be birched for drinking, why should I too not receive the same punishment for accepting the drinks you offer to me? So Headmaster if I were you, I would not extend the birching edict to sex activities.  As you so rightly say, you will not stamp it out, so just tolerate it. If there is a case of boys involved in sexual activities in public places and they are caught in flagrante, then, of course, we can thrash them to show that the rules are being upheld. It would add a veneer of respectability to what is, sir, in my view, a very murky area. If I might venture and opinion, sir, I think that you would be well advised, in this case, to let sleeping dogs to lie.”

“Finally, if I might just set your mind at rest, sir, I have never mentioned to anyone the relations which you and I have enjoyed for the past months.  No one other than we ourselves knows anything about what we do together. No one has faintest idea that you offer me alcoholic drinks or that we indulge in sexual intimacy. And on one final point  to answer what I know is an unasked question, but to which I am sure you would like and answer; yes I do indulge in sexual relations with other boys both at school and at home and I also have certain female liaisons,. So you see sir, I am in fact completely normal in this respect. I am not ashamed of what I do, as I am now a young man and have a young man’s urges and bodily needs, as do many of my classmates in the upper sixth, which I am sure you fully understand, sir.”

Having said his piece, Patrick now shut up and wondered what the Headmaster would reply having been more or less told by his Head-Boy that he was a hypocrite. Patrick had not actually labelled the Headmaster as such, but by inference in saying that he himself felt hypocritical, he had sort of tarred Mr. Godber with the same brush.

“Ingram-Lewis,” said Mr, Godber, “You truly are an amazing young man in that you have seriously thought about the way we do things at this school. And I take your point, that there is more than a touch of hypocrisy in our relationship where we indulge in things forbidden to others; even to those young men, your classmates, of the same age as you. But Ingram-Lewis, life is, alas like that; it is full of inequalities.  You know, young man, when you leave this place, you will find in the wider world that hypocrisy is everywhere. “Do as I say, not as I myself do,” is a sentiment not often spoken out loud, but so very often implied. I am afraid, young man, that I have no solution to offer you. In many ways, I think one just has to accept that there are many injustices  which one is powerless to put right and that the only solution is to accept the world for what it is,”

“I think you enjoy, as do I, what we do together, even though it is forbidden to others; and not only forbidden to others but forbidden by me personally.  So I suggest that you swallow your admirable principles for once and let things continue as they are. In other words young man, let us both follow your advice and let sleeping dogs lie. And if I might just end our conversation with the following piece of advice: don’t cut of your nose to spite your face. And if it is any consolation to you to know, my dear Patrick, (the change of name and the term of endearment!) speaking as an aged and somewhat lonely homosexual, which I am, you young man are just about the best lover I have ever had and you have brought a great deal of joy into my life this last year.  I absolutely adore our Sunday evenings together and so to hell with the rules, even though I make them. Let’s both strike whilst the iron is hot, for it is not going to be hot all that much longer for either of us here at Rigby  and for me, possibly not much longer at all.”

CHAPTER 7

 

 

It seemed that fate threw Patrick and Colin Tomlinson, Tomlinson major, together in all sorts of unexpected circumstances.  Their regular encounters over the recent past, where Patrick found himself falling on Tomlinson misbehaving, had led Patrick to a close  familiarity with the boy’s arse; an arse which he had thoroughly enjoyed caning on several occasions and indeed also had the undoubted pleasure of birching.  Patrick was, in fact, completely honest in admitting to himself that he derived a certain pleasure from inflicting pain on his school mates. He knew that it was morally wrong, but he could not deny what he knew to be true. In the first week of the term, Patrick had caned both the Tomlinson brothers for going into town without permission and for not wearing their boaters, which was a school rule rigidly enforced and always resulted in severe punishment for those boys who were caught disregarding it.

And so, it might have been reasonable to suppose that Tomlinson major whose arse had just recently been thrashed for precisely these offences, would have learned something from his recent experiences; But had he? Well no; he had not!  And yet again it fell to Patrick himself to come upon Tomlinson at the end of his latest illicit adventure; or should it simply be called a delinquency?  Patrick began to think that such meetings were preordained as they occurred with monotonous regularity. Not he he minded much, for as we all know, Patrick, like the other prefects, enjoyed beating boys.  But to be fair to him, he did not abuse his position and take the cane to any boy on a false pretext: the boy had to be breaking the rules. Patrick was then perfectly happy to let the wrath of God, in the form of a severe beating of the unfortunate lad’s arse, bring reality to Mr. Godber’s edicts, which were tantamount to being carved in stone.

On this occasion, which occurred in the third week of term, Patrick happened to be passing the main gate of the school just after four in the afternoon, when whom did he see slipping surreptitiously re-entering the school but our friend Tomlinson major.  Tomlinson did not realise that he had been observed sneaking back into the school until he was suddenly pulled up sharply by Patrick, who had become his de facto nemesis. If Tomlinson was shocked or surprised by this confrontation, he did not show it, but began simply by greeting the Head-Boy: “Good afternoon, Ingram-Lewis sir.”

And then began a protracted question and answer session in which Patrick tried to determine why Tomlinson, this time, albeit, wearing his boater, had been into town during class-time in the afternoon. “Good afternoon to you too, Tomlinson. Now perhaps you would care to explain to me why I find you coming into the school, evidently from town, at four in the afternoon, a time when you should have been in class. What were you doing in town, Tomlinson?” Patrick waited to see what implausible story the boy would come up with and he was not disappointed by the speed of Tomlinson’s fertile imagination, which seemed always to rise to every occasion

“Well Ingram-Lewis sir, it was like this. I had an upset stomach after lunch and so I decided to go into town to the chemist’s shop to get something to settle it.”

“And why did you not go and see matron and asked her to give you something? After all that is what she is here for and she would probably have let you rest in the sick bay until you felt better.”

“Well Ingram-Lewis sir, I really didn’t want to bother matron and so I thought that it would be better if I went and got something myself in town.”

“And so instead you asked the master taking the class when you began to feel sick to give you an exeat to allow you to go down town in the middle of the afternoon to go to get your medicine at the chemist’s shop.”

By now even loquacious, word-ready Tomlinson had begun to realise, that he was yet again on a sticky wicket and that he had been caught again red-handed down town without any written permission to go there.  “Well Ingram-Lewis sir, I did not want to bother the master so I just sort of went. And I am sure as you will realise that it was a medical emergency and I felt that I had to take immediate action.”

Patrick, who as we know, really quite liked Tomlinson, in spite of the number of beatings he had give him, and smiled inwardly to himself as he went on with his inquest, making the boy squirm more and more as he did so. “So Tomlinson, if I understand you correctly, you went down town with no exeat authorising you to do so. Is that right?”

“Well yes, Ingram-Lewis sir, I suppose it is; but as I told you, it did seem like a medical emergency and I thought I had better act quickly before matters got worse and I might have to be taken to hospital.”

“So, to be quite clear Tomlinson, you cannot show me an exeat as you were in haste to deal with what you saw as a potential medical emergency.”

“Yes, Ingram-Lewis sir, that’s it exactly. You really have understood the whole situation sir.”

“Well Tomlinson, I’m glad that you seem to have got your problem cleared up so quickly.” Knowing full well by now that Tomlinson was, as ever, off on one of his tall stories, Patrick nevertheless led the boy on: “What exactly did you get from the chemist’s for it obviously is very good as you look and sound perfectly normal to me now? Perhaps I too should get some for myself, to keep in case I too ever suffer from an upset stomach.”

“Well that’s just it Ingram-Lewis sir; I had just got down town when the pain more or less stopped quite suddenly and I no longer felt ill, and so I never went into the chemist’s to get anything to help me as I felt all right again.”  Here Tomlinson paused for thought as he racked his brain wondering what he could say to Patrick. When it came it was a pure piece of Tomlinsoniana: a flight of fancy: an explanation thought up on the spur of the moment, but one which showed what an agile mind Tomlinson possessed. “In fact sir, I think it was just gas pains which caused the problem and when they suddenly disappeared, the problem with my stomach suddenly ended and I immediately felt quite well again.”

“And why Tomlinson, do you think that the pains suddenly stopped?”

“Well Ingram-Lewis sir, it’s a bit embarrassing for me to tell you what happened. But you know how gas pains can suddenly release themselves sir, don’t you? We all have experienced it, I think.”

Patrick could barely stop himself from laughing out loud at Tomlinson lightening fast inventiveness; but he kept a straight face and went on: “My dear Tomlinson, I am totally intrigued to know how this miracle of a cure happened. Why don’t you just tell me what occurred?”

“Oh Ingram-Lewis sir, if you really do insist and can pardon the vulgarity, I just farted and it was all over; all the gas was gone and with it the pain. So you see, it is all now over and I wonder if I might go and get some tea, sir.”

“Not so fast Tomlinson; you boy, have a lot to answer for. You know Tomlinson, I am one of the greatest admirers of your agile mind which enables you to pull totally fantastic and imaginary explanations for your behaviour out of the air at the the drop of a hat.  But as you and I both know full well, Tomlinson, the fairy tale you have just told me is a load of nonsense. You never had a stomach problem and you simply decided to cut classes ago off and play truant for the afternoon. Well, Tomlinson, that will not do. Once again you have flouted the school rules and your offence today greatly outweighs your last adventure when you and your brother went off down town, hatless and with no exeat.” 

“And so Tomlinson, I think you know what is now going to happen. But to answer your question; no you may not go and have tea. You will go to your dormitory and change into your gym strip and report to my study on the double,  I expect you there within fifteen minutes, suitably attired for the continuation of these proceedings  I shall await you there and I can promise you something much more warming than a cup of tea. Believe me. Tomlinson, when I say that if your fart did not properly settle your stomach, what I have in mind for you most certainly will; in fact as you will see, it will settle more than your stomach.”

By this time the boy had realised that all hope was lost and that he was facing yet another thrashing.  He stood there, downcast, in front of Patrick, looking at the ground and for once, words failed him. Patrick then said, very briskly:  “Well, Tomlinson, get on with it boy; go and get changed; I don’t have all day; I want you in my study in your gym strip in fifteen minutes.  Is that clear boy?”  Tomlinson, now entirely deflated, nodded a silent yes.

Patrick had every intention of giving Tomlinson the worst beating of his life, as he had decided that he boy need finally to be brought into the land of reality.  Tomlinson duly arrived at Patrick’s study, where Patrick began:  “Tomlinson, as I recollect, it is barely three weeks since I had the doubtful pleasure of correcting you and your brother in this very study for much the same offence as you have committed today. But in fact, your offence today is much worse; not only did you flout the school rules and go off into town without permission, but you did it simply because you had decided to absent yourself from the afternoon lessons.  I hope I have got the facts right, Tomlinson. And then to cover your tracks you invented a cock and bull tale about a stomach problem:  yet another figment of your fertile brain. I am right, aren’t I Tomlinson?  Correct me, boy, if I have misread the situation.”

Poor Tomlinson, now totally deflated, just stood there nodded his head, meekly agreeing with what the Head-Boy had just said.

“Now, Tomlinson, perhaps you would repeat to me what I promised you on the last occasion that I thrashed you in this very room.  What did I promise you, boy?”

Tomlinson now recalled Patrick’s warning and was filled with horror with the realisation that that promise was now, in all probability, going to be kept.  In a final attempt to salvage something from what was clearly developing into a major percussive disaster for him, Tomlinson wracked his brain for something palliative to say but finally  came up with a feeble:  “I’m very sorry, Ingram-Lewis, but you know,  I don’t quite recollect what you said on the occasion.”

“I see, Tomlinson that you have clearly had a lapse of memory; but given what it was I said to you, I am not at all surprised that you have erased it from your mind.  Well let me refresh it for you, for I recollect exactly what I said.  I promised you that if I had occasion to correct you again within one month, then I would birch you. Does that now ring a distant bell?”

“Oh yes, Ingram-Lewis, I do remember now.” And then a piece of pure Tomlinsoniana: “But please don’t feel you have to keep that specific promise; you could modify it if you wish.”

Patrick had a hard time stopping himself laughing out loud at Tomlinson mental agility, but went on:  “No Tomlinson I made you a promise and I intend, as a gentleman, to keep it.”  Tomlinson did not look particularly enthusiastic about what was clearly going to happen to him as Patrick said to him: “Well young man, the moment of truth has arrive, so if you would kindly step out of your gym shorts and bend yourself across the birching bench there, I shall be pleased to offer your backside a taste of the willow birch, an implement whose tender caresses you have not yet experienced. But you do, of course, know the unique qualities of the birch in general, do you not, Tomlinson? As I recollect it, I gave you a sound thrashing with the maple birch, after I caught you smoking last term. So come on lad; out of your shorts and let me see you bare arse across that birching bench.”

Tomlinson slowly obeyed and when Patrick returned from his bathroom where he kept the instrument of punishment in a bucket of water, Tomlinson was in position across the bench, his bare bum poised in the air awaiting its fate. Patrick looked at the lad’s arse and said: “Tomlinson, someone has beaten you since I did at the beginning of term, as I see some quite distinct marks of the cane still remaining.”

“Oh yes Ingram-Lewis sir; it was one of the junior prefects who caught me running in the corridor and gave me six there and then.”

“Tomlinson, Tomlinson, Tomlinson; when will you ever learn a lesson?  How many times since the start of the school year have you been beaten for running in the corridor?”

Tomlinson thought for a moment and said: “Six times, I think Ingram- Lewis sir…..  No; wait a minute it is seven times, Yes ; that’s it sir; seven times for running in the corridor.”

“Tomlinson, keep perfectly still. You are going to receive twelve of the birch which I intend to apply to your naked arse as hard as I possibly can, in the hope, no doubt ill-founded, that as a result of this beating you will reform and stop committing your totally stupid acts. I trust that I have made myself clear Tomlinson.”

Patrick then began very steadily to thrash the very inviting naked arse before him.  With twelve strokes in view, he knew full well that by the time he had finished with Tomlinson’s anatomy, not one square inch of it would be free of pain; Patrick always took care to see that both the back and the flanks of the recipient’s buttocks were subjected to the scourge of the birch. He was, as we all know by now, a consummate artist with both the cane and the birch and under his vigorous expertise with the latter implement, he rapidly turned Tomlinson’s arse into a painful, raw-looking, red field, flecked with the myriad of small welts left  by the individual twigs of the willow.  Even though the willow birch was not to be compared with the senior maple birch in terms of the pain it could deliver, it was capable of leaving the recipient’s arse in a state of great pain.  As stroke followed stroke, Tomlinson first of all tried to hold back his cries, but finally the pain just became so excruciating, that the lad howled at every strike.

When he had finished, Patrick told the boy to get up and put back on his shorts: “Tomlinson, let that be a final lesson to you. I know that you have a very sore arse; but you know, boy, you truly deserved it.  Now; let me just tell you that if, for any reason whatsoever, you break the rules and I have to correct you yet again, you will get twelve cuts of the senior birch, the maple birch, across your naked arse strapped to the Rigby Horse in the punishment  room. Believe me, Tomlinson, I am not joking and that is a firm promise, which I suggest you keep in mind.  So mend your ways, boy, otherwise you will have another sore arse to contend with.”

Tomlinson was, along with most other boys fully aware of the horror of the maple birch, that implement of torture put together by Mr. Patterson, the head gardener, which had acquired a mythical reputation as being the all time killer to be avoided at all costs.  And so, chastened and somewhat penitent looking, Tomlinson eased back on his shorts, itself a painful business, as his arse was just so very sore and went off tearfully to get dressed for supper.. That, of course, in the normal way of events would have been that for the boy; he had sinned and had paid the price for his sins. But, alas on this occasion, the matter was still not over.

It was the next day that Patrick received a note from the Headmaster, Mr. Godber, asking him to see him in his study immediately after lunch: “Ah, Ingram-Lewis, thank you for coming so promptly to see me, I have been looking over the punishment book and I see that Tomlinson major’s name seems to make very regular appearances; much too regular in my view. I see that just yesterday, for instance you yourself gave the boy a thorough birching. Now what was that about? Something quite serious, I imagine to give the lad twelve of the birch so early in the term.  What exactly was his sin?”

So Patrick was obliged to tell the whole story of Tomlinson’s stupid truancy to Mr. Godber, who took a very grave view of the lad’s misdemeanour:  “Ingram-Lewis, I think that it is time that Tomlinson major was taken firmly in hand.  I have here a letter from his father, Colonel Tomlinson, who says that his elder son is a walking disaster. It is as if he goes out of his way to get into trouble: a backside in search of a beating, so to speak. The colonel asks us to try to ensure that his son obeys rules and urges us to take the necessary remedial action whenever necessary to see that the lad treads the straight and narrow at all times. He is, himself, totally convinced of the beneficial effects of corporal punishment, which he regularly inflicts on delinquent recruits in his regiment and he suggests that we adopt the same unbending approach with his elder son.”

Let me just read you a snippet of what he says:

“And so, Headmaster, do not hesitate to thrash my elder son if you feel it necessary. He will always try, with his glib tongue, to talk his way out of any situation, but do not listen to him; if you deem it necessary, do not hesitate in the slightest to thrash his backside; I am a great believer in the beneficial effects of the cane and the birch and I think that my son Colin could probably benefit from their more regular application to his bare backside. And so, Headmaster, I have not the slightest hesitation in leaving my son’s anatomy to your tender care.”

Patrick had really no clear idea of what the Headmaster’s intentions were, but these were made abundantly clear as Mr. Godber continued:  “Ingram-Lewis, I think that the time has come for our friend Tomlinson to meet what might figuratively be described as his Waterloo. I view his latest infraction, truancy, as a very serious matter and I think that on this occasion some further attention needs to be given to the boy’s lower anatomy, over and above the birching you gave him yesterday.”

“In fact, Ingram-Lewis, I believe the boy merits the most severe punishment that the school rules allow: a maximum of twenty four strokes on any one occasion for any one offense.  And so, I propose to have Tomlinson in here this evening after supper and to give him a further twelve strokes of the cane across his naked buttocks.  In the old days, before your time, it was a procedure I often adopted; I would birch a boy and then apply the cane to what might be described as his pre-conditioned buttocks, to add a number of clear welts which the birch itself does not produce. And that, Ingram-Lewis, is what I propose for Tomlinson, to try to knock some sense into the lad.”

Patrick had listened to the Headmaster without comment, but with a feeling of foreboding building up as the full horror of what was proposed became clear.  At the end of the day, as we know, Patrick had quite a soft spot for Tomlinson whom he quite liked personally and he wondered what he could do to palliate the proposed additional punishment. Also, knowing how the Headmaster had stopped completely using the cane himself and had expected Patrick to administer punishments on his behalf, he was not looking forward to having to beat Tomlinson again for the same offence, whether the school rules allowed it or not.

 

So Patrick made a vain attempt to temper the Headmaster’s obvious ardour:  “If you will forgive me, Headmaster, I think that Tomlinson may have learned his lesson after what I gave him yesterday and I wonder if it is wise to call him back and give him yet another thrashing. He went to bed last night which a very, very painful bottom, I can assure you; but if you insist, then perhaps you might consider reducing the number of the strokes to six rather than giving him the full twelve.”

“Oh, nonsense, Ingram-Lewis! The boy needs a short sharp shock to bring him into the real world; and that is exactly what he is going to get. A well beaten bottom never did any lad any harm. Twelve strokes of the cane it will be and I shall have the pleasure of administering them myself. So, Ingram-Lewis, please inform Tomlinson that I want him here before me in my study in his gym strip at eight thirty this evening. This will really be a case of striking whilst the iron is hot. Oh and Ingram-Lewis; I want you in attendance whilst I carry out the punishment.”

Patrick heaved an inward sigh of relief as he learned that the  Headmaster was intending to wield the cane himself: at least that was something. He earnestly hoped that when it came to the actual moment that the Headmaster would not suddenly ask him to take over. But he now had to face the horrible task of telling Tomlinson of his fate. He caught Tomlinson immediately after classes that afternoon: “Tomlinson, the Headmaster has asked be to tell you that he wishes to see you at eight-thirty this evening in his study.” And then came the killer corollary: “And he wants you to wear your gym strip.”

Poor Tomlinson blanched as Patrick delivered this news with everything which it implied.  To be summoned by Headmaster was one thing, but to be summoned and told to wear one’s gym strip mean one thing and one thing alone: a thrashing. “Ingram-Lewis sir, why does the Headmaster wish to see me and why do I have to wear my gym strip? I haven’t done anything. Is he going to beat me? I don’t think I could stand it; my bum is still very sore after what you did to me yesterday. I still can’t sit down without it hurting me; it really does hurt me a lot Ingram-Lewis sir; and really I haven’t done anything; truly I haven’t.”

“Tomlinson, I am sorry. Believe me when I tell you that I have had no hand whatsoever in what the Headmaster intends to do to you; I have merely been ordered to give you the message; and so I suggest that you be there on time in order not to make matters worse.  The Headmaster himself will make everything clear to you himself.”

And so poor Tomlinson (and who could not help feeling sorry for the lad in view of what was about to be inflicted on him)  passed an uncomfortable few hours doing his prep, trying to eat his supper and wondering what was in store for him at eight thirty. He arrived promptly at the Headmaster’s study and was told to enter; Ingram-Lewis was already there.  Any doubt as to what was about to happen disappeared as he saw the low chair used by the Headmaster for beating boys, with a wicked looking cane lying across its seat, already set in the centre of the room.  He did not have long to wait to learn of precisely why he had been summoned and what was going to happen to him.

The Headmaster began: “Tomlinson major; you, boy, have been a thorn in the flesh of this school ever since your arrival here nearly two years go. You are never out of trouble. You have been thrashed more often than any other boy I can remember in my long career at this school: all to no avail. And now we have your latest escapade: playing truant for a full afternoon: totally outrageous and totally inexcusable!  Now I understand that Ingram-Lewis, who, by chance, happened to catch you sneaking back into the school, gave you a thorough birching to try to teach you a lesson. Well, Tomlinson, allow me to tell you that I do not think that twelve cuts of the birch is anyway near an adequate punishment for your flagrant disregard for the cardinal rules of this school.  Boys at Rigby do not simply duck out of class when they feel so inclined and go off doing who knows what, gallivanting around the town.”

“And so, Tomlinson, I now intend to throw the book at you. In case you do not understand what that means, let me tell you. It means that I shall punish you to the full extent that the school rules allow.  You Tomlinson are to receive twelve cuts of that cane that is lying there across that chair, across your naked buttocks. So step out of your gym shorts, boy, bend across the chair and I will begin.  I have to tell you, Tomlinson, that the Head-Boy did intercede on your behalf and asked me to be lenient with you, but I am afraid I refused;  I think that for once you deserve a thorough beating to put you on the straight and narrow path if that is at all possible. Over the chair boy and let’s get started.”

Tomlinson, trembling with fear at what he had just heard and faced with the horror of taking twelve cuts of the cane across his still ragingly painful tail, as ever, made a vain effort to salvage something from the occasion. “Please sir, I don’t think my father would approve of what you intend to do to me. I have already been severely punished by Ingram-Lewis and now you want to punish me again for the same offence. I am sure he would not approve, sir. It just isn’t fair, sir.”

“Tomlinson; let me disabuse you of the idea that your father would disapprove of what is now going to happen to you. Let me just read to you an extract from a letter he wrote to me about the problems of keeping you in order.”  Mr. Godber then read out to Tomlinson that same extract from the letter he had received from Colonel Tomlinson.  “As you can see boy, your father knows exactly what we are up against with you and approves totally of your being thrashed whenever necessary. And, Tomlinson, let us be clear; you are not being punished twice for the same offence: indeed not!  You are being given a  complement of twelve cuts to bring your total punishment up to the maximum accepted level of the twenty-four strokes allowed by the school rules, which I personally think is totally justified in the present case. So, get across the chair boy and keep still whilst I deal with your backside.”

Tomlinson could do nothing but obey the Headmaster. So overtly trembling, he took off his shorts and bent across the chair, allowing his bum to be inspected by Mr. Godber. The Headmaster looked carefully at the boy’s inflamed and obviously still painful arse and said to Patrick: “Well Ingram-Lewis, you are to be congratulated on having done an excellent job with the birch on this boy’s bottom. You have managed, as should always be the case, to see that his entire posterior, both his buns and flanks have been well and truly birched. It only remains for me to add the twelve additional cuts with the cane, which will leave this miscreant with a ragingly painful backside, which is exactly what he deserves. Hopefully he will decide once and for all to mend his wayward tendencies.”

Patrick looked on with a mixed sense of pity, awe and admiration as Mr. Godber started to apply his cane to the unfortunate Tomlinson’s arse. He was secretly relieved that the Headmaster had gone ahead and picked up the cane himself, for he had feared that at the last moment he would once again be called upon to take over and that was the last thing he wanted.  Mr. Godber proved himself still to be a master with the cane. In his earlier days at Rigby, Patrick had often felt the Headmaster’s power with both the cane and the birch on his own backside, before he himself decided to reform. But on those numerous occasions he had not actually seen the Headmaster in action, as he had himself always been bent double, arse naked across a chair.

But now, for the first time watching the old man in action, he realised that practically forty years of experience did, after all count for something, for old Mr, Godber was a true master in the art of beating. He did not bother with any of the preliminary tapping, finding his bearings as it were, but simply brought down the rod with incredible precision and force, landing stroke after painful stroke on Tomlinson’s arse. The Headmaster started at the top of the buttocks and by the time he had applied ten cuts, he was already in that painfully sensitive sit-spot area, where the buttock join the legs. And all the strokes were parallel to each other. By the third stroke, Tomlinson had been reduced to a howling tearful mess, begging the Headmaster to stop; but it was to no avail as Mr. Godber pressed on. Finally after the tenth stroke, Mr. Godber reviewed his handiwork and said: “Tomlinson, I always believe in giving a boy something he can be proud to show to his classmates, so I will conclude your punishment with two final diagonal cross cuts to pull the whole picture together.  Your backside, my boy, will look like an impressionist painting.”

It was all finally over and Tomlinson and Patrick left the Headmaster’s study together, Tomlinson was in such extreme pain that he found it hard to walk without limping.  Patrick felt very sorry for the boy and said to him: “Come back to my study Tomlinson and I will apply a little ointment which will sooth your arse a bit. You’re going to be sore for several days, you know, but it will pass and it’s all over now and you will get over it. I know just how painful it must be and I hope that you have finally learned your lesson and will improve your ways. You know Tomlinson; I was rather like you in my early years at Rigby. Old Godber thrashed me on numerous occasions so I know exactly how you feel. But let me tell you it all ended for me when he gave me a monumental birching after which I decided I had had enough. I could barely sit down for nearly a week and that was what settled matters. And since that I have never been caned again.”

In his study, Tomlinson gratefully allowed Ingram-Lewis to rub, very gently as it was all so painful, some ointment into his flaming backside. When he finally left to show his “trophy wounds” to his classmates, he turned to Patrick and said: “You know, Ingram-Lewis, in spite of everything you have done to me I bear you no ill-will; you know Ingram-Lewis; you’re a real sport.”  And that was, in fact the last time that Patrick ever spoke to the boy.

The truly painful experience which Tomlinson had undergone as a result of his truancy finally did make the boy realise that he could no longer continue flouting the school rules in the way he had hitherto done. His birching and subsequent caning by Mr. Godber together brought Tomlinson to a sort of epiphany: a moment when he saw the light and decided to reform.  It was much the same experience as that of Ingram-Lewis years earlier, when he, after a sound thrashing from Mr. Godber, had changed track and had become a model pupil and was now Head-Boy of the school. So this gruesomely painful experience was the turning point in Tomlinson’s life at Rigby, and it was, in fact the last time that he was beaten whilst at the school.

Tomlinson major became more serious and by the time he was in the lower sixth, both the then Headmaster on the advice of his colleagues, realised his worth and he was appointed a junior prefect. Then in his final year he was appointed Head-Boy by the Headmaster himself. And in that function he dished out beatings left, right and centre in the same way as his predecessors had always done. He truly believed in Rigby Rigour as it was called and stoutly maintained for the rest of his life that the beatings he had taken at school had never done him any harm. And as Head-Boy he exercised that philosophy on the naked arses of countless boys.

 

Tomlinson went on to read Greats at New College, Oxford, where he took a first class honours degree before joining the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. There he spent his entire working life, rose to considerable heights and was knighted by King George VI. He died in his 90’s in 1983. Such was the life of a man, who as a boy had been perpetually in trouble during his first two years at Rigby School.

CHAPTER 8

 

 

The rest of the term passed fairly uneventfully until the very last week.  The Court of Prefects met each evening and beat any boys who had been handed a punishment note by the masters. And from time to time prefects individually beat one boy or other boys for this or that reason; often for some trivial or imagined infraction. Any reason however tenuous was enough to justify making a lad drop his pants and present his bare arse to the cane. No one resented it or thought badly of the prefects. It was all part and parcel of the life at Rigby and the lads who had been beaten looked forward to the day when they too might be prefects and could take their revenge on their younger schoolmates.

But to come back to the last week of term.  It was Saturday evening around eight; supper had been served and eaten and the boys were free until bedtime which, for the upper sixth was ten o’clock. Quite by chance, Mr. Godber, the Headmaster happened to go into town; a highly unusual occurrence for him at that hour, but he was on his way to see a retired member of the domestic staff, his old butler, who stilled lived locally and who had been unwell of late. As he approached the King’s Head public house, he saw the tail coat of a boy, who was clearly a Rigbyan, disappearing into the door of the place. 

 

Now Mr. Godber had never in his life stepped inside the King’s Head but he felt he had to investigate and see what the boy was up to. To his utter surprise when he entered he found five boys at the bar, already smoking and drinking and the sixth boy, who had evidently only just arrived but he already had a cigarette in his lips and was ordering a drink from the landlord.  Looking at the boys, it was evident that they had already been there for quite some time, for they were clearly three sheets to the wind.

Engrossed as they were in their own affairs, the boys did not immediately notice the arrival of their Headmaster but suddenly one of them turned and found an irate Mr. Godber glaring at them.  They group fell silent as the Headmaster stared at them; no one spoke a word.  The other customers standing at the bar suddenly realised that something was horribly wrong. The silence became deafening and it would be safe to say, in crude modern day language, that the six lads  suddenly looked as though they were shitting bricks.

Mr. Godber said: “I want the six of you out of here and back at school immediately; it is now almost half past eight and I want the six of you, in your gym strips, in my study at nine o’clock. Now get out of here, the lot of you.” Turning to the landlord, he said: “Landlord, if you will forgive me saying so, I am surprised and shocked that you should be serving boys from the school in a public bar with alcoholic drinks.  All boys from Rigby School no matter what their age, are strictly forbidden to consume alcohol or to smoke cigarettes, either on or off the school premises.”

The landlord looked at Mr. Goder, whom he did not know and said: “Sir, the young men in Rigby School clothing I have just served are all of legal age to consume alcohol. When I raised an eyebrow seeing that the lads were from the school, they all claimed to be over the age of eighteen and so why should I refuse to serve them?  After all, sir, I’m running a business here selling beer to earn my living.  And if I may say so sir, it is not for me to enforce the school rules, with which I’m not familiar. So you see sir, I don’t think that I have done anything wrong.  If he lads have broken the rules, then it is for you, sir, to take them to task, and from what I have just heard you say to them, I reckon that they are going to rue the day they came in here and pay a very painful price for their disobedience. However, sir, now that I know the school rules if any other boys from the school ever come in here, I will send them packing immediately, sir. What more can I say fairer than that, sir?”

Mr. Godber accepted the landlord’s apologies, realising that he had a point. His visit to his old butler was forgotten as he himself hastened to return to the school and to find Patrick Ingram-Lewis, his Head-Boy. He needed Patrick’s assistance urgently, as he intended to give the six miscreants the soundest thrashing they had ever had in their entire school career. As he entered the school he saw Tomlinson major in the corridor: “Tomlinson,” he said, “Kindly go and find the Head-Boy and ask him to come to my study immediately.”

Tomlinson soon located Patrick in the Prefects’ common room where they usually held court:  “Ingram-Lewis, sir, the Headmaster has sent me to find you; he wants to see you in his study immediately.”

 

This announcement, made in front of several of the other prefects, who also happened to be present as Tomlinson delivered his message the news that something was “up” quickly went round he school.  But why had Ingram-Lewis been suddenly summoned to see the Headmaster? What was the reason? The school was soon burning with curiosity to find out.

Patrick himself had no idea why he had been called at such a late hour and with such urgency to the Headmaster’s study, but clearly something important was afoot; but what?  He soon found out when Mr. Godber told him of his chance encounter with the six boys from the upper sixth in the King’s Head. He was at pains to explain to Patrick that it was by purest chance that he had seen one of the lads entering the pub and had himself followed the boy and found him and his classmates drinking and smoking at the bar. On hearing the names of the delinquents, Patrick heaved an inward sigh of relief that neither Roderick Pennington, his closest friend nor any prefect was involved. All six lads were from the upper sixth and aged over eighteen and so, as the landlord had said, he had not served alcohol to boys under the legal age.

“Ingram-Lewis,” began the Headmaster, “The six boys in question will be here in a few minutes and I have to tell you that I intend to inflict on them the maximum and most severe punishment the school rules permit. And so, I wish you to give each of these lads twelve strokes of the of the maple birch, and when I say twelve strokes, I mean twelve really hard cuts so that these young miscreants realise that they cannot flout the school rules even though they are eighteen and about to leave Rigby: they are still at school and will obey the rules and if they break them bear the consequences as they are now about to learn.”

“The argument that they are of legal age to smoke and drinking cuts no ice with me. They all know that the school rules forbid what they were doing and they are going to pay the price for their actions;  and let me tell you, Ingram-Lewis, the price is going to be very, very painful. After you have birched the lads, I myself, as my swan-song as Headmaster, intend to give each lad’s arse another twelve cuts of the senior cane, of which I have a good selection still available. Believe me Ingram-Lewis, these six young men are going to wish they had never been born when they leave here tonight.”

“Can you imagine the damage done to the prestige and standing of the school by the fact that these six lads, in school attire, went into the leading public house of the town, no less, and stood brazenly around smoking and drinking at the bar for all and sundry to watch?  No, Ingram-Lewis, it will not do and they are going to realise the error of their ways in a few moments. Now, in view of the heavy load we both have to bear in the coming minutes, if I might suggest you co-opt another prefect to help you in the punishment room as I do not want any disorderliness.”

Patrick had listened to the Headmaster without interrupting him. He realised from the passionate way in which Mr. Godber had spoke that he was incensed by the action of members of the upper sixth and that he had little chance to palliate matters. He fully understood both sides of the argument. The sixth formers were of age and had broken no law of the land in smoking and drinking in the public house and as it was near the end of the final term, they saw nothing wrong in what they were doing. But they were nevertheless still under the protection of the school until they left at the end of term in little more than a week’s time.  In loco parentis, as the school still was, it was the school which was responsible for the well-being of the boys and had anything untoward happened in the pub then it was the school which would have been responsible.

Patrick wished that he could in some way diminish the punishment that the Headmaster was clearly intent in inflicting the six lads; but having heard his impassioned delivery, he sighed inwardly and thought to himself that the idiots would just have to grin and bear it. Grin and bear it, an expression easy to say, but in view of what was now about to happen to them, possibly a little hard to stomach when the lads finally confronted the reality of their situation.  Patrick had in principle no problem with being asked to give each of the lads a dozen cuts of the birch; in fact he was actually quite looking forwards to wielding the deadly maple rod on a series of mature buttocks. There was something very satisfying about beating a mature naked arse as distinct from the smaller anatomies of the younger boys.

Patrick went back to the prefects’ common room and found his de facto deputy, Atkins, whom he motioned to come with him.  The other prefects and indeed the entire the school were wondering what precisely was in the air.

Patrick quickly put Atkins in the picture and they went together to make sure that everything was in order in the punishment room;  both the birchings and the canings would be administered there with each of the recipients mounted, arse naked on the dreaded Rigby Horse. Patrick wondered if any of the lads realised what was in store for them. That they were going to get their arses beaten must have been evident, as they had been ordered to appear before the Headmaster in their gym strips. But did they have any idea of the severity of the punishment which they were about to receive?

The news that no less than six upper-sixth formers were appearing before the Headmaster in their gym strips, flashed liked greased lightning around the school.  One of the prefects had hung around in the corridor near the Headmaster’s study and had seen the six lads enter.  So the whole school now knew: six sixth formers were about to be beaten; but why? And what neither the boys about to be punished nor the school in general knew, was just how severe the punishments were to be. This was to be the greatest bloodbath of the year, which in retrospect would make every boy shiver as he thought of what the Headmaster was still capable of inflicting on his charges.

The six delinquents, their names unimportant other than that of “Taffy” Evans, a barrister’s son from Cardiff, who saw himself as spokesman for the group, stood there in a row in front of a very cross-looking Headmaster in his study.  Evans made a valiant attempt to mitigate what was clearly had all the makings of a painful  disaster for the six of them; just how painful they had as yet know idea, but they were shortly to find out: “Headmaster, if I might just be permitted to explain our point of view, sir. We are all eighteen years of age and therefore legally allowed both to smoke and drink and we really do not see why we should not, on occasions, frequent a…..”

“Stop right there, boy. I am not interested in the legalities of the situation in which I found you this evening, only in the fact that you were all breaking two of the school’s cardinal rules: the prohibition of both drinking and smoking.  Now, unless you are all deaf or were asleep when I announced, at the beginning of term, that any boy breaking these rules would be severely punished, you were all fully aware of the potential consequences of your actions when you entered the King’s Head this evening.  Moreover, in so doing you brought the school into disrepute in front of lord knows how many town’s people, who expect better behaviour from pupil of Rigby school.”

“But sir…..” 

“Evans, kindly hold your tongue, young man. There is no excuse, none at all, for what you have just done and for that you are all now going to pay a very painful price. Drinking and smoking, both strictly forbidden, each carry a tariff of twelve strokes of the cane or birch, as I made clear to you all at the start of term and that, gentlemen is what you are now going to receive. So, gentlemen, to be quite clear and to ensure that you each understand exactly what is going to happen to you let me explain.  Ingram-Lewis, as Head-Boy in loco domini, is first going to give each of you twelve strokes of the senior birch: the maple birch.”

“We will then take a fifteen minute pause, after which I personally shall give each of you twelve cuts across the naked buttocks with a senior cane, to ensure that each of you leaves here tonight with a well striped bottom: a testimony to your disregard of the rules. And believe me gentlemen, in view of the serious nature of your transgressions, I propose to use my very finest, mature cane, which I have over the years used with complete satisfaction on the bottoms of dozens of boys. I think I can promise you that those of you who had thought that I was getting too old to wield the cane will find themselves sadly mistaken; believe me gentlemen, you will all go to bed tonight not knowing where to do with your your backsides. I intend to make this an occasion you will remember for a long time to come. Ingram-Lewis, might I suggest that we now get started on this unpleasant task. Gentlemen, you will all kindly follow the Head-Boy to the punishment room, where the excellent maple birch awaits you.”

Patrick and his deputy, Atkins, led the way to the punishment room. All six lads were told to enter, to take off their gym shorts and to stand facing the wall with their hands on their on their heads, their naked arses fully visible. The sixth formers were all members of the senior rugby team and as such had well developed buttocks: the ideal target for the birch. Patrick was, in fact, now quite looking forward to beating the lads as he fully agreed with the Headmaster that they had seriously let down the school. By now, any earlier feelings of sympathy he might have had for them having illicit drag and a drink in the pub had evaporated and he fully intend to make sure that each and every one of the lads experienced the full pain of the birch across his naked arse.

The room was quite large and apart from the Rigby Horse and a couple of low chairs, was bare of furniture. The birches were to be seen immersed in deep pails of water. Taffy Evans again made an attempt to protest only to be silenced by Mr. Godber. The six boys stood as ordered, arse naked facing the wall, waiting their fate.

Mr. Godber took charge of matters and said: “You first Evans; come on boy, quick about it. Mount the horse lad and let’s get started. Atkins, if you please; make sure that this miscreant is securely restrained with the leg and wrist straps with which this admirable apparatus is provided.  I do not want any jumping around whilst Ingram-Lewis applies the birch.”

Evans blanched as he realised that the moment of truth had now arrived and trembling like a leaf, mounted the horse and allowed Atkins to attach the straps to his ankles and wrists. Patrick now picked up the birch, shook off the water and advanced on Evans’s attendant buttocks. He looked with a certain pleasure when he saw what a well muscled arse was presented to him. There was always a great deal more erotic pleasure in thrashing a senior rather than a junior boy, And let’s face it, the members of the upper sixth, Patrick himself included, although still at school were all young men.

Patrick was also relieved that Mr. Godber had taken lead and was instructing him, in loco domini: in place of the master, to administer the most severe punishment the school had to offer.  He felt, somehow, absolved of any responsibility for what was about to happen: for what he was about to do; he was just an instrument in the hands of the Headmaster, who himself was totally responsible for the bloodbath which was about to take place. At least that is what Patrick tried to convince himself as he prepared to make the first stroke.

“Ingram-Lewis; please now kindly do our duty and proceed as ordered.  I want you to see that this boy’s buttocks are thoroughly birched all over, so feel free to move around to ensure that every part of this lad’s anatomy experiences the therapeutic effects of the of the birch. I want him and his friends to realise just how seriously I view their iconoclastic actions. So, Ingram-Lewis; in your own time when you are ready; please begin and lay on the birch with as much force as you judge necessary. I want this to be a very painful start to this evening’s punishment schedule.  Atkins: if you please, young man: kindly call out the strokes. Evans; brace yourself, boy, as you are about to experience one of the most painfully awful moments of your entire school career. And let me emphasise that what you are now about to receive this is just the first half of this evening’s programme. You have indeed a lot to look forward to; and that goes for the lot of you!”

Listening to the Headmaster’s words, brought home to Patrick just how strongly the old boy felt about the damage to the standing and prestige of the school these six lads had wrought by their stupid action.  For a usually mild man, the Headmaster was clearly so incensed, that was out for their blood his evening and nothing was going to stop him getting it. Patrick could never remember in all his time at Rigby, ever having seen Mr. Godber so seething with rage as he was today.

The first stroke of the birch landed forcibly across the exact middle of Evans’s arse. The young man drew a deep audible breath as he felt the full horror of the birch mating with his naked flesh. Many observers remark that the first two or three stokes are not so bad and that that pain with the birch takes time to build up, but judging from the howls that Evans emitted from the second stroke onwards, this was clearly not the case at present.  Patrick brought down the rod systematically in a serious of carefully timed and targeted strokes across the entire surface and flanks of Evans’s arse. When he had finished and Atkins released the straps, Evans’s backside was a rich, flaming red colour all over and was covered with the small superficial bruises so characteristic of a well birched arse.

The Headmaster said:  “Ingram-Lewis; that was a truly stellar performance you just gave Evans with the birch, Now that is what I call, to be vulgar, a truly well-birched arse and I am sure that Evans feels the same. Now Evans, go back and stand with your classmates, face to the wall and keep your hands on your head;  I want no massaging of your backside; is that clear?” Then pointing to the next lad in line, he went on: “Come on lad; you’re next; so quick about. Get onto the horse and let the dog see the hare; or rather the birch your bottom.  Atkins: if you please and Ingram-Lewis, when you ready, please begin and help this lad to repent the error of his ways.  Make sure that he gets the thorough thrashing, which he so richly deserves.”

And so for about three quarters of an hour, the time it took to birch the six lads, all of them had to suffer the indignity of standing there with their arses naked, first waiting to be told to mount the Rigby Horse horse; and then in agony, with their backsides raw from the birch until the Headmaster finally decided after some fifteen minutes pause, that it was time to move on to the next stage of their punishment. “Ingram-Lewis, I seem to have left my cane in my study; could I trouble you to go and fetch it for me as I intend to beat the boys over the Rigby Horse: it just seems so appropriate.”

Cane in hand, the Headmaster told Evans to remount the horse, which Evans did with some understandable reluctance “Come on boy, get back up there. I haven’t got all night to spend on you, with five of your classmates eagerly awaiting their turn.”  A discerning observer would have been hard pressed to detect any trace of eagerness in the demeanour of the waiting boys. Fear would have been a better description of what filled their faces. “So Evans, let’s get on with it.  And just to remind you in case you have already forgotten;you are to receive a further twelve cuts of this cane to bring up your total punishment for your appalling disregard of two cardinal rules of this school to the maximum of twenty-four strokes as allowed by the school rules. And just let me tell you, Evans, that I consider twenty-four cuts a very modest punishment in view of what you have done. Now boy, brace yourself whilst I apply the cane to your backside. I have to say, Ingram-Lewis, that you have done a sterling job with the birch and this boy’s bottom is in perfect condition for a complementary, therapeutic dose of the cane.”

And with that the Headmaster applied the first stroke of his cane directly across the midpoint of Evans’s arse; everyone, including Patrick, Atkins and Evans’s waiting classmates winced, as the cane mated with a resounding thwack with Evans’s naked flesh. The lad took a sharp breath before letting out a howl of pain.  Patrick had for the first time seen the Headmaster himself wield the cane fairly recently when he had decided to give Tomlinson major’s arse a complementary beating for his truancy.  He had then marvelled at the accuracy and speed with Mr Godber handled the cane.

 

But today Mr Godber was like a man possessed. The vigour, speed and force with which he applied the cane was way beyond what he had done to Tomlinson. Patrick looked on with awe and admiration as the Headmaster thrashed Evans’s naked arse. He was reminded of the maxim “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” and thought how appropriate a modification would be:  “Hell hath no fury like the Headmaster disobeyed.” The Headmaster judged every stroke and applied it with the maximum force; a force so expertly judged as to impart the maximum possible pain to the recipient’s buttocks, but always without breaking the skin.

Poor Evans howled, protested and yelped with pain, all to no avail as cut followed searing cut; the pain the boy was enduring was intense; Patrick had never seen anyone beaten so thoroughly in his life and he sighed inwardly with relief that he was not in line for a dose of the Headmaster’s fury. It was quite clear that the Headmaster had decided that Evans and his classmates were going to rue the day when they had broken his rules and would serve as an example to the rest of the boys as to what would happen to them if they were caught drinking or smoking.

Today the Headmaster’s promises made at the first assembly of term were being acted upon. If anyone had thought that they were just words, then the present demonstration made the whole thing real: break the cardinal rules and arses would be birched and caned. The other five lads, standing, hands on head, their birched arses naked and already painfully raw, were trembling with fear as they realised that they were about to undergo the same treatment in a few minutes time; their moment in hell was not far away and it was not a very pleasant  prospect.

Evans’s beating was finally over: he was completely in tears, which is not surprising in view of the nightmare he had just experienced. But he was still made to do further penance in being made to resume his place against the wall, hands on head, his flaming arse, still naked,  but now richly embellished with the the livid stripes from the Headmaster’s cane. The Headmaster had exercised his considerable skill and superimposed upon Patrick’s birching a series of ten evenly spaced parallel welts with his cane, and had finished off with two diagonal cross cuts, drawing the whole together. Patrick realised that he had just witnessed an example of truly virtuoso caning, the likes of which he had never before seen; nor was he ever likely to see the like again.  Truly Mr. Godber, when he set his mind to it, was still an absolute crack.

And so the punishment continued as each of the other five boys in turn was made to mount the Rigby Horse and offer his already sore backside to the excruciating ministrations of the Headmaster.  If ever anything warranted the description “bloodbath” this had to be it. When it was all over, the six tearful young men, each wondering if his arse would ever feel the same again, were told to put back on their shorts and leave.

 

As they were leaving and limping back tearfully to the showers, where their backsides would be the centre of attention, Mr. Godber said: “Well, gentlemen; let that be a lesson to you; actions speak louder than words as I think you now appreciate. But make no mistake; even though the end of term is near, if any of you break another rule, you will be back in this room and will again enjoy the doubtful pleasure of mounting the Rigby Horse. I trust I make myself clear:  I will neither the school rules nor my words taken in vain!”

Mr. Godber thanked Patrick and Atkins for their part in the the proceedings and then went off to his own quarters.  Atkins said to Patrick:  “My God, Ingram-Lewis that was one hell of a punishment session we just witnessed. I never realised that old Godber was such an expert with the cane. He beat me several times when I was younger, but I never remember such severity; the old boy was clearly hopping mad.  But you know, that was one of the most erotic things I have ever experienced, I had a hard time keeping my cock down as Godber laid on his cane.  Ingram-Lewis, I don’t know about you but I need a bit of relaxation after that; how about you?”

“You know Atkins, I don’t know what you mean by relaxation, but if it is a quick fuck you are looking for, then let’s get to it.” Which is exactly what the two young men did. They went back to Patrick’s study, locked the door behind them and it was after midnight and a delicious couple of  hours of mutually gratifying copulation, that Atkins quietly crept away back to his own bed. As he saw his partner leave, Patrick reflected on the injustice life at the school. He and Atkins had just participated in a monumental beating session of six of their schoolmates and had then gone on themselves to break yet another of the school’s cardinal rules; but they did not get caught: that was the difference. As Mr. Godber had told him; one had to accept and live with the hypocrisies of life.

CHAPTER 9

 

The mass beating of the upper sixth formers was the focal point of the end of the school year; it defined discipline and punishment at Rigby School for the coming year: It was the legacy which Mr. Godber left for his, as yet unnamed, successor.  Mr. Godber, retired at the end of the school year, after some forty odd years in the service of the school. The new Headmaster would find a well run, well disciplined and obedient establishment on which he could make his own mark; something he surely would do, both literally and metaphorically;  for make no mistake the cane and the birch would remain very much in regular use at Rigby for or many, many years to come.

Evans and company served as an example to the entire school, for never had any group of boys been so severely punished.  After that exceptional evening when seventy two strokes of  the senior maple birch, wielded by Patrick Ingram-Lewis,  followed by seventy two strokes of the senior cane wielded by the Headmaster, the whole school went in aware of what might happen to them if the crossed the fine red line and broke any rule.  It was a watershed moment, as it brought home to everyone how the Sword of Damocles was hanging  over all their heads  and it conditioned their behaviour for months to come.

As or Evans and his friends; well they nursed their wounds as boys since time immemorial have done at English public schools and ultimately rationalised their feelings, again as boys do. They acknowledged that they had been stupid to break such cardinal rules and accepted the fact that having decided to flout the rules, they had stupidly allowed themselves to be taken in flagrante, so to speak by flaunting their defiance of the rules in the principal public house of the town. Their arses were sore for a good week but by the end of term all six lads were again fit and well with no ill effects or scars of what had been an exceptional dose of corporal punishment. And with the attitude which boys so often show towards their masters, even after being punished, they bore neither the Headmaster nor the Head-Boy in loco domini any ill will. In fact they were a prime example of what Mr. Godber hoped to turn out from his school: young gentlemen.

Patrick Ingram-Lewis left Rigby aged eighteen plus at the end of that term and embarked on the next step of his career as an adult: the Royal Navy. He had not yet told his mother of his plans and that was the next hurdle he had to face.  But at the end of the day, sour as vinegar thought she was, she had to be faced down. Patrick was his own man and he had no intention of allowing the mildewed character and views of his mother to influence his future life.

And so Patrick arrived back at Ingram House, looking forward to the summer spent renewing his activities with with Geoffrey, the footman and Tom the assistant gardener, not forgetting of course, the nubile kitchen-maid, Rose. As he descended from the horse drawn cab which had brought him from the station, he surveyed his home and felt sure that for the next few months, until time came to take up his cadetship in the Royal Navy, he would have enough to occupy his mind, not to mention other more important parts of his anatomy.

 THIS CONCLUDES THE INGRAM-LEWIS CHRONICLES.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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This is a tandem / contra point of view story to Kevgenesys’ “Hunk ‘Privately’ Gets Off In A Hot Tub” posted on 17 February, 2018. I have Kev’s blessing to have concocted this continuation of a fiction storyline of my own “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do” featuring a troubled Los Angeles power couple named Jake and Ethan posted on 23 March, 2015, nearly 3 years ago now. 

When Kev and I emailed about his desire to see another piece from the point of view of a voyeur, whom his “hunk” had not known was spectating, for some reason the long-suffering Ethan came to mind. Maybe it was to give him some joy to supplement the challenges he has with his husband Jake, I don’t know – what I do know is that I enjoyed writing this vignette, my first fiction in some time.

And my sincere thanks go to Kev for the idea, for the subject matter license. As always my thanks to Bjorn, who makes GayDemon such a great place for us to indulge either exhibitionist (my many autobiographical postings have been well-served) or creative tendencies – please support GayDemon and Bjorn in appreciation of his hard labor of love. As always, I hope you enjoy this offering. I love hearing from readers, whether other writers or casual readers – feel free to email me.

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Voyeur – A Short Adjunct Story Featuring Jake and Ethan

by BillyC, [email protected]

I finally got to my hotel room in the very late evening after a too-long flight, too-late-arriving driver, too-long dinner meeting, too long a day in general. To say I was beat and cranky was an understatement. Adding insult to injury I’d had a regular day before the flight from the east coast, the time difference protracting the day for me by 3 hours already. The final blow of not-unforeseen reality was that I was a few hours from home by car – less by plane – but was committed for at least two days of negotiations before I could go home and take out my frustrations on my very hunky, very over-sexed and always willing professional athlete husband. UGH!

The suite was . . . adequate. Okay, for any normal standard it would have been called luxurious, maybe opulent – my client was paying, and it crossed my mind that paying through the nose for my inconvenience would give only me satisfaction, because the company that was my client wouldn’t blink an eye at the no-doubt exorbitant expense. To say I’m a spoiled attorney might be a bit unfair to me, but I’m at least a bit jaded by the trappings of success that are afforded people in my profession and position. I’ll concede that I’d also flown in my client’s private jet, and the late driver was a chauffeur in the client’s employ who’d gotten bogged-down by a freeway accident in commuter traffic. In retrospect it’s easy to minimize my bitches; but at the time I was just in a FML mood!

The bellman was nattering on about the amenities, and I tuned back in when he at last handed me the key and was nearing his departure. I was not surprised when he made very intense eye contact. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir? ANYTHING at all?” He added the last with a smirk and a flick of his eyes up and down, and I was sure of the meaning, but he did it with sufficient plausible deniability to barely maintain decorum.

As I got some bills out of my pocket and decided to make it a memorable tip, I assessed the bellman – Henry – for the first time. Too young – maybe 24. Exceptionally well-built – all the better to tote luggage . . . and for other things.

STOP IT! I warned myself sharply in my inner voice.

Bleached blondish hair, probably surf-bleached from the looks of his broad shoulders, which threatened to knock against the door frame if he didn’t turn sideways. The smirk highlighted a very cute face, and his blue eyes bored into mine as they returned from the obvious tour of my own body from head to foot and back. A flick of the end of his tongue between his lips. No look toward the big bill in my hand – either it was always his objective by working it or not his primary objective.

I made a point to extend the bill to him overhand, my wedding ring in prominent view. “I think I’m good, thanks,” I told him, holding his gaze.

With a grin, he deliberately grasped my own big hand with his of equal size in lieu of only the bill and took longer than necessary to exchange the key into my hand and finally pull the bill back. His hand was strong, warm . . . and electrified, or so the frisson that went through my sex-starved body suggested. “My pleasure, sir” he drew out lasciviously and held a beat there facing me. Then he turned and walked to the door with a swing of his hips that prominently offered an ass to die for. One last look back as he opened the door.  “Henry, extension 4004, if you think of anything you . . . WANT.”

I startled and sucked in a breath when the door shut, unaware that I’d been caught up in his spell for those moments following his bubble butt out the door. JESUS, GET A FUCKING GRIP! I admonished myself.

He’d hung my garment bag in the closet and had put out my duffel on the built-in luggage stand, so I didn’t have anything imminently to do. A shower was in my offing, followed by collapsing into the bed, but first a call to my husband.

“Ethan!” came breathlessly from my earpiece when he answered after enough rings that I’d thought he might have taken an Ambien and be sleeping through the phone’s blare of “Take Me Out To The Ball Game”. Yet still he sounded startled, out of breath. Probably the hour, I thought, though another, darker, thought was lurking in the background of my mind. “I didn’t expect you to call until the morning,” he huffed, and I took note of the incongruity – not surprise or startled, as I’d thought; exertion.  “It’s very late. Anything wrong, Eth?” he panted.

My head said there were things very wrong, but I was too exhausted to give those thoughts too much license. “I got to the coast –“

“YOU’RE ON YOUR WAY HOME?” he shouted, interrupting my attempt to tell him how much I wished I was about to collapse into our bed . . . with him. And just then, there, in the background, I heard what my head had tried to tell me – an unfamiliar, deep voice saying, “Oh fuck you have a boyfriend who’s coming home?”

I took a deep breath and let the knowledge fill me, flood my mind with rage, jealousy and anger. We’d been down this path before, and maybe it was all too cliché for two gay men professing monogamy, but it was our lives, and it was real. The silence was deafening; even Jake, master of the tall tale, as I’d learned before, knew he needed to wait to see which way I was going before trying to lie his way out of it.

When I spoke, it was quietly, despite all the screams and shouts blaring in my head, all of which would have been appropriate for the lying bitch. “Sorry for the interruption. By all means don’t stop what you’re doing. I’ll be in San Diego and won’t be home for two days, as you seem to have forgotten. Be out by then, Jake.” And then, amid the beginning of a long whine I knew well – my name, drawn to the dramatic and pleading – “EEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeth!” I thumbed the button to end the call.

I’d said it all calmly. Some part of me had known it would happen after the . . . well, other time as I think of it, as I have no idea if it was the first, tenth or what. I also swiped down and put my phone into airplane mode – there was no way I was taking any of the flood of plaintiff calls I knew would come, nor did I want him to Find My iPhone and find out where I was, given how easy it would be for him to get there and to use his lying words and lying body to lure me back into my state of denial.  

My heart was breaking . . . again . . . and I didn’t want to deal with all that, so I replaced it with fury. I forced my mind full of images of a younger, hotter bull slam-fucking my husband the way he so loved me to fuck him . . . or so he said . . . so he told me every time and by his begging for it all the time. I knew his every moan and twitch and spasm and buck, and I saw all of them in my mind, more intense, his pleasure more obviously genuine.

I realized I was clutching my iPhone so hard I momentarily wondered if the claims about an earlier model’s flimsy construction and ease of bending might happen in my grip. I really didn’t give a fuck, and I suddenly pitched my phone as hard as I could at the suite door across the room. Apparently not hard enough, as it peeled the familiar “Take Me Out To The Ball Game” ringtone that is my husband’s as the phone sat on the ground afterward – I guess it went off airplane mode with the impact . . . or my state of mind was worse than I thought, and I hadn’t really gotten it offline in the first place.

My watch rang, too, moments after the phone sounded. I was a victim of modern technology, and I forgot that my latest iWatch operated independently, including Find My iPhone capability, and it alone could have betrayed my location. I was tempted to rip it the fuck off my arm and fling it, too. Instead, realizing the futility of both, I simply thumbed the ignore button on my watch as I walked to where my phone lay, put them both on airplane mode and made sure of it, then dropped them both to the tiled entry floor and began to walk away without purpose.

Now what? Certainly nothing I wanted to dwell on in the night, yet what for distraction. I paced about a few times in the vast living room and finally decided to get some air and headed to the balcony doors. There was a light switch for the balcony, but I ignored it and opened the door, stepping out into the combination of Pacific Ocean breeze and smog from opposing directions, which seemed to be passing through my space and colliding in a confusing aroma that for some reason made me think of a locker room.

I went out with that thought in my mind – and in my groin, which was responding to my lack of sexual release of any kind for over a week – and just got angrier. While I needed the rage to stave off the hurt and regret, I also am of an age when stress makes type-A men like me become statistics, so I closed my eyes, took in a long, deep breath of the fresh/not-fresh air and brought myself down and back into a calmer place.

The suite’s doors were still open, and I was standing just outside when I finally felt myself clamed, my thoughts rid of the stress of the moment and ready to face the next few minutes. I looked out and saw the skyline in one direction and darkness that was the ocean in another, then did a scan of the hotel’s building as it extended from my corner suite. When I looked down to the pool a few floors below, I first saw him.

No, it wasn’t the bellman, as I’d first thought. The pool area was minimally-lit, but even in the low light and even at this distance I could see that the stud emerging from the building and heading toward the pool was glistening, apparently with sweat. The bellman couldn’t have worked up that sweat that fast I knew. And the stud had a towel wrapped around his waist and what looked like a wad of clothes in his hand – maybe a shower, not a sweat? But in sneakers . . . maybe he didn’t want clean feet to be barefoot after a workout, and the sweaty sneaks were the lesser of two evils?

I continued observing him, but I moved carefully back as far as I could on the balcony and settled into a chair. I still had a full view of the pool area below from a slight side-angle. With luck, my presence would not be obvious if this hunk looked upward, sensing himself being watched.

He was indeed a beautiful specimen. My years as the boyfriend then husband of a younger professional athlete had honed my recognition for types of bodies, and I could tell this hunk was not an athlete, but rather a man who cultivated and honed his physique for its aesthetic. The difference was more a matter of classification than of caring, and in fact my head threw me the thought that it was better for me to ogle a man who worked for his body than a man whose body worked for him. The latter hadn’t worked so well for me, other than the pleasures of his flesh which I had reaped all these years.

Gym shoes came off, then socks, after he got to the edge of the pool. Definitely not the bellman and his black, upscale-looking sneakers, as I saw more flashy, color-coordinated shoes catch a small spotlight by the pool and reveal a familiar swoosh.

The water must have been pleasing because as he dipped his foot in he didn’t flinch or pull out right away. But he did take a broad look around . . . and up . . . and I froze.

His gaze didn’t seem to stop on me or take any notice, and I slowly and silently – ridiculous, given the distance – let out a breath I’d sucked in. When he’d moved so he could dip his foot he was under that one of the sparse spotlights. I could see his body better – and what a body it was, there glistening in the light. I also reasoned that his vision into the darkness was likely far more impaired than mine as a result of the shining spot and distance. The thought crossed my mind that in that spotlight, he was there for my visual enjoyment.

His chiseled physique was indeed enjoyable. His torso and well-muscled arms rippled and roiled as he moved, and he showed enough bulge under the towel wrapped around his waist to know he had both a nice package and a HOT ass.

I was aware of my cock having stirred and grown in my boxer briefs and suit slacks to a point where I was painfully bound up down there. The thought of this stud in the spotlight giving me an unintended show was only exacerbating the problem. As I watched him complete another sweep with his eyes, I carefully and slowly moved only my left forearm to my slacks, unbuckling my belt, opening my pants button and slowly, with great care to be silent, lowering my zipper.

My breath caught again as the pool stud dropped the clothes he’d clutched in his hand, and I felt my cock throb against the heel of my hand which was opening my pants. When he suddenly dropped his towel, I nearly gasped . . . and my cock throbbed with such intensity I momentarily thought I was about to cum then and there.

I could tell from the distance that a naughty grin played on his too-handsome face. Too handsome like Medusa – too gorgeous to look away from and turning me to stone, or at least part of me! When he put his arms behind his head and stretched his body, exposing every cut and cord and ripple, I had the same violent throb in my cock and nuts, and again I wondered at the speed of my arousal by him.

When the pool stud suddenly dove in, it served as a cold splash over my arousal, startling me out of my reverie . . . at least slightly. My hard, fat, long cock, which by then I had in my hand, pulsed as if it was false-shooting. I felt a coolness at my tip, and I realized I was drooling pre . . . already.

I thought about going inside – arguably, where I belonged! – but I was transfixed by the sight of his under-lit body churning through the water, first underwater for the length of the pool, then emerging with a burst above the surface and a head shake that tested my control as the water sprayed and I imagined something else spraying. He wasted no time, however, and he started doing laps.

I watched his body, its rips and ridges and planes, as the water and the pool light accentuated them all as he worked those well-honed muscles and propelled himself back and forth. I absently stroked my aching hardon, feeling more precum in the warm breeze, enjoying the feel of it as I smeared it over my head, rolling my foreskin back and forth in the goo. I absently imagined that the cool effect of the warm breeze which I felt on my cockhead where I’d smeared my pre was the same the hunk felt on the parts of him which emerged from the water.

When the hunk got out, exposing his fully-wet body, my cock again lurched in my hand, and I felt a larger glob of precum at my tip. I’m talking enough that my mind realized my suit slacks would be a mess from it!

GOD! I mentally slapped myself. What am I, a teenager? My throbbing dick reminded me exactly what I was. A very oversexed late-30’s man who hadn’t had sex for over a week owing to my travel. UNLIKE my husband, apparently, my head hastened to add to the discussion. And I was now effectively a free agent, horny, worked up all the more by this hottie, and with a very willing young bellman downstairs at my disposal!

STOP! STOP! STOP! I tried to force myself out of thoughts like that.

The last time I’d caught Jake cheating, I’d gone out and fucked a stranger, ending with guilt and lack of satisfaction for me, complicating and probably leading to Jake’s and my reconciliation . . . because it turned him on that I’d gone and taken out my upset that way. I should have known from that – and from the immediate remove of any focus on his cheating! I didn’t want to slip into this as a way of life. It wasn’t OUR way of life at all, and I didn’t want it to become that – it wasn’t the type of relationship I wanted, though I know it works for many.

Forcing myself to abandon thoughts of my soon-to-be ex, still my cock throbbed in my hand, my big blue balls were full to overflowing . . . and the stud downstairs was stretching again, enjoying the feel of his hands on his own body, illuminated again, this time by a motion-activated light which he’d triggered when he exited the closer end of the pool to me. The show was CUMpelling . . . and my cock was demanding release. When he was lowering himself into a now-roiling Jacuzzi, his cock shown clearly, hardened or hardening as it descended under the frothy surface.

I saw him move himself, positioning himself carefully, and wondered what he was planning. When he’d got on his knees facing one of the sides, his face shown with the enjoyment I recognize as that a man recognizes in another man – he’d got a jet to work his hardon and nuts! I don’t know much about straight sex, but I know men know how to treat men’s nuts, and women simply don’t!

I was stroking in earnest by that point, though slowly, savoring the view, and savoring my own buildup. When I saw him start to thrust in the water, I made the conscious decision to slow myself way down, to edge myself with the sight of him fucking the water and to give him my attention fully.

It wasn’t long, and very suddenly, mid-thrust, he arched his back and put his hands behind his head as if in a long stretch, his crotch continuing its manic thrusting in the water. His ripped torso was flexed and on full, glorious display. At the moment his body tensed to its max and I knew he was about to blow, he leaned back, his cock out of the water now, and he was shooting great arcs of cum from underwater and then above, out over the edge of the Jacuzzi and into the water on the deck.

For some reason I involuntarily stopped my movement on my own cock. I wanted even more than my full attention on this hot hunk in the Jacuzzi, unaware that he was being watched. Or aware and performing, which was even hotter, as I rekindled the thought that this was all for my viewing enjoyment. As if he was fucking the unknown voyeur – me – through a camera, the voyeur seeing every muscle of his tense, even seeing his balls pulled way up and his cock throbbing as it shot his wad, and he’d never know me. And if there were others watching, none of us would know about each other, and he wouldn’t know any of them.

His hand slowed, and he lowered himself again, his head lolling a bit as he enjoyed the aftercum sensation. I saw him wipe something from the edge of the Jacuzzi – and whether it was his cum or not, it was in my mind. Then, when I very gently eased my fingers to my engorged, throbbing cockhead, I found my own precum running down and over my ‘skin and down my shaft. I absently brought my fingers to my lips and savored the taste of my desire.

In that moment my eye caught more movement than that of the young hunk below, this in my peripheral vision. Another balcony, a floor down from mine, probably near the other end of the hall from the corner my suite occupied, had a man on it, his cock out, his arm wildly jerking. I watched the hunk get out of the Jacuzzi below and watched the older man on the balcony across the hotel. The hunk dried himself languidly and then wrapped his towel around himself at the exact moment I saw the older man convulse and saw some drops spray from his hand and cock in the moonlight.

The hunk was inside, and I saw he’d left his shorts and maybe some of his other clothes by the pool. My cock was DEMANDING release. I also wanted the souvenir the hunk had inadvertently left, and I wrestled my big cock back into my slacks and got them zipped, not caring about the discomfort or wetness in my boxer briefs.

I gave the other voyeur a last look and then quickly got up and went back into my room and strode through. I swiped up the room key from a table by the door and headed out without concern for the obvious tenting in my foreground.

I got to the pool area without having seen a soul, and I walked out like I belonged there at that hour of the night. I made a beeline for the forgotten gym clothes. I quickly swiped up and took the sweat-soaked tshirt and shorts only, leaving the shoes and socks there, and headed back inside. When I was in the deserted hallway I brought the sweaty workout clothes to my nose and inhaled deeply, another frisson running through me as I savored the clean, manly sweat of a good workout . . . from a hunk I’d enjoyed the sight of.

My nuts ached for release and screamed in my brain. My cock was just as rigid as it had been when I could have cum up on the balcony. Thinking of a different plan, I walked away from the deserted hallway I’d taken from the elevator to the pool area.

When I hit the lobby I balled up the workout clothes in my hand to be as inconspicuous as possible. Henry saw me from his desk, having looked up from his phone, which had apparently been occupying his attention. His smirk was immediate and seemed knowing, but how could he know? By that point I didn’t give a shit either way.

“You have some time to help me with something upstairs?” I asked, having stalked up to him, boldly adjusting my hardon in my slacks, my eyes boring into his. I saw his smirk go to a wide grin, then he gulped after he’d looked down to see my obvious arousal. “Let’s go,” I ordered, not having bothered to wait for his answer. I turned and strode toward the elevators, and from behind me I heard hurried steps following and catching up with me.

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Any of you who read the first story 3 years ago featuring Jake and Ethan may be vested in a continuation to see where this goes. If so, let me know, and give me any expectations you have. Or not . . . and left to my own devices it may be another 3 years – or longer, or never – before I revisit them. LOL

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And, again, please support GayDemon and show your appreciation to Bjorn. It’s his hard work alone that gives us this place to post, read, comment . . . and anything else we do attendant to our enjoyment of these stories!

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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This may seem very familiar to those who read the “Bird Shooting” series. This was planned as the original end but, in the interval, it was sold an the purchaser liked the other ending but this is my favourite. Yes, there’s no sex here but if you like off shoots of sex, you may be happy.

The title refers to the name of the town no one could ever get the authorites to acknowledge although it was pointed  out that towns with names such as “Intercourse” were alive and well and in Pennsylvania.

I’m curious as to how you might cast this, who would play whom. No women and no ethnics….the purchaser had problems with that but it was pointed out in places like this, women may have been in residence but were out of sight. 

Okay, you may wonder how a story that contains as much homosexual behavior can be accepted for a picture? Simple, I can and did, remove virtually all the sex from a projected screen play and…the story of Jon/Bill still hangs together nicely. 

I hope you’ll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

An unfeeling Neuro Surgeon just extended my sentence by three months so I would imagine there’s more to come. Particularly the fi

The final part of ” Catwalk on the Prairie should be done this week…:

Thanks to all of you who’ve read and, one hopes, been entertained.

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The road had to the corner where I turned had changed; It got worse. How the fuck is that possible? There should be lines of white crosses all up and down marking where weather and the county maintenance crews had performed their reverse magic of making the bad worse and then worse, Godawful.; Those crosses marking death and maiming done by their lack of effort. I pulled into the opening that had once led to a rickety farm house, couple of out buildings and the place where, knowing what was coming, was a good place to get out and shake the weasel or have piss flicked out of you by the road nobody much takes. The road that leads me home to my Dad, to my town to a part of my life that I will never forget and sometimes find it hard to remember. 

About the only thing that even suggested permanence were the bits and pieces of the sign that once advertised that Five miles ahead there was a Mac Donalds. Funny, I don’t know one person who ever went on down to see if there was a burger joint, Mac Donalds or not. Now, the sign didn’t say much of anything between jokers and kids driving by shooting it up, trying to tip it over, hit it with their pickups. Gotta say this for whoever put that sign there, it was meant to be there for the loooong haul. Yes sir. I threw it a salute  just because I figured it deserved some respect after the hell it had seen. 

From the sign I could look down my road to wherever I was going, the town, there, the one we named some while back and either the state or the county or some asshole still didn’t have it on a map or a road sign, not even a turn sign with no indication of where you went if you turned. Gotta laugh. Holy Sheeit. You just gotta laugh, what else to do? 

For the sake of tradition, I pulled out my cock, sprayed the weeds again and then…left it out. Got my barracks cap out of my pocket, pulled down, got the shades, turned over the engine, did a slow roll to cross the road-looking out for what? Traffic? I must be fucking nuts and then down our road, the one nobody took much. 

Just like all the men, I put one boot up on the speedometer, kept the toe of the other on the gas, steered with one thumb, or, if could get it hard enough-and sometimes I could- try and steer it with my cock. Not today. Nope, Not tooday, wasn’t cock driving time but this was the place for cocks, fuck, we named the team The Cocks. Some jerk once bet us we wouldn’t play a whole inning with our cocks hanging out-we did and now there’s not a cherry left on their team. Local boy, local team only from about 50 miles away so they knew the legends and the stories. Those about the Cocks and their winning ways, their wild ways and the murderer who started it all.

I laughed to myself….the murderer who started it all, well, that’s me, Bill Constant, Son to Billy Constant, Sheriff of whatever he wants to be Sheriff    Bill, me, the man who shot two men, one his father, so good there were holes in both of them, made good eating for the Vultures and the Coyotes.

(Some shit head from a town we stomped said our team name should be The Vultures. The way we picked over the dead, the limping, the damaged, the bruised….Buzz, he’s the Cocks coach, said he liked it best when after the game, everybody on the field, and some in the stands had at least a shiner. Sometimes two. You may have heard about school boy ball games but have you heard about small town school boy/men ball games? most of the guys have hair on their chest and their nuts and age…well, that’s a sometimes thing if anyone cares to get techical. Take me, I started the second half of my Sophomore year when I was probably, best we can figure, late 18, early 19. Graduated when I was oh, about 21 and top of my class, A+ In every fucking subject. Course, only two men got less than A-‘s. So top of the class was just an honor to me for being the head Stud just like my Dad had been before me. Don’t get to thinking we were bizarre or anything, no horse hung and balls like a bull-everyone kept theirs shaved-but because by weight and measure we were the largest. Fuck, Dad and I, individually, could pump out on an average day, three shot glasses full and if that doesn’t sound like much, you try it.  I was bigger balled but Dad had me in the cock department. Not by much but just enough to make me proud, give me something to look up to. look down to hold on to go down on and only my big hands could go completely around it…you should feel it up your ass as I did often. It was the E ticket ride. And then some. 

 

I slowed down a touch not that it made much difference in the road…only time I’d been down it when it didn’t feel like riding on dead rock was when Serge, the Judge, came to town and let me drive his Lincoln. (Shot him, too, meant to, I’m just that kinda guy I guess. Actually, shot him and two hired guns on the same day so, lets see, that makes my first father, only he wasn’t, the Judge actually was, (my real father that is) one of the town secrets, back up, Dad’s one and two plus the hied guns…that makes four. That we talked about.) See? Now that’s how all these stories and rumors get started. Like the day I shot the judge. We’d all been out helping Shep Collyer with his branding and steering of his calves and some fool thought it would be studly to brand the Judge so they grabbed him up, took him to the pit where the branding irons were and….then stuck a thick yellow page book down his britches before they struck the iron. Now that’s what really happened but the fucking rumor got started that Billy, my third, and still living Dad, happy to say, got pissed off and really did brand him but when he called Dad a faggot cocksucker, well I did what any son would do and plugged him.

Shep heard that one a couple of times too many, slapped his heavy leather working gloves on his ass and just turned away. All he ever said was, no fucking way was that anywhere close and, besides, Billy shot the Judge first then I put the hole in him with the over under double barrel fully choked shotgun that happened to be laying beside me where I’d been flattened out with my Winchester picking off the shit heads who’d come to town to kill me and the judge. See how these things get all twisted? Now, if you lived here, you might know something of the truth but…aw fuck, who cares that was years ago. 

Buzz had heard that one a few times too and, frankly, he was both pissed off and a bit put out. After all, he’d been playing the Sheriff, that’d be my Dad, down by the car some of my guys wrecked and then pulled across the road so he could pull over the out of town heat. People think he didn’t do much? Fuckin’ A he did a bunch. He’s smiling, playing small town Sherriff in front of two guys who are packing major heat and keep his cool. Also, because we had him miked, he was the one to say “Gun” which was my signal to play sniper and pick the two off, shot ’em right at the base of their skull,  then jump out of the way when the car they were in jumped the road almost taking him with it. After that, while Dad and I are up on the hill shooting the Judge, he and my team are pushing all the cars down the side of the road, setting fire and it was Buzz who climbed in the cab of the car the heat was driving and not only set them on fire with gas,….or maybe it was Kerosene…but stuck BIG, we’re talking horse cock size here, fire crackers up their asses so there wouldn’t be much of anything once the fire cooled…in a few days. Just to be on the safe side, whoever had to go that way took a five gallon can of whatever was around that burned, poured it over the carcasses of the cars, and the men, lit it and went on to whatever they set out to do.

　

Now that’s what happened. After a while it was almost impossible to see where anything, burned or not, had been. Felt sorry about the Vultures though, when I shot to kill, there was usually fresh meat for them so, the next week, I found the tree where they were and brought down a lame steer-he didn’t have a chance anyway- so they got fed. 

There’d been loose talk about our road, the road nobody much drove, maybe improve it? But, sheeit, why? Kept away folks we didn’t want and the guys from the stores met their suppliers up at Sign corner, that’s what we called it and I’m sure you can see why, so …..what good to spend God knows how much money to improve something that was almost dead anyway? With one exception. The last hundred feet, just before you got to the only stop sign, not light, the big red stop sign in town, was paved with bricks to match the main street, all, maybe, five hundred feet of it with the same six street lights, three on either side of the intersection.

Outside Cal’s barber shop, bless his heart, he’s gone now, got took doing Randy Shefffields crew cut or maybe it was a high n tight, Cal just did whatever he remembered to on the spur of the moment. Every man in town looked oddly alike, least where hair was concerned. Or, you could buy your own set of clippers and what all then cut your own hair. Frankly, having seen the results, I let Cal do mine as did my Dad as did almost everyone else. Young Cal, well, he never learned to cut which was a mercy as he had won the title of town drunk years before. His Dad did a nice thing-put a good sized comfortable bench outside his shop so young Cal had a place to sleep if he forgot how to go upstairs to where they lived. 

Actually, that bench set off a regular Town Beautification Project. More benches, some brick flower holders, nice trees, good sized ones that got decorated at Christmas and, like I said, that fully bricked street. Some who actually came to town, like the families of guys who played our Cock Teams for their away games, always looked at our main street funny, said it was awfully fancy for a no-account place like ours….and just shook their heads, wandered off and figured all people really back in the stix were nuts. 

Now, quick like, I’ll tell you about that street and why we were real glad to have visitors to come play. This is another of those secrets that some knew, some thought they knew and others, well, they were just fucked up confused. It’s like this. Before I came to town and was adopted by Billy, I’d lived in the city with my second dad who was a very polite, very successful hit man for the mob. Called him a torpedo and, since he was proud of his abilities, taught his son, me, how to do all of them. Lie, cheat, steal, shoot, made me into a sniper himself. Give me a gun and there wasn’t much I couldn’t do with it. That man was proud…Uhm Hum. He taught me to read, math, write, read some more, from the time I was six or seven I went to the gym with him and as time went on and I grew up, well, he’d got me into real good shape. Not body builder, no nothing like that but when I took my clothes off to swim, you could tell under that quiet man, there was a body and a half. 

Guess you need to know this too; Dad liked his sex with men so…figuring in a pinch it was a way for me to earn a couple of bucks, he got a buddy of his who was a professional male ho to come take my cherry then teach me how to do it. All of it. When Phillippe-his real name, not the “Joe” he went by, wasn’t around and that Dad wasn’t getting ready for a job, he’d fuck me or suck me or whatever. You need to understand, I loved him and, after the first little bit, which Phillippe warned me would hurt, I got to like it myself. Actually, I guess I liked it better than he did cuz I’d slip into him, we slept together, during the night and ride that pony. I could tell he liked it by the noises  and the seeping from his “pointer” as he called his dick. 

Actually under very strict circumstances, Phillippe would take me out and present me as a virgin who was his kid but they were broke. Christ, how he sold that act, another thing I learned, how to believe what you’re saying even if it’s a crock. Anyway, he’d find some dude who had more money than sense and we’d go by his place and, after Phillippe wrapped his arms around me, tears flowing, I went with the stupe and let him ‘take my cherry’, That was a quick grand and, if he wanted to suck my little boy dick that was another grand. Dad at home got some of the take as did I which is how he taught me thrift; Always be aware of the money you make for yourself and hang onto it. Lesson learned. One of many, many lessons he taught me, all of them solid and not one of them less than useful at some point in my life. 

The Joker to his Batman-I guess that makes me Robin-was the Judge. Time went on and they got to hate each other because I was the Judge’s natural son by a very expensive hooker who said she couldn’t get knocked up. Well, a rising judge did not need a working girl to stand beside him but he also didn’t need a kid that he couldn’t explain. Back then, Dad one hadn’t got in tight with the mob, just did some jobs, strong arm stuff, little lead not up to sniper but that was coming. Three days after I was born Dad One was hauled into court and….the Judge had a brain wave, this was a nice looking guy, not much of a rap sheet, as a judge he could control, he thought, what he did and so they had a meeting in chambers. How I wish there had been a court recording of that. At that time it probably seemed a good idea for everyone; Dad one got out of whatever trouble he was in and the judge made him my father thinking he had control of it all. He didn’t but wouldn’t find that out for some while. 

Jump way ahead. Dad One has fucked up big time, I mean not only missed his shot but left evidence that went the wrong way. The guys who bought his services on this one were hot but…for a little bit, said nothing. In what must have been a desperate move, he told me all about it and what he begged me to do. Whatever the circumstance, all those years, and however it may sound, he’d been damn fine to me. I had to go along with it. He had a distant relative, really distant, so distant that when he finally got through  to him it took more than a minute to double jog his memory but he finally did remember. Based on almost no time and family, Dad one said he had a new gun and could he bring his son and they’d all go shoot birds. Fine with him, he could always use the meat and so we went out, my first time past the corner and down the little traveled road and, after only gettting lost six or eight times, found Jake’s place. Nice guy and by the time we showed up, had talked himself into remembering us quite well. And, when we got out of the car, we looked good. Well dressed well spoken and, of course his son. 

Time wasn’t going backwards, it was running backwards; We knew the guys were down on this and the hit on Dad one was up. That night at Jake’s, we fucked each other and I slept with his dick in my mouth. Gotta say, the men in my line, real or given to me by adoption, all tasted better than any other. 

Well, first thing, right after dawn, the first time you can legally shoot, we were out in the fields theoretically looking for birds-in our camel hair overcoats and double breasted custom made suits we didn’t exactly look like seasoned hunter; If this bothered Jake, he didn’t show it. I picked the place, made it easier on him, then shot him while Jake thought he saw a covey rising. Word travels fast and his death got to the guys who were looking for him ready to start by cutting off his nuts and then working him over. At least he was at peace in a field, even if the vultures and the coyotes did finally eat the corpse. 

　

Maybe that was just as well, in certain ways, saved everybody a great lot of trouble. That’s also how I got Billy for my last, Jesus I hope he’s the last, Dad. The judge got screwed because Dad one had all the money in trust for me and, when I had Billy adopt me, he got access to it and the judge, well, I asked him to be my Godfather so I could keep an eye on him. Something said all that money was too great a target for a man who’s name shouldn’t have been Serge, but Greed. Long story short, I was right, another lesson from Dad One, if there’s money and some son of a bitch thinks it should be his, one day he’s going to try and get it. The Judge, the Lincoln, the visit…..guess he thought it was come and get it time and, you know, that proved to be true. Yes, he was my real sperm donating father but he was also a fucker and when he made his move, I shot him. End of story and the money stayed with Billy, my last Dad, and me. 

Better than Main street, was our school, everything from Kindergarten to graduate you as a Senior. Over time, it got better, bigger and, for the few schools who ever bothered to come play our teams, the finest, grade AAA sports facilities around. A grand stand that held not only our town, but the people from the visiting team’s town plus the pavillion where everyone got to know one another and also, say it was Spring, the Football guys rode herd on possible fights between representatives of the two team. Playing football? You got it, the B’ball boys are returning the favor and word got around double quick you did NOT fuck around with any of our teams. Just to underscore how welcome we wanted the teams to feel, our scoreboard, completely electrified and able to shoot off quite a nice fireworks display when we scored, didn’t say “Visitors”, no, friendly, it said “Guests”.

Under the fields, well, when we were tearing them up to redo them, it just seemed a good place, we put the gyms, weight room, -no diving-locker rooms for our guys and the visitors-who were stunned. Fuck, those locker rooms looked more like something a Pittsburgh Steeler or Boston Red Sox would feel comfortable in than a bunch of yahoo school boys out in the middle of no where in particular. Almost like a club, we may try and beat the shit out of you on the field but once you entered the locker room, it was all good natured, towel popping, great showers, good trainers, hell, bring your Dads. Kinda hoped you would. What would an almost club like this be if it didn’t have a gents card room, locker room for the men and a bar. See, that card room, and some of our other fund raising endeavors paid for just about everything you saw. I’d learned how to hustle suckers out of almost anything and, to me, cards or dice were just what a kid does. At least the kids I grew up with and…we used real money-kept a stack of hundreds in the safe at home so when friends dropped by for a game, no one needed go to the bank.

I ran the locker rooms, the card rooms, the gents club like one off Vegas. No one encouraged you to wager, fact is, sometimes you had to push to even get a hand of Rummy, much less poker, up and running. 

Oh, and one more thing we quietly added; We knew teams came a long way to play us-further as our reputation rapidly grew-so we put in a sort of up scale bunk house for the guys and nice rooms, three to a place, for their Dads and coaches. Knowing you didn’t have to nurse a black eye and some major bruising plus drive home that night made us a popular site and teams from schools six, eight times as large as ours came to play. Both on and off the field. Fact is, we arranged sort of family weekends, more like father/sons but we had the space, had the reputation of being real good on the hospitality end and…then some one said they got a might tired of almight poke and what about a Craps table? Just like the two Dad and I had been keeping two in the barn where I used to have my hidey hole. Five of my team, and their fathers, had been trained to be stick men and run the game but it all looked friendly and it was. No smart ass bow ties, just whatever you were wearing, change made at the table, no credit cards but only because we were so isolated that getting the lines up for a bank or whoever, just didn’t work. 

Sam was sitting around his front porch, hoping that new cowhand from Slims place might mosey by when he had an idea; We could charter our own bank….take some of the money I had in trust in the city which got us our FDIC credentials then, quietly, put it in a corner sorta near but not by the crap tables, the poker tables and all with the idea if you needed a spare fifty for gas or whatever, well, we were open pretty much most of the time and, of course, always would open for a friend…particularly if they were buying in at one of the tables. And that’s how we paid for all that fancy paid street, decorations and what not down town. We kept our locker room/guest house/casino open about 18 hours a day, cept when there was a game being played and, before that, you could stick your head in to the odds room and get the line on almost every game in the country, not county. Pro, amateur, sometimes even the bigger horse races. Dad wanted to stay away from prize fights, said they attracted the wrong kind of folks and, since I’d seen the “folks” in the city knew he was right. 

To keep it looking legit, if you had a kid playing anytime during the year, well, you were more than welcome to drop in “on your way home” as it were. That’s another reason we never, ever improved the road, it wasn’t inviting so no one who was looking for a big money game bothered us. We handed out cards to all the players and their families in our league then expanded it to teams we might play maybe once every other year but…they all got cards and knew they were welcome. I do believe the guys got as much out of it as did their dads. 

Those bunk rooms were somewhat better than the description may suggest; We put up everyone’s mascot, treated ’em fine and one time, even had a real dance in the pavillion. Found a band, course two or three bars, no cost, dinner if you wanted it, just a really nice evening. Husbands and wives who hadn’t danced since their wedding got out and stumbled around but had a great time. We were approached about maybe having the Cock’s proms there but Buzz, Sam, me, Billy, Jeb all could see the problems there. Still and all they deserved, specially the Seniors some sort of party. Fuck, there were only 72 students in all three upper grades so we made it a pool party in our back yard. Parents welcome but encouraged to stay back, just chaperoned from a distance. And that wasn’t all.

Before the prom started, every man on our teams was taken down to the locker room and handed a good sized paper cup, about the size for a double coffee. They looked puzzled. We looked determined and explained, right here, in front of everybody they were going to drain themselves at least twice-we knew this would tire them and deflate their sperm count-and there was no prize who gave the most. However, we did hand out special Condoms that had printed on them, “I’m a Cocksman” . To this day, some guys, and their fathers who “asked if they could have a souvenir:” still have them beyond, of course, the ones we made them wear and, surprize! during the evening, the guys were quietly taken to one side and some adult looked down their pants just to see if all was still in order. One thing, we never said they had to wear underwear IF they wore the condoms…which they were going to do anyway.

　

On the road, just at the corner, I could see whatever business was, it was doing well and I would have put money that it all bloomed from those high school games. Thought back to high school, thought, after the mess of getting everyone dead that bothered me, I had a great time, first time I’d ever really been ‘Young’, jacked around, ran wild with no restraints for I wasn’t doing anything that all the other guys weren’t doing. Town was so small and there were so few of us, there could not be an in and an out group, you were just part of the team. As your little brother got bigger, in he came, learned what we did, got the same pleasure we got and never lacked for a friend just to be with or throw a ball or…whatever. 

　

Dad and I were sitting on our patio one hot day in late summer, just bull shitting, nothing much no issue until he reached over and rubbed my chest. “Do ya comb it or brush it?” we both laughed. A little silence. “Son, I know you and the guys are having one helluva time, we made so much money…but much as I hate for it to end, Son, you’re done with high school.” Then he was quiet and looked at me. By scooting up my head I could look down my chest toward my cock and…he had a point. Didn’t seem like just yesterday when I’d whined about not having hair on my chest like Dad, well, no worries there. From just at my clavicle to well past my nuts, almost around back, I was furry. Not to much that my body was hidden but also it was more than obvious I was a grown man. Fact was, the last baseball season some of the coaches for the other teams had ‘suggested’ I looked a might old for school boy sports. They were right but you couldn’t take me out of the game just because I had hairy arm pits. Or a crotch that almost concealed a good looking pair or nuts and a lengthy schlong. Still, a few comments this year could turn into stronger demands next year then it would get ugly and our team would get a spotlight it really neither wanted nor needed.

Jeb sauntered around the corner, possibly looking for Buzz, maybe looking for us or maybe just to jump in-it was one hot day. Dad and I were under the awning which kept most of the sun away but did nothing to cool anyone down. That hair on me? Well about then sweat had pretty much plastered it to me, Dad as well. Jeb was the leader as we all hopped in just enjoying the sudden cool. 

“Hey, Jeb, how old you think you are?”

He didn’t look puzzled, just thinking of a way to figure it out. “Well, Bill and I were soph’mores an I was about, maybe fourteen or so? I think then I’ve done played three football seasons, two baseball-had to take on off that time I pulled an Achilles Tendon so, lets see, fourteen plus three footballs ‘n we had that birthday party, member Bill?, in March so I guess I’m pret near 18. Sir, speakin’ a that, can I get all a us a cold one?” Dad waved him out of the pool and over to the refrigerators. Out here, on account of the glass, it was cans, not long necks.

While Jeb tried to figure out how to carry six cans-he planned ahead, Dad got me by the edge, put a hand on my shoulder, “Son, I think that makes you at least…21? Cuz I knew when you started school out here you was no 14, probably 18 and, fuck it don’t matter worth sour apple shit but I think you better hurry up quick and grad U Ate. You and Jeb and a coupla others. 

Jeb lined up six of them, grabbed a towel, wet it, then put it over the cans. Wouldn’t replace a fridge but it would keep ’em a little cool. “Hey, son, Bill an me was just talkin’ and figurin some numbers an…I think theys some of you who done graduated, gotta let the new men play….” 

He was selling it hard and I knew why, For years, Jeb and Buzz had quietly been keeping  company is the best way to say it, didn’t quite live together but six nights out of seven, if I needed Jeb or Buzz, I didn’t have to think too hard on where to look. Jeb’s dad, Sam, was the deputy and enjoyed a wandering eye for flesh male and female. Sheb Collyer said when the rut was on, he had to keep Sam way away from everything. But that worked out in that Sam had no problems with his son and Buzz being lovers, cuz that’s what they were, and Jeb was happy for his father, even to bringing new meat home if he happened to spot a cowboy or someone dumb enough to come down our road that looked like Sam should offer him a beer…

Jeb put his head down on the edge of the pool, his face away from us which muffled what he said but we heard him. “What about Buzz….?:”

“Well She-it, kid, Buzz ain’t gonna grad u ate, he’s already…”  I put my hand over his mouth. 

“Jeb, how long have I been your best, your closest, THE one in your life?”

“I spect…ever since you come to town.”

“Right, ever since I came to town and do you think for one fucking moment I’m not going to be your friend just because ol shit ass over there is gonna make us graduate?” Dad suppressed a smile, he caught my drift. “Am I gonna haveta fuck some sense into you? Right here? Or’d you prefer my Dad do it, he’s got the biggest dick…?”

Dad sorta floated over, drew Jeb to his chest. ” Nobody wants you happier than me and Bill here and the very last thing we want you to do, ever, is give him up just like yer never gonna give up a best friend called Bill now aint that about right?” Jeb was almost there but Buzz as his coach and his bed mate went together like sheets and mattresses. Dad was getting a little annoyed. He needed both of us to lead the band of guys who were going to graduate and he couldn’t have that band lead through Buzz’s bedroom. I got to him before Dad did.

“Jeb, nothing changes but you need to know…things don’t stay exactly the same: Member when we put up the tower so we could have a little televsion and our own phone system? Well, that didn’t change anything, just made it better. (I neglected to mention so we could also get the morning line on games, races, whatever and wherever a wager might amuse you to make. With us.) Not having to go to school just means you’l have more time to…..ah….” God Bless Dad, he walked the idea right through the door and the plate glass mirror that I was stuck at.

“Hey, son, I guess I gotta tell ya and  spoil the surprise…” for me too…”yer Dad an I figgered without you we’d only have half a coach so, now that you don’t have ta go to school…..you can be the assistant coach.! Permanent! ” I slipped below the water, my eyes closed in gratitude to the best dad a man ever had. Jeb wouldn’t have minded it but why I had suddenly gone down on my father might have required some explanation, I was grateful enough I would have. On the side, chonked him a beer and in two gulps, got around one myself. Jeb was in heaven and required no alcohol so Dad and I finished up the last two. 

“Assistant Coach…..! I, I can be beside him on the side lines an help and tell what things mean…(It was an open secret on our teams that great a guy as Buzz was, he had only limited skills at coaching. That no one noticed was because we were so unified ourselves that just watching a Pro game, was his teaching tool. Before the mast, Buzz would get tapes and we’d all watch them, rewind, watch them again and learned. To the extent that one day as I was walking off the field after a surprisingly series of plays that got us a touch down, I heard a visiting coach say to his assistant….”Ya know….Fred, think, we’ve seen that play before…haven’t we?” Fred sort of looked dumb and I went on. I could have paused and explained if they’d got hold of some old tapes and watched Staubach and the Cowboys win another one, they’d know where it came from. See, this is where Buzz was sensationally smart; While most coaches were having their guys watch the NFL shit from last week, Buzz had isolated the good stuff from games long since forgotten that’s what made him a brilliant coach, that he could see what would work not that he had guys running plays in and out. If he couldn’t coach in the more accepted way, he could watch and analze to a crossed t and dotted i. Nobody, and I am dead serious, could watch something so mundane and turn it into a play…even if he wasn’t too sure what to do; We did and gave him full great for this brilliant play. To listen to our huddles you might hear, ‘okay, Gabriel, Oakland, third quarter.’ Probably our favorite was Broadway Joe Namath but Buzz looked more for the highly technical players and not just quarterbacks, tight ends and the offensive team. Down to every player, he culled through films that only worked for one guy but, when executed, worked seamlessly in the over all. A common comment from the opponents coaching staff was, “where the fuck did that come from?” The answer, ‘Steelers ’76’ wouldn’t have answered their question.

Jeb was up and out of the pool doubtless on his way to see Buzz who hadn’t heard about his new forever assistant but, God I hoped, wouldn’t fumble this one. “Think he shoulda put his shorts on?”

“Nah, it ain’t that far and ‘sides, everyone back to sign corner has seen him running to Buzz one time or another. Jist another satisfied customer, a courtesy yer County Mounty.”

“Dad, you made one man, awful happy, where you came up with that….”

“Hell, son, tweren’t nothin’. Just said out loud what he does already ‘cept now, he won’t have to go out and play and still be the assistant. Want another? I’m about sunned out…lets go on in see what’s on the televison.”

　

There wasn’t anthing but given the very limited service our mini tower and power source provided, we were pretty much used to that. I dropped by the shower, got the chlorine off, dried down then wandered back in to where Dad was in the two matching recliners. One of them even turned into a bed-our spare room having been given over to many things, a bed not being one of them. 

　

“What about you? Now that you’re graduated, you gotta find somethin’ to do, got any plans?” I flopped back let my legs spread, scratched my nuts…

“Shep said he could use a pair of good strong hands, do some work there, be down in the locker room seeing to that.”

“Yeup, you shore could do that. Fuck, that place is taking in more money than the county treasurer in taxes.” (Billy in what had seemed a gesture of graciousness had started refusing to accept his salary asking only that it be distributed between the Volunteer Fire Departments and First Responder; In places such as ours, the cost to run a ‘regular’ department would have been overwhelming. Billy people hadn’t realized until this gesture, didn’t make all that much so giving it up, and with a new son, had real depth and meaning. It was accepted practice that when one of the ladies spotted his pants or a shirt that was more a collection of holes, they’d have him slip out of them, on the spot, and return them when certain corrections had been made. Knowing that he and I had more than enough money may make his offer seem less generous but those it helped didn’t know about his wealthy murdering son and so his salary, less than 20k a year, was considered a huge contribution

There was something, Dad knew it, I knew it but…I hated like thunder to bring it up, I fucking loved my Dad so much that the thought of separation was really hard. I’d already gunned down two dads and while that didn’t even seem an option…(I thought of an old song lyric, ‘I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy..’)

I looked up,  rolled up in the chair, got my feet on the floor, my elbows on the table and my head in my hands….

“Dad, a long time ago I made you a promise and it’s about time to keep it…a fore I get to old and they won’t take me….” 

　

　

Six years, six interesting, fascinating, frightening, condensed, precise, intentionally painful years and now I was at the corner and there was still no fucking name for my town. Of course, the team name, The Cocks was everywhere, I expected that but the name of our town? I guess you had to live there to know it.

It was almost dusk about when I wanted to arrive. Carefully slid my truck along side the house, got out and slow walked down until my right shoulder was almost to the door, not quite, but almost. Nice night, only door closed was the screen. Inside I could hear Dad rustling papers, swearing, dropping them…start back. For just a few minutes more I wanted to be the outsider watching my family, my Dad, live without me, still be the son loved, missed thought about…just not there. The silence of oncoming night was not a covering but a curtain about to rise on one life and descend on another.

　

Quietly tapped my boot heel against the bottom of the aluminium frame. I could hear Dad stir, thinking he might have heard something but…no. I smiled to myself. I’d picked up some stones when I parked the truck and tossed one of them way out front, just barely made a sound. Again, I could tell he was pissed cuz he did and did not think he heard something and, fuck it, he was the sheriff and he was supposed to hear things. Guess I’d give him something to hear.

I had to breathe, think about my Dad, the man inside, the man who had seen me in six years, didn’t know what happened…sent me off to his beloved Corps and… I disappeared. Spoke to him once or twice but over six years….

Gave the bottom of the door a good tap with my heel and said, “Hey Dad, wanta share a long neck?” This time there was an eruption of things falling, papers wadding themselves….

“Bill, Son,is that you?” He came out the door so strong I was amazed it didn’t get ripped off. Stood there and looked at me. ‘

“Hey Dad, you got room for one muscled up jarhead…?” I almost didn’t survive his onslaught. I was grabbed, held so strong that we were both on the way down until, laughing, I rolled him over in the dust, stood up ….”Member what I promised you? Bring you home your own A-1 muscled up Jarhead Marine…” 

He sat there on the ground and just bawled. Couldn’t help it. Seemed easier so I squatted down, took him in my arms, held him, kissed him, eased him up. “I think we  need some long necks.:”

He just stared at me as we went inside. I was home, his, home his son, the thing he loved best. Reached in the fridge to get a beer and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. Noticed that there’d been a mistake, “Well fuck that ain’t it….:” Finally got the beers and, as we had for years sat at the table, I leaned back, popped a bicep with one arm and drained the beer with the other. He just sat there, eyes brimming with every emotion that spelled happiness one way or the other. 

“Ya little pissant, why’d n’t you call, let me know….?”

“Cuz I made a promise to my Dad and you know, when it comes to you I always keep my promises,” I lifted both arms, put them behind my bull neck and gave him the double biceps, popped the muscles around my neck…’just like I promised my Dad, one Muscled up Jarhead Marine. Just like his old man.” He was so rattled he took my empty got lost in what to do with it and handed it back to me. To make it easier, I walked around the table and hooked out two for me and two for him. Got seated again and, just like back in the barracks, swung one boot on the table and stuck a hand down my camis. “Hey, Dad, it’s fuckin’ good to be home.” I saw a question…

“When do you….”

“Don’t, finished. Gave ’em two plus four more, I am fucking done but, you know, I’m always gonna be a Marine…just like my Dad” and spontaneously we both did the HooRah. He smiled. There’s something I’ve been missing for a long time.”

“Yeah, I kinda figgured cuz I’ve been missing it too.:” He stood up, I put one hand on his shoulder and without looking at each other, walked toward the bedroom. But then he punched me out to the extent that I was eating floor wax. I knew better than to get up, he had something stuck in him and now he was going to let it rip. 

“Six fucking years….Six fucking years you been gone, never seen you only heerd from you now and again. Why son? Why? doncha love me anymore?” I knew this was serious and the explanation…was going to be tough on him. He stood there tears in his eyes, not understanding, just devastated that I was home but…he’d given up, probably a long time ago. How long had it been since he’d even heard my voice? Two years? Three? There was a good reason but…

“You want me to skedaddle on out? That work for you? I’m sorry Dad, so sorry but….”

He fell to the floor beside me. “No son, no, I don’t ever wanta lose you again but when I thought you’d left me….I jist hadda…”

I took him in my arms and just held him. “Dad you were in the Corps…think…think….what would they do with someone like me? No point in having me march around Pendleton all day or maybe go to Benning and jump…Dad, remember, you know this, I came with talent….lots of special talents.” Looking him in the eye, I tried to bring back memories, bodies on the ground, bodies in a car on fire….shooting my own natural father…but I couldn’t tell him, he had to come to realize it. 

He plunked hard beside me on the wood floor, my tight, muscled ass and his still slightly tight Marine ass….He looked at me…”How many?” I looked down at the floor. 

“Doesn’t matter, not now.”

“Son how many, you gotta tell me.. “

I started to get up, avoid the question but he grabbed the web belt around my waist and pulled me back. His face was frightened, he had to look at me but also he wanted an answer. It was a move I hadn’t expected or, easy, I could have slipped it. He had me on my belly, one arm cruelly pulled back, a knee up my crotch ready to go into my nuts if I didn’t answer. He knew that maybe even pain wouldn’t work…now but it was his only hope. My cheek was on the floor, my mouth almost distorted. He grabbed my head and slammed it into the floor. He didn’t speak, he growled. “How many did they make you killl?” Slammed me again, gave my nuts one powerful knee….:”How many did they make you kill till they was sure you was a killer, always would be……..” 

He knew, now. We were like models for a statue, absolutely calm, muscles bulging only difference being…models would be naked. Slowly he got up, paid me no attention just began to ramble….”They knew yer history, they knew you’d already killed, easy for you, fuck, you murdered your own flesh…no govenors on you. You were the killer they wanted and I …. sent….you off, I sent my son who promised me to be a Marine cuz his Dad was. I shoulda known they’d a done it, they’d a been damn fools if theyu didn’t….” He turned. “Where’d they take you first, wasn’y any place most people heard of, no, not for what theywanted.”

He turned and looked at me in abject horror….”How long they work you over until you could take it, whip you, precision tie you,” there was a word, a word he knew buy couldn’t say…I got slowly up from the floor, went to him, held him, put my lips by his ear.

“A long time, they’re professional torturers cuz that’s what they neede, needed me to be…Dad, you don’t need to hear all this, you know it, at least you’ve heard about, have an idea….”

He was glassy eyed, unmoving, his ear by my lips, listening for what I would tell him…if I would. And I wouldn’t, it would advance nothing to spell out what and how and why and where…and most particularly…who.

He stepped back and ripped the green T shirt from me. “Didn’t leave a scar….they were really good, professionals. Turn around” I did. “Clean beautiful strong back, look at that spread. He reached around me, undid my belt, stood back. “Drop ’em get nekkid.” Pants hit the floor, jock, all stopping at my boots. “Finish, pull off them boots, if you got anything in em, let me have it.” I handed him a small, vicious knife and a kill garrotte…”That all?” I nodded my head, yes, that was all. “Stand up, hands interlaced behind your head. I heard the click of the cuffs. 

“Dad…”

“Shut up. spread those legs, spread em…far as they can go.:” I felt the rope around my neck. He was starting to make the thirteenn turns for the noose. 

“Please, Dad, please for the love of God, do not do this, please.”‘

“Ain’t one mark on you, they kept you clean so nobody’d know. No tats, no pride in the Corps, Fuck, they took all that so you could kill and torture and…whatever other things they wanted you to do. Probably kept you some place safe, no one but the other killers and torturers, probably let you practice on each other. By then probably felt good, yer kinda sex, pain….” He had finished the sixth turn, “Wanna know how I’m gonna do it? Might as well cuz it’s the way for you to go.:” He grabbed the manacles he and I used to play with all those years ago, back when it was fun, back when the best thing on earth to eat was his cock, back then when I was still his son…..

Yer gonna walk behind the truck, neck noosed, hands behind yer back, gagged, I don’t want to hear no shit, no pleas, be kinda like you hearin’ the men you tortured then kilt. Bet they pleaded with you, bet they pleaded plenty. Wonder if you will? Don’t matter for sour apple shit.

“Then for them men you played with, toyed with, made ’em talk, I guess you know. Good little knife you got….where when you was talkin’ to them, askin questions did you slip it under their nuts and ask the questions again….give it that little pull, jist enough so they’d a seen the drizzle of blood an knew the next time across, they’d see two balls, still on their strings, still leavin’ em men…still. You sit back, nekkid chest, showin’ em yer big muscles? Yer face that quit smilin’…..won’t never smile again, will it…almost called you ‘son’. Remember that first day, the day you shot whoever that dad was, we was at the jail and you thought I’d be arresting you? Member I just looked at you and laughed…didn’t know then I shoulda put you in and turned you over to some other guy who had a cage in his truck, had you hauled away, maybe yer fancy judge, sorry, yer dad, coulda done something but I doubt he would. You was young so probably be sentenced as a juvie, out in four or five years and, motherfucker, you would have a talent. Not as good as the one they taught you wherever they kept animals like you but yessiree bob, you indeedy do had a talent. Let um fuck ya, or suck ya or you could shoot someone. All paid money, probably good money, then you’d have the judge sending you out, solvin’ “difficult legal problems’.” 

He was crazy with grief and spewing everything he thought or knew or believed…he was breaking the ties to a man, his son, he really loved but couldn’t face what he knew, I knew I was. He was right, if I wasn’t the Universal Soldier, I was the Universal Killer.. right undeer his roof, his son. Murderer.

　

The noose was finished, my ankles were in manacles, my hands, still behind my head, cuffed. Naked. He pushed me forward, got me into the kitchen, that table that place we had so many memories. I wanted to shout, to scream at him to stop, now before he’d do something he’d never be able to take back…I knew his anger and could do nothing about it. Once in the Corps, I found out what they wanted and….it was partially his fault. His hours and years of stories about the Corps, his life in it…I almost went through basic just hearing Dad….I choked thinking that…I wanted my Dad, this one, the enraged one who was going to do the most terrible thing he could to not to me, but to himself. 

Tied me to a chair, he got out a bottle, a rarity for him, and chugged it. “Say something Marine, say somethin’ to yer dear Old Dad who made you this…thing, this murdering, fucking torturin’ thing, Fuck..:”  Tied to the chair, one leg per one chair leg, chest secured, arms behind me all that remained was what ever he decided to do in his suddenly deranged mind. The noose, he tightened it, around my neck and the rope it was made from snaked out maybe fifteen, twenty feet. 

He turned out the lights. It was the most ominous thing he could have done based on my training for once light was gone, no one could see in. No one knew I was there, no one expected me, not even….Dad. I’d been through training that covered an enormous variety of situations so what happened next was just about what I expected. The anger left him, the love for me came back but one thing, forgiveness did not. Somewhere in him, the law man, the man with the star, the man with the gun, the man people expected to protect them…was facing a mass murderer one of which he’d participated in. 

His voice was without colour or tone or expression. “Say something…Son”. 

“It’s night, whatever you’re going to do, you have some hours to do it and then go on. I was never here you can still wonder to folks if I’m ever coming home? They’ve, probably stopped thinking about me except to hate me for putting you through all this. But, listen, this is your only chance, tonight, now, like the animal you think I am, you have to put me down or you’ll never be able to do it. I’ll be here tomorrow, your son will be home, the town will forgive me when they learn, this is the cover story I’ll use, I was on special ops overseas, no way to contact anybody. It’s just simple enough it will be believed. But at night when I take you, and I will, it will be brutal cuz that’s how it is with me now, brutal and without feeling. When I blow you, your bladder will almost burst. Your whole life around me….you’ll be my prisoner and you know that’s true. Might as well put in bars here so you’ll have a bunk and a shitter at night while I sleep in our bed, now my bed thinking of ways to torture you and make you smile and do all the good works for the town. Think what happens when Jeb comes over or Buzz and they want a little celebratory sex with the muscle hunk….can you see their asses dripping blood from the fucking they’ll get? Then they join my chain gang. Dad, I’ll take over, probably, no, I will invite some “old friends from the Corps” to come by, stay a while. Right here our own little army. The call comes and some of us disappear to go visit Mom or see Mardi Gras but you’ll know that somewhere, maybe it’s something as noble as hatcheting Mexican Mafiosi, we’re doing it. Right here from our little town that only has a name if you live here. Okay, Dad? That’s how it lays if you do not take this one chance to stop it. Fuck, how do you know there aren’t more men already headed here to visit ol Bill from back when in the Barracks…. I get first fuck, cuz you’re my dad but after that, tied to the plank….the one with a hole in it so we can work you over top and bottom….and, Dad, you were right, my sex is pain, taking it and giving it, doesn’t matter, just has to be pain.” 

I stopped and looked at him to see if there was any comprehension of the truth he’d just heard and…there was. He knew the Corps, how loyal, how bonded, how determined we all were, specially those, like us, that no one much remembereed or wanted to remember. Ask the Comandant about us and he’d go blank because….he didn’t know we existed. Out of the wars overseas where we got tired of losing and being shot up, not enough supplies having our parents send hardening for our vehicles to try and keep the bullets off. No clothing, naked most of the time, no sex, save with each other and that’s where it got rough. I thought back, more than ten years earlier, in the barn when all the guys dared everyone else to pull out their dick and balls….then it came to me. I followed in my Dad’s sperm trail and was the stud of them all. Nobody was hung like me. And why tell them the reason I was like I was had to do with a man I’d previously shot applying weights to my cock and balls…for the market place, for his own pride in me, those fantasy cocks and balls that every kid dreams of. Sure, mine weren’t that, but compared to kids who were, they didn’t know it, maybe two or three or four years younger than me. Little wonder that the town at large tended to forget not that I was Billy’ s son, but that I was more like his younger brother. Fine with us, solved some problems that we didn’t really want known although….some of it was. 

　

When Buzz found out we slept together, just like Jeb did with him, he thought it was more father and son. He fucked Jeb but Dad and me, big bed, lots of late conversation, comfortable to be together…he wasn’t disillusioned when we told him just amazed that two other men in the town were fucking each other. It didn’t stop there. Jeb’s father, Sam, Billy’s deputy, had an empty cot in the bunk house when Jeb pretty much moved in with Buzz-he was the assistant coach so that pretty much seemed…natural but Sam had an eye for cowboy tail and made it clear around some of the ranches that if they came to town, needed a place to stay well…he had a pillow next to his. Shep Collyer, who had the biggest spread around, knew perfectly well and once threatened Sam to put up his name, address, how to get to his place as well as his specialties…Didn’t happen but I wasn’t sure Sam wouldn’t have let it.

　

I watched him, even in the dark, people emit odors, movements, all of which I’d been trained to observe and calculate and just now…he was backing off what he planned, although I’d told him, warned him….this was his only chance to square whatever sort of moral problems he had with my past. I wondered….did he want some of what I was? Did he feel cheated now when he found there was more to the Corps then he’d been given? They had taken his son and turned him into something, I could see him come to the conclusion, he almost wanted. He wanted his son desperately but I’d told him the truth, I’d never lied to Dad, let me lose and live and his life was forfeit to me at least internally and he knew it. 

We sat there in the dark. He wouldn’t and I couldn’t say anything. In terms of time, there was lots of it, he would have to reach a decision about me but without me; This wasn’t “back then” when at night we’d review the day figure out what needed to be done, just have silence so being together had meaning not just two men in the same place. Now and then I hungered for him, wanted his dick in my mouth, wanted to taste it, wet his balls…all the things from…back then. 

He shot up from the table, checked my bindings, made sure they were taught then stamped off to his room, slammed the door and locked it. Up til then, I didn’t even know it had a lock. It was the fatal error and one that decided what must now happen. I sat there a while, rippling my muscles, feeling some slight loosening of bindings. All I needed now was to release one limb, didn’t matter which because after that, it was just a matter of a little fidgeting, moving a bit here, a bit there and gradually, the only thing around me was the noose on my neck. Kinda liked that, it was the sort of a toy we played with back there, where I practiced what I knew…at the shooting range,, the wrestling mats with no time limits  and only tapping out but…if you did that….you became the new victims for our practice. Eventually, some officers went to the front door of a home with bad news. Not that their son had been tortured to death being played with but killed in some far off place. No body but services, his pension, a folded flag…and elsewhere, someone new was thinking they could make it, they wouldn’t tap out and, who knew? maybe this time they’d be right meaning one of ours was hauled away awaiting whatever we thought up to do with it. (Away from us, you had no stature, weren’t in the Corps, were an it.)

 I gathered up the part of the rope that was on the floor, wrapped it around my neck and quietly went out the door carefully blocking it open. No wind so it wouldn’t blow shut. 

Best let Billy, no longer Dad, he gave that up, stay where he was for now. Easier to deal with when I needed him which could be anytime but just not yet. Thought about bringing in my duffel bag but training kicked in and nothing was moved that even suggested anyone had ever been, just the Sheriff…

I sat in the cab of my truck, liked the cooling air on my body, reached down, out of habit, gave my nuts a squeeze then slowly started an unimportant jack off, just something to kill time while I structured the time to come. I wasn’t even cool but…just should someone come along I slipped on a green standard issue tank top, one with USMC on it. Also put the truck in neutral then got out, wished I had my boots, no matter what they do to you, the soles of your feet still can feel the bumps and the stones, pushed the truck back where it was out of sight unless you came along the tree line where you weren’t supposed to be. I could handle that one, too, leaving whomever to wake up with a monstrous head ache and a newly snapped off limb to explain how they got knocked out. 

In the cab I set my watch, we wore them with the dial side underneath like most pilots and other service guys. But this watch was made for us; No alarm but it pulsed to wake us. Neat, huh. Like all sorts of what some called gadgets, we used obsessively to our advantage. It was still early so I gave myself three hours, reclined the seat until it pretty much made a bunk and instantly went to sleep. 

　

Darkness does intensify as it grows later, particularly in little places such as ours where there never was much light to interfere with looking at the stars. 

Laying back in my truck, I could see more stars than anyone in the city even dreamed existed, it was both magnificent and sobering for there was a job to get done and, as the universal murderer, I had to follow on, ignore the stars and get on with it. Just as there were stars now, they would fade as the earth rotated back toward the sun. 

Mutherfucker. Why did I only have one pair of boots and they were on the floor in the room where my, where the man I used to sleep with was now. Fortunately, I knew how to do ‘breaking and entering’ long before the Corps should me their way and, to be helpful, I dressed that up with some of the ways I’d been taught. For that bit of information I was thrown in the hole and kept without food, just water, for three days. There is the Corps way or no way. Lesson learned. Where are you Dad who taught me so much? Where are you to see how well I learned those lessons and now could employ them.

Staying naked, I got to his windows, never locked and as silently as an octopus going through a hole one wouldn’t have possibly, gone under the partially closed shutter, past the bed, got my socks and boots, put them on then, oh so quietly, slipped the lock on the door, opened it, went out into the main room, carefully closing it looking locked. He never made a sound save to make the sounds of comfort all men make when they’re in bed, sequestered from their problem and now not thinking about it. I wanted him to have these last few moments still believing when he wakened, I’d be there, by him, running my hand through the hair on his chest, threatening to shear it and make a warm sweater for winter…..It was a happy memory for him just them, one of the few remaining to him.

　

There was no point in waiting, no symbollism in pre or post midnight, just the Corps way….get it done and get out. Right. 

Back in the truck I put on some old camis, a t shirt, my socks and boots,carefully laced over the bottom hems of the camis, didn’t need anything else. In my duffel was a paper tube, ready to  be opened, I held that in my teeth, looked around, no one, nothing the grace of silence before the awfulness of a future.

I’d never closed the door on my truck, had all the interior lights fixed to be out and stay out, got the restraint belts in the seat next to mine ready….slipped back in the house, his home, through the two doors until I was standing by him sleeping the sleep of the innocent. From the tube, a syringe, pushed into the place on the shoulder that would keep the drug from his heart but effectively semi-paralyze him. Picked him up, back to the cab, into the other bucket seat, on with the Black bird style pilot restraints, cuffed his hands, separately, same with his ankles…closed the door, made one last inspection of the house adding a touch or two that made things seem….normal. Toilet paper, unflushed. A can and a bottle, with his prints on the table, front door open, typical of this place; There was only one thief in the night and I was it. Put on some medical gloves, took wiping pads from a packet, wiped everything I knew I’d touched or thought I may have touched…all the lights were out so…nothing to do but get on with it. 

　

Billy was still happily asleep when I hopped in, glad to see it. The longer he stayed out, the longer until I would have to gag him and, I didn’t kid myself, sure he was in pretty good shape and would doubtless count on my love for him to stop even a fair fight…if there was to be one; Not in my scenario. Nope. Not on his agenda. Not on my agenda, either.

Nice thing about small towns, and ours was almost too small to be called “small”, when you grow up there or live there long enough, you know every side road, every sneak through path, all the ways to around in and out of everything. Came with growing up there. Back in the city, I learned a version of the same thing but I swung from catwalks, knew hours when garbage was collected, when to make myself seen and when to be some place  unseen. Same as here only with real trees and Ab So Lute Ly fucking no traffic, probably wouldn’t be a car go up or down the main street for several more hours.

　

The engine was tuned to run and provide sufficient power on very little fuel and making almost no noise for very slow movement; Nights like this if you woke up and heard something, maybe a car, you could easily think it was way back up at Sign Corner, in the silence in the night sound carried that easily. I had to laugh as I thought about something; There’d been an-infrequent-town meeting when some old biddy got up and complained about noise pollution, she’d read about in the once weekly paper. Said it was throwing off her hens egg production. Someone in the small crowd said she might get better egg production iffn she stuck a rooster in the hen house, whichever one made no matter to him. The meeting was excused at that point.

Headed for Shep Collyer’s spread, the distance to it was enough to disillusion any foot searches that some might get up, nothing but washboard road, here and there the mingiest of one rut that filled in for some sort of road, just enough to get trucks to get in and get out. Drivers hated those roads; Those that didn’t already have hemorrhoids, swore they got ’em driving around those fields. May have, even riding in mine which was over sprung for silence and to provide an ultimately handleable drive if you had to move fast and play keep away from whomever wanted to get to you. A man kept his truck better than anything he fucked; Sex could only get your rocks off, a truck could get you off and outa there. Big difference. May not be able to fuck it every night but it was there to be slept in no matter what over activity might be going on.

The trick to driving around this short grass prairie was to know that the grassy covering disguised hard, but fractionable limestone that was almost as if it were laid down in sheet which, millions of years ago when all this was under water was what happened. No quick driving here which was why most guys preferred to drop their trucks or what have you and walk; If you were good on one a motorcycle could be the quickest way around but you sure as fuck better know exactly what it and you would and could do.
ATVs, in winter when ice or deep snow provided more substantial footing but you knew what was there waiting to hook you up and flip you. There always knew a rookie in the group cuz they’d bomb straight up, catching the sharp edged layers of stone right in their tires. Usually didn’t take more than a few hundred yards to discover yourself sitting on your rims, and them pretty badly chewed up; Your tires in a tidy line behind you beyond the help of any tire repair place. 

　

The first time up through one of these concealed places to catch you, Jake had driven me and a father out on a bird shoot. Why he did it, but I’m grateful, he stopped the truck part way up a ledge, had me get out and look at how he’d get up with only marginal damage to his truck. Dad (2) and I both learned a lesson, proved to be a very valueable one. Dad and his lessons, for once he was the instructee, not the instructor. 

　

I could see the tree I was headed for, the one in which Dad/Billy had saved my life by shooting the Judge. Wondered if the deer seat he’d put up was still there? Meant ot take a look when we got to wherver I thougth I was headed.

　

Damn it could have been yesterday or six years ago, nothing had changed. Same views of nothing save if I looked over I could see where I’d scampered from the Collyer place to take my position when the car with the big time, fully loaded, muscle came along looking for me. One of my favorite shoots that had been, whole thing solve a ton of problems. Only took two bullets in the back of their neck to take them out then Billy, in the dear seat, got the Judge just as he was about to shoot me. Never happened, Billy got a clean shot, just like we planned that did some serious damage but didn’t take him out; I got that privilege. Rolled him, over with my boot and put a hole right through to the ground with my double barrel, over under fully choked shot gun.

　

Billy was no where close to coming round-better living through chemistry-so it was a snap to get him out of the cuffs and his protective seat lash down. Didn’t even bother to lift him, just dragged his naked body over to a spot I’d been at before or seemed that way if I triangulated it using the tree and the over hang of the hill by the road. 

Got him spread eagled, even one to pull down his cock and balls but only rope, rope I was using from the left over after he made to make the hangmans’s noose back a while ago. Checked the tension, went back to the bed of the truck and brought my duffel back. Squatted down beside him, even by only the star light, he was a man to be reckoned with…his Corps tats almost had color. Shame I never got those, wanted ’em but that idea was slapped out of me when I was shown some poor SOB that had ’em and ran into a Mexican gang doing border patrol. Cut them off him, course they also shot him…but it remained a lesson to be learned.

　

Pulled out three atropines which I gave them over a couple of minutes; Billy was a big boy and something meant for a child would have much effect. But three did. His eyes popped open, pupils heavily dilated, thrashing his head…for a moment until he could size up the situation. I’ll give it to him, he didn’t bawl or beg me for anything. Squatting down beside him, I touched him didn’t apologize but tried to make him understand….he’d blown the chance so here we were. 

“You gonna do it?”

“Yep. Just me an you up here on Vulture hill.”

“Christ I hate those birds…..” and he was silent. 

“Tell me just one thing…Didja ever love me…?”

“Always, still do so that makes hard for both of us…”

　

I raised me gun and fired at his chest. It wasn’t an intentional miss, it was the set up for what I’d always wanted to see. I took my boot and rolled him on his back. I bet he expected the shot that would put the hole in him but instead I just took a couple of shots where he would bleed the most but not died. 

　

Something I’d always wanted to see and, dammit, missed it twice cuz other folks hustle me away now to the end, I’d be there. Guys back where I lived wanted to see it so I got out my night vision camera and turned it on just about the time I heard the first wings come flapping in. I moved away, brought my truck up, sat on the hood for the angle and started to shoot. 

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I’m sorry to have edited this story twice.  It ended up being so popular that I felt it deserved a “grammatical cleaning” before it was lost in the archives.  Thanks for your patience!

I love seducing straight guys.  What I have found works best is to be assertive and calm their fears by swearing it will be “our little secret.” I find being very direct, by painting a graphic picture of the great sex we’ll soon be having, works well.

What circumstances work best to get a straight guy in bed?  A recent pitch of mine happened at a friend’s party.  The host of the party, Greg, had been out for years, so I knew all the people in attendance would be accepting of his preference and lifestyle.  I was hoping that included sexual curiosity as well.  On this occasion, everything went perfectly.

I saw that Larry was my type of guy the moment he walked into the room.  He made a point of greeting the pretty women with a hug as he said hello. The close contact he had with all those ladies had the desired effect.  His newly aroused manhood showed through his pants, causing my stomach to flutter.  I decided that before the night was over, Larry would be my lover.

I asked the host, Greg, to introduce me to Larry, which he did.  Greg knew I was into straight guys, and I could tell he was pulling for me to score.  Greg had bedded more than one of the studs whom I had lured into my bed for a night.  He didn’t like rejection, and my conquests took the guessing out of the game.

I found that Larry and I shared two common interests.  The sports we played, and the books we read. He was truly a triple threat: athletic, gorgeous and intelligent. Actually, in my horny state, I saw these traits as the conversational means to bed this stud more than thinking of him as long-term dating material.

So I posed questions, and listened attentively as Larry told me of his life through sports and his favorite book titles.  I kept him talking about himself, which wasn’t difficult to do.  I then suggested we take our drinks outside where it was quieter and we could sit down.  He agreed and we found a table with empty chairs where we could hear each other better.

I casually shifted the conversation to ask if he’d dated any of the ladies at the party.  He said he had dated a couple of them, but nothing serious. He even added that he wasn’t seriously dating anyone, and he liked it that way.  I readily agreed.  I asked how he met our host, Greg.  Larry told me that they worked together. I knew that Greg worked for a big bank and began to ask more about that.  My goal was to get Larry to reveal that he knew Greg was gay so I could see how he felt about it.

I decided to become more direct with my questions.  I asked if Larry thought Greg’s sexual preference had negatively affected his career at the bank.  This took Larry a second to consider.  As much of a bottom as I am, I do not come off as gay, unless I want to.  So I was pretty sure he was considering the question as one heterosexual man answering another.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “He’s very good at what he does, and he keeps his sex life to himself.”

“So he never hits on the other guys at work?” I asked.

“No, not that I’ve seen,” Larry replied.

I decided to take the gloves off and throw caution to the winds.  I said, “I like Greg a lot. I hear he gives a great blow job.”

Larry was clearly shocked, and opted to laugh nervously as he looked around to see if anyone had just heard what I’d said.  No one was paying attention.

I went on, “In fact, the only person at this party who can suck cock better than Greg, is me!” Larry started to audibly gulp as I went on.  “Have you ever had a blow job so good that it stood out above all the others?  That’s what it will be like after I suck your cock tonight.  You could fuck girls for the next week without fear of them getting pregnant.  Why?  Because I can make the veins pop out of your neck while I drain your balls dry.  It’s easy to see a handsome stud like you prefers girls, but I will be the one fuck you’ll never forget, you sexy, gorgeous, stallion of a man!”

Larry initially looked like he was about to go find anyone else to talk to, but my acknowledgement of him being straight seemed to give him pause.  He looked around the patio again to make sure no one was listening in. I took that moment to close my sales pitch.

“I want to take you back to my place.  No one will ever know, but this will be a night to remember. You have no idea how much you turn me on.  I can already feel your cock sliding inside of me.  You have the need to breed, and I have the need to give you a release that you didn’t know was possible.”

I was pleased to see that his cock was swelling inside his pants.  He was hard enough now that I could tell he was cut and probably about 8” long when fully erect.  Larry was clearly bi-curious, and maybe even bisexual, but that remained to be seen.  I just had to overcome his last objections, and then he was mine.

“I’ll leave the party first, and wait for you down the street.  After a few minutes, say goodbye to everyone, and we’ll drive our cars over to my house.  You can park in the garage so that there’s no chance anyone will know about this.”

Larry said nothing as I got up to leave.  I couldn’t tell for sure if I was going home alone, or if this stud was willing to have a gay time in the old town tonight.  I said goodbye to Greg and just winked at him when he gave me a querying look.

I waited outside and counted the seconds until I finally saw Larry walking toward me on the sidewalk.  He came up to me with his hands in his pockets, hopefully trying to hide an erection.  I told him, “If you think you’re turned on, let me tell you how fucking horny I am!  I can’t wait to see you naked!  You’ll still be straight after tonight is over, but you’ll never have a better orgasm than the one I’m planning for you right now.”

“So where do you live?” was all that Larry could manage to ask.

“Get in your car and follow me.  It’s not far from here,” I smiled.

True to my word, I opened my garage door and parked far enough to the side that he could pull in beside me.  I hit the button to close the door so no one passing by would know he was there.  I opened the inner door to the house and Larry followed me in.

We were in the kitchen when I suddenly turned around and dropped to my knees in front of him.  I told him to take off his shirt as I reached for his belt and zipper. I just loved seeing the precum stain on his underwear and his impressive cock did a beautiful jack-in-the-box dance for me as I yanked downward on the elastic band.  This straight guy wanted a gay blow job and I was just the man to give it to him.

I know what straight guys like and I made sure to not make him feel uncomfortable.  No kissing, no hugging, just straight sex (no pun intended) until he came. However, I also wanted to give him a bit of a thrill by showing him one difference between sex with a man and a woman. I guided Larry to turn his back to the island counter in the kitchen.  Then I grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him up and over the edge of the counter.  He was shocked, but his rock hard cock remained at attention despite my aggressive ways. I pulled off his shoes and tossed his pants and underwear off to the side.

I cupped his balls with my left hand, and started stroking him with my right.  A few seconds later, I surprised him by quickly deep-throating his entire rod while using my fingers to deeply massage the base of his shaft. I know just how to massage the nerves at the base of a man’s penis to really get his attention.  I moved my mouth up and down just enough to put friction on the head of his cock in the back of my throat.  I continued kneading his rigid shaft while steadying my wrist against his pelvis. I adjusted my movements to accommodate his gasps until I was sure everything I did was exactly what he wanted.

I knew Larry would not last long like this, but that was part of my plan. After about 30 seconds, Larry started sucking in air through his teeth and letting out low guttural grunts as he exhaled.  I just kept going leaving him to sort out the guilty pleasurable feelings his cock was sending to his confused brain.  I felt like he was trying NOT to cum, but he was long past the point of denying me my prize. I looked up to see that he had his eyes closed and that the veins were actually popping out of his neck.  A moment later, I was rewarded with a gush of semen that pushed into me with a ferocity I’d not felt before. It was as if Larry had held out as long as he could, but he finally gave in to his darkest desires.  Out came all his fears, all his shame, and his guiltiest pleasures thoroughly mixed in with a huge load of his cum.  His manhood spurted his seed deep inside my throat and I greedily swallowed his essence.  This sexy guy was a part of me now.

Larry’s gasps and “Oh fucks” were finally starting to subside when I pulled my head back and let his cock fall.  It made a soft slapping noise as it gently landed against his balls.  In the dim lighting of the kitchen, I finally got a good look at Larry’s cock.  It was cut and gorgeous.  I admired it glistening in the lights through a mix of saliva and cum.  I smiled knowing Larry’s big “gay night out” had just begun.

I walked over to the sink to freshen up a bit.  Larry just sat there probably trying to reconcile what had just happened to him. He knew he was straight, but he had just cum in my mouth.  In order to do that, he had made a choice to follow me home, knowing full well what would happen.  Without protest, he had let me have my way with him.  He was admitting to himself that he had been a willing participant in this tryst at many levels.  I was sure that had been Larry’s best blow job, ever.  He sat there trying to figure out if that incredible orgasm was because I was that good, or because it had awakened feelings he had long denied?

I decided to take the pressure off of him with a distraction.  I quickly dropped my pants and turned around so he could see my raging hard on.  He looked scared and I told him, “Don’t worry. I’m a total bottom.  I’m not looking for you to suck me off…unless you want to!?”

Larry gulped and said, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”  He seemed almost apologetic about not wanting to reciprocate.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “you’d probably suck at it anyway.”  I laughed for a moment at my own bad joke. “But what I will show you is just how good it feels to fuck a man who really knows how to fuck a man.”

Larry’s cock actually jumped a bit as he processed what was clearly coming next.

The look of confusion on his face told me that he was wondering if this was the right time to leave. My statement made it clear that I was not done with him yet.  I could see he was conflicted.  After all, anal was the ultimate gay act.  I could tell he was trying to deny how much he wanted this to happen.  I watched his cock cast its vote as it rose to attention. He got embarrassed when he noticed I was enjoying his dilemma.  I couldn’t let him debate it further, or he’d chicken out…and I really wanted to fuck this man.

I grabbed his shoes and clothes and carried them back to my bedroom.  He was going to have to follow me if he didn’t want to drive home naked. I was able to shed my clothes as well before he entered the bedroom behind me.  I knew I had to talk fast if I was going to get this stud to breed my ass that night.  He seemed to like dirty talk and affirming he was straight.  I led with that.

“I know you prefer girls,” I reassured him, “but I’m hot for your gorgeous cock.  I want to feel your shaft rubbing against my prostate.  Fuck, that’s the best way I know to cum.  My greatest pleasure is to make you cum inside me. Seeing you in my bedroom, naked, makes me wonder if I get two more wishes. Staring at your sculpted body makes me weak in the knees.  I want to make you so horny that you won’t care what gender I am.  I’ll leave the lights out.  I guarantee I’ll be the best feeling fuck you ever had.  I’ve already tasted your manhood.  I want you to breed inside of me as if I was a girl you’ve lusted after for years. I wouldn’t trade in my cock for a pussy ever, but I was born with a woman’s sexual desires, and I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

Seeing Larry’s engorged erection told me this stallion liked my sexy patter.  I had done it.  He wasn’t going anywhere, except to fuck me silly.  I reached over and pushed him toward the bed.  He hesitated a second and then twisted as he jumped backwards onto the pillows and comforter.  His beautiful cock was standing straight up like a flagpole that was ready to lead him into battle.

I turned and closed the door so that all light was blocked out of the room.  If he needed to pretend I was a girl to do this right, then that was just fine with me.  I also grabbed my lube and a vibrator and quickly got myself ready.  I then straddled his thighs and started to lube his hard on.  I could feel his pulse racing through his cock when I squeezed him.  He was all mine.

I slid forward until my ass cleared the length of him.  Then I backed up until I could feel the tip of his penis align with my pussy. I grabbed his shaft and felt he was as hard as glass.  I maneuvered him back and forth until the head of his penis found its way home.  I eased over him and let out a shudder as he slid inside of me.  When my butt cheeks went flat against his pelvis, he said, “Oh my God, this is incredible.  I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

I could tell that Larry had turned a corner in exploring his sexuality.  He quit worrying about being gay and started focusing on how good it felt.  I got up on my toes, with my hands pushing off my thighs, so that I could bounce quickly over his cock.  I could generate a lot of thrusting speed in this position, almost like I was jacking the guy off with my pussy.

Even though Larry had already cum in my mouth, he was about to climax again with me riding him.  He was definitely with the program this time.  All my dirty talk about what I was thinking encouraged Larry to let me know exactly what was going on in his head.

“Fuck, this feels great.  I didn’t know what to expect.  I’ve got my cock in a man’s ass and I’m loving it. And you move your booty like a sexy bitch in heat.  I love the way your boner slaps against my stomach when I’m balls deep inside of you. I can feel you working me with your muscles…fuck that feels good.”

I could tell he was fully immersed as he explored this new side of his sexuality.  Larry was no longer in a rush.  So I slowed my pace, dropped to my knees, and started tweaking his nipples. I leaned forward until we could feel each other’s frantic breaths on our faces.  He suddenly reached up and pulled my mouth to his and he kissed me.  I was shocked, and that’s not easy to do.  He was gentle at first, and then he started exploring the length of my tongue with his.  He stopped just long enough to say, “Fuck, I’m gay!  I’d never known it until just now, but this is how I always thought it should feel!  I love the way you fuck me. I’ve never been with someone who wanted to fuck me this much before. The way I feel now, all I want is to fuck you like this for the rest of the week.  It scares me how much I like this.”

That did it.  I was as hot as I’d ever been.  “Cum for me, baby.  Give it up inside of me.  Prove to me how much you love this.  I can feel you are ready to explode.  That’s what gets me off the most.  Your beautiful cock is driving my prostate crazy.  Let me have your seed and I’ll cum for you, baby.  Show me you’re all man. Let me know how much you like this.  Fuck me hard and watch me cum. Come on now…push faster…earn this one…fill me…fuck me…fill me…fuck me…

And with that, Larry screamed loud enough that my neighbors must have heard him.  The cum he let loose quickened his pace as the friction between his cock and my pussy disappeared.  He was pounding so hard against me that I had trouble staying on top of him…but there was no way I was letting go.  I squeezed my fingers hard around his hips and rode him like it was an Olympic sport. I could feel the energy rising in my prostate.  The deep, familiar tickle started inside the base of my cock.  As the feeling rose, the orgasm building in my prostate connected with the one forming at the base of my shaft.  Larry’s screams put me over the top and my cum shot out of me like a cannon.  My sticky essence went everywhere as I screamed like a woman. I wanted to be this stud’s lady. He brought out the sexy bitch beast in me as no one had before.

I leaned all the way forward and began swirling our bodies sensually against each other using my cum as a lubricant.  Then we kissed again.  I could tell he no longer cared that I was a guy.  There wasn’t a part of my body that Larry didn’t worship now.  I purposefully flexed my cavity, and he laughed as his cock involuntarily reacted to my playful taunting.

“So,” I said, “are you going to grab your stuff and leave me now?”

“I’m not going anywhere!” he answered.

In fact, Larry didn’t leave the house for the rest of the weekend.  He couldn’t.  I still had so much more to teach him about his newfound sexuality.

A while back, I met this boy named Troye on one of those gay dating apps. We chatted for a bit, went out on a few dates every so often, and much like the story goes for anyone on one of those apps, became intimate with each other fairly soon after.

What can I say? One day we were just making out on his front doorstep and soon enough his hand cupped me from the outside of my pants. How could anyone be expected to just walk away in that situation and go home?

He still lived with his parents at the time so when I whispered into his ear, asking if there was somewhere we could go that was more private, he grabbed me by the hand and led me around into his backyard. That’s where he quietly opened his shed and we took turns getting on our knees, cramped between the workshop table and the lawn mower sitting in the middle of the small wooden room. I know it wasn’t really a romantic place to first give each other head but that didn’t stop it from feeling amazing going home with his cum in my stomach that night.

From there on, every time we hung out we ended our night with shooting our loads into the back of each other’s mouths. It didn’t matter if it was in the backseat of the car, bathroom stall at the shopping center, or our basements when our parents were working. We just liked the taste of each other and we loved the taste of each other’s milk.

By the way, it’s odd how easy it is to have sex in a public bathroom when you’re gay. Back when I considered myself straight, if I walked into a bathroom with my girlfriend, everyone would know something was going on. But with another guy, you can just walk in, fuck, and leave without anyone suspecting a thing. You know, unless one of you shoots their load on the stall door.

Troye was and still is very shy about certain things. I mean, we never called each other anything more than friends but we both knew what we were to each other. He once told me this story of how he was on a date and introduced his ex to one of his friends whom they ran into that night. He introduced the boy as his boyfriend and the boy got so scared off that he dumped Troye the very same night.

Ever since then, Troye became very afraid to call anyone his boyfriend. Troye knew he wanted a boyfriend but was too afraid he would scare anyone new off by introducing them as that title to his friends. So, we both agreed to not call each other that, at least not for now. But that didn’t stop us from having all the benefits of a relationship though.

A few months ago, Troye and I decided we needed a change. He was getting fed up with living with his parents and I was getting tired of only being allowed to do things with Troye if my parents were at work. We were both legally adults so one night, we had a long conversation.

Normally Troye was the starter in our relationship. He was the one to grab my package for the first time, he leaned in for our first kiss, he introduced me to his family for the first time before I did the same in return. But one night we laid there in my bedroom, butt naked under the sheets after blowing each other moments earlier. He had his arm under and around my neck as he laid there complaining about living with his parents. I remember trying to calm him down by brushing his cheek with my thumb and his hair around his ear with my hand.

This time, I wanted to be the starter for a change. So, I asked him something big. “Why don’t you move in with me?”

Taken back by my proposition, he asked if I was sure and after an hour conversation, he finally said yes. But before we started to make plans, I told him that I only had one request. I didn’t care that he would take up most of our closet space. He worked a corporate job where he had to wear dress shirts and ties every day. I worked a more causal office job where I could wear t-shirts and shorts, even in a blizzard. So, I didn’t mind any of that. I didn’t even mind he would eventually take over the kitchen because he loved to try new recipes.

So, when he asked me what my one request was, I told him the truth. “I’m tired of lying to each other, to our families, and to our friends.” I told him.

“What do you mean lie?” he asked in his soft voice seeing that we were still lying on my bed less than an inch or two away from each other.

“I can’t live with my friend. I want to live with my boyfriend.”

“Sure you want to call us that?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Of course.”

“So, I guess that settles it. We’re moving in together.”

That night we searched the internet for apartments in between our two jobs. We didn’t have a lot of money but we both worked for a living and could afford a one-bedroom apartment on the other side of town from where he lived with his parents. It was roughly half way between our jobs and shortly after, we signed on the dotted line. But that wasn’t before making it official and having dinner with both of our families together and telling them we were boyfriends.

Our families were really nice and helped us move in together and unbelievably, we had all our stuff moved into our new place in just one day. I guess our families were happy to have their houses to themselves again.

That night, Troye became the starter again. Once our families were gone, we set up our bed so we could get some sleep. There were still tons of boxes to unpack but we knew that could be a job for the next day. I hopped in the shower and shortly after, he came in the washroom butt naked.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“I thought we’d celebrate our first night together.”

“Ok, hop in, the water’s fine.”

He hopped in the shower with me and began rinsing his hair. I’ve never seen something so normal be so beautiful in my whole life. I took my time admiring him as I slowly started to bend down to get on my knees before him.

“I was hoping now that we have our own place that you’d be open to something more.” He said. And by that he really meant he was hoping my ass was open to something more. Lucky for him, it was. So, I bent over and before you knew it, he slathered his cock with some soap and took his sweet time fucking me doggie style in the steamy shower.

As he was about to blow his load up my ass, he wrapped his arms around my chest and started stroking my rock-hard cock from underneath us as fast as he could with his still-soapy hand. I started feeling him blowing his load deep inside of me and that’s what sent me over the edge as well, erupting my volcano all over the shower floor.

I didn’t mind getting fucked and getting a hand job in return. I knew there would be plenty more times when we could switch roles. We spent the next few weeks fucking each other in every room of our new apartment. Every day it was a different room, a different position, and being sure to take turns getting it in the ass.

As I said, he loved to try new recipes and cook, and I enjoyed helping him cook. But shortly after we got fully unpacked, we started cooking butt naked. We had aprons on of course so that our cocks wouldn’t accidentally get the hot end of something which spilled. I have to be honest, I hate cooking but I got to watch his tight, bubble butt prance around like a master chef every night so I didn’t mind being his assistant. Plus, I kind of liked half the recipes we tried.

But of course, that too turned sexual. One night we decided to make hot dogs and he decided to tease me. In hindsight, I really should have seen that one coming. He wore his apron and started pushing the cooked hot dog down into his mouth and sucked on it, pulling it in and out of his mouth slowly with his hand. I guess you can say that made me happy which is why I flipped him around and fucked him right there as he bent over the counter in our kitchen, still with the hot dog in his mouth the entire time.

Before I shot my load into his ass as I did so many times before, I pulled out and shot my load inside his hot dog bun. Then, as I massaged him, I put my bun right in front of his cock with my other hand so he would do the same. Those were the best damn hot dogs we ever ate. It’s amazing how much better cum tastes as compared to ketchup or mustard.

Eventually, we realized we were having way too much sex. And yes, there is such a thing. We decided we needed to have more romance, go on more dates out in public, and learn more about each other. That’s why we decided to go for walks every morning before work. We’d walk around town for a half hour or so every morning before coming home, taking a quick shower, grabbing a bite to eat and heading off to work.

We loved this side of our relationship so much, we cut back on having sex and just started to watch movies together or binge watch a Netflix show rather than getting naked every night.

Every weekend we took turns choosing a new location to go and hike around at. We normally picked a location less than an hour away from our apartment and normally it was an all-day adventure. We’d spend our Saturdays hiking up a mountain to see the sunset, exploring an abandoned building, or talking a walk through our town park to have a picnic.

I know it sounds odd to some but this was just what our relationship needed. When we got home, we’d have the best sex of our lives because we built up our loads all week waiting for the weekend. And when that moment came, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other all night. Normally that meant we ended up trying new positions and shooting two or three loads into each other’s asses or mouths each Saturday.

But believe it or not, we never got tired of exploring each other’s bodies. We both knew what we liked and didn’t like. That didn’t stop us from time to time trying to spice up our relationship though. One weekend when we travelled far away from our apartment to hike a new area, we decided to rent a room and pretend we were tourists who hooked up for the night. We would call ourselves Bartholomew and Andrew who were just in town for business and needed some relief from the stress their bosses put on them. Fucking Bartholomew in the ass made for quite the fun night. Half way through, I got so into the role, I even forgot his tight ass was the really Troye’s ass and the same one I always fucked.

Role playing was something Troye liked to do. I liked other things such as one time when we hiked up a large hill in the middle of nowhere, I told him I wasn’t feeling well. I ran off behind a tree and put my pants on backwards so my zipper was in the rear. I tied my jacket around my waste so that others we might have passed in our walk wouldn’t notice I had my pants on backwards. Then when we got to the top of the hill, we watched the sunset as I held him from the rear and unzipped his pants. I then told him what I did a few miles back and he unzipped my jeans in the rear, revealing a hole just large enough for him to fuck me against a tree.

So yeah, I guess you can say I really like getting fucked out in public which is why I was the one to suggest, or rather motion we do it in the public restrooms at the local mall. We were just standing there side by side taking a piss at the urinals and I noticed no one was around. So, after I noticed he was done with his stream, I reached my hand down and shook his cock off until all the piss droplets were gone. We then decided to go into the stall to blow each other until the end.

One week though, Troye knew I was overly stressed at work. He heard me coming home every night, tired as ever before. He saw me come home, hop right into the shower and overheard me watching some gay porn on my phone through the washroom door.

In our relationship, we agreed to not do that anymore to ourselves. We had two options. Either we would save up our loads all week that way our weekend excursion could end with a bigger release. Or if we just couldn’t take it any longer and we felt the absolute need to jerk off, we’d simply tell our partner who would take care of it for us with a perfect blowjob. This way, our fantasies wouldn’t be put into watching some unrealistic film of two twinks getting it on but rather our fantasies would be kept on each other.

Troye knew how stressed I was though so he decided not to bring it up or bust my balls on it. In a way, he understood that I needed to be alone so he left me go each night that week.

By Friday, I guess he had enough of me jerking off to some videos online. So, he decided to make a proactive move. That night, I came back home from work and didn’t even notice he wasn’t home yet. Normally he got home before I did. After I hopped out of the shower into our living room area, I started looking around for him. He left me a note saying he would be home late tonight and he had to go to the store after work for some supplies for our dinner which I didn’t think much of at the time.

By the time he came back, I fell asleep watching some television show which got boring a few minutes after I turned it on. It was Troye’s favorite show in the world but each time we watched it together, it became mine too. Not because it got more interesting but because I started to rest my head on Troye’s lap and each time I did, I would fall asleep cuddled up next to him on our couch with my head resting in between his legs and the back of my head lying against his package.

That’s why I turned on that show that night. I wanted to wait for him to come home but as I laid there on the couch, I wanted to imagine he was there with me. And turning on that show helped me imagine he was home as if it were every other night of the week.

I woke up a few hours later on the couch and realized Troye had covered me up with a blanket and made dinner for himself before leaving a note that told me he left some dinner in the fridge for me if I was hungry. Honestly, that’s exactly what I needed. I realized I didn’t need to come home and jerk off. I just needed someone who loved me enough to cover me in case I got cold, to leave me some food in case I got hungry, and who did it all moments after hearing me complain for a whole week about how crappy my job was.

I didn’t eat that night and just decided to quietly go to bed. I grabbed the cover from off the couch, that way I wouldn’t wake him by lifting the covers off the bed to slide in. I just laid down next to him and covered myself before wrapping my hand around him and drifting off to sleep.

The next morning, he woke me up with a kiss bright and early in the morning. He told me he had a surprise waiting for me. Something that would get my mind off of everything at work and bring us closer together. So, of course I went along. As I jumped out of bed, he told me that he had breakfast waiting and our bag already packed and in the car. So, I knew it was an overnight surprise and I also knew what that meant – hot as fuck sex with Bartholomew.

After breakfast, I hopped in the passenger seat of the car and asked him where we were going. There was no way he was going to tell me but that didn’t stop me from taking guesses all the way there. A few hours later, we pulled off the side of the road into a dirt parking lot just big enough for two or three cars. But yet, we were the only ones there.

He hopped out of the car and I followed close behind as he grabbed his backpack and started walking up a little trail cut out between the trees. A while after we started hiking up through the forest, we came across an abandoned building. It didn’t have a roof anymore but it was made from sold concrete. It stood three stories high but somehow was still covered in the forest by the tall trees and riddled with graffiti.

Troye pulled a flashlight out from his bag as he told me that he heard about the trail in the forest here but it surprised even him that there was an abandoned building out here. As we made our way into the building, we explored each room and made our jokes about the graffiti left on the walls by other visitors in the past.

Months ago, we made a pact to take a picture of us together during every exploration we went on as a couple. We also decided to take an additional photo of us together if we came across graffiti which was painted in the shape of a dick. We ended up having one scrapbook which we showed to our families and another which was rightly titled “The Big Book of Dick Pics”. And here was no different, with a dick painted on the wall, I pulled out my phone and took a picture of us standing together in front of it.

After a few laughs, we explored further into the building. He told me he had to take a piss so he ran out the room we were exploring in and down the hall. After a few moments, I heard him coming back and looked out the hall to spot him coming down the stairs.

“I thought you were taking a piss.”

“I was” he replied, “I wanted to piss out the second story window.”

“You know you’re lucky I love you.” I replied as we laughed it off.

Eventually, we made our way to the second floor. At the very end of the building, opposite the concrete stair steps, there was yet another abandoned, dust covered room which was darkened by having no windows and another floor above.

I noticed Troye backing away and into another room off to the side of the one at the end of the hall as I walked into the last room and shined my flashlight around to see what was inside. As I stood there in the concrete doorway, I couldn’t help but notice the lit candles lining the floor which were arranged in the shape of a heart. In the middle of the candles was our picnic blanket and a basket of what I could only assume was filled with lunch.

Before I could turn around, Troye came up from behind me and started putting something around my neck before clipping it with a clasp behind my head. As I looked down to see what it was, his strong hands grabbed me by the waist and spun me around on the dirty floor. He noticed I was shedding a few tears which he quickly wiped way with his fingers.

“Here, I want you to have this forever.” He said as he handed me the loop-end of a leash. A leash which ran down and back up and connected onto a collar around his neck. I know it sounds odd but he was wearing a black, leather dog collar. And on his collar was a heart-shaped, metal tag with writing on it. I quickly held it up for myself to read the inscription. It read “Property of Alex”.

He then pointed at the collar he placed around my neck and held it up as he read from it, “Property of Troye”.

Playing dumb, I asked him “Why are you handing me a leash?”

“Because” he replied, “weeks like this show me I can love you through the worst life can throw our way. And I wanted you to know that no matter how stressed out you get, all you need to do is tug on the leash and I’ll be there. Whether that means you just need someone to talk to, or maybe you need someone to release some pressure and blow you without expecting the same in return, or whether that means sometimes you just need to be reminded of how much I love you, I’m going to be at the end of the leash. So, all you need to do is tug on it and I’ll come running.”

Troye was taller than I was but that didn’t stop me in that moment from getting up on my tippy toes and giving him the biggest kiss I ever gave him.

“So, wait – you set this all up?” I asked him.

“I heard about this pace a while ago so I called off work yesterday and drove up here to set this all up. Even stopped on the way to get these collars made for us, you know – for when we’re feeling really horny and wanna roleplay.”

“This is like three hours from home though.”

“Yeah, which is why I figured by the time we get here, we would be hungry enough to have lunch.”

I turned around and walked over to the picnic basket in the middle of the room, stepping over the candles on the way. I was still holding his leash so he was forced to follow me over. As I opened the basket up, all I could see was a jar of peanut butter which I held up with my hand and looked back at him with a confused look on my face.

“Do you know why I made dog collars instead of necklaces for us?”

“No.” I said, still confused as to why there was only one jar of peanut butter but no bread or jelly in sight.

“Because I want to be your puppy and I want you to be mine.”

“That still doesn’t explain the peanut butter.”

“Well, I’ll be a good little puppy” he said as he knelt down and rested on his knees and his two hands like a puppy on all four paws. “And good little puppies like peanut butter.” He continued to say in a more seductive and cute voice, “They lick it off of anything, no matter where you put it. I’m the kind of puppy who especially likes licking peanut butter off of hot dogs. But today, I only have my owner’s giant hot dog to eat.” He said as he began biting my package through my jeans.

I finally realized what he meant and I looked down at him and smiled before unbuckling my pants and dropping them to the ground. He grabbed the peanut butter jar from my hand and started to open it up.

I quickly interjected, “I love where you’re going with this but before we start putting peanut butter on each other, can we take off our clothes so we don’t get them dirty?”

He looked up at me and replied, “Ruff, Ruff!”

“Fucking hell, you’re hot right now!” I said as we started to take off our clothes and throw them over in the corner, away from the candles.

I grabbed the peanut butter jar off of the lid of the picnic basket, which we rested it on while we took off our clothes and opened it to reveal the brand-new jar. I aimed it in the direction of my fully-erect cock and pushed it down until my dick was fully inside. It was cold as hell on my dick but it felt fucking amazing. After a second of holding it there, I slowly slid it off my cock.

It honestly looked as if we were trying to make a mold of my cock in the peanut butter and my cock looked like a peanut butter ice cream cone with a swirl on the top.

Troye took his time licking the peanut butter off of my sack, then every inch of my long shaft, before sucking on my tip and swirling around the peanut butter all round my mushroom tip. It took him a solid 15 minutes to get everything licked clean off my shaft.

He looked up at me like a sad little puppy in the window that he was all out of peanut butter. So, I grabbed the jar and stuck two fingers in, right where my cock penetrated moments ago, grabbing as much as I could on my fingers. I slathered the peanut butter all across my neck, put some on my nipples and dipped in my fingers one more time to slather some more on both my ass cheeks.

Troye started licking the peanut butter off of my ass cheeks. When that was all gone, he again looked up at me like a sad puppy.

“There’s plenty more.”

“Ruff!” he replied.

“Oh, haha. I guess you can’t reach that can you?”

He shook his head and I bent down on my knees. That’s when he started to lick my neck clean before moving onto my nipples. This was the longest we ever spent in foreplay before and my dick was ready to explode.

“Turn around.” I called out as an order. He followed my order but not before taking a giant wad of his spit and lathering up my cock, knowing what I was about to do.

Him and I were now on all fours and I got on top of him and wrapped my arms around him, trying to hold on for balance. I began fucking him like a dog would hump another dog – no hands. His ass was tight but he was used to my cock by now, just like I was used to his. So, we no longer had to take our initial penetration slow to allow the other time to get over the pain. Because with him, there was no pain anymore. Our asses finally got their shit together and realized every once in a while, – well, actually once a day or week – they’re going to have to take a cock and make it cum.

Because of all the foreplay we did, it didn’t take me long to get to the breaking point. I called out to my little puppy, “You want some milk to wash that down with?”

I heard him call out, “Ruff!” while shaking his head up and down.

I quickly jumped off of him and he turned around, wrapping his lips around my cock which still must have tasted like peanut butter and his ass mixed together. He slid his mouth down my shaft and I started shooting my load into the back of his throat with force in every shot.

Once I was milked dry, he pulled his lips off of me and held his tongue out, up in the air, covered in my white juices. He again looked up at me with sad puppy eyes.

“You can drink it if you want boy.” I told him.

He quickly put his tongue back in his mouth and swallowed every drop. That’s when he started to yet again look up at me and tell me what he wanted next in one more “Ruff, Ruff!”

I didn’t know exactly what he wanted but I sort of had the suspicion he wanted to have me return the favor. I grabbed the peanut butter jar and he bent his body upright but still was on his knees. I bent down on all fours and pushed the jar onto his cock, covering him with sweet peanut butter. I then dipped my hand in to lather some on his neck and his nipples before starting to lick it off of his neck first.

I took my time licking bit by bit off and swallowing. I sometimes bit onto his neck leaving little red bite marks. I circled his nipples with my tongue which drove him crazy. I then moved onto his cock where I licked his balls first then started working my way up his shaft, inch-by-sweet-inch. After he was licked clean, I shoved my head down onto his shaft a few times, pushing his dick deeper into my throat than I ever did before.

I heard him from above me, call out my order to “Turn around boy.”

I pulled off of his dick and looked up at Troye before growling at him with an angry face, “Rrrrrrr!”

“What’s wrong boy?” he asked me.

I plunged my entire hand into the jar of peanut butter once again, covering it with butter.

“Oh, you want more. Okay then, you can eat it.”

I looked up at him and shook my head from left to right while calling out, “Ruff!”

Oh, you want me to eat it.”

Again, I looked up and shook my head from left to right. I motioned my head in a circle.

“Oh, you want me to turn around. But why?”

“Ruff!”

“Okay, I’ll turn around.” He did as he was asked, still on his knees.

I moved forward and started smelling his ass like a real puppy would smell his partner before humping him. He bent over and got on all fours again. I took my peanut butter-covered hand and rubbed it all over his man-pussy and crack of his bubble butt.

I started licking the peanut butter off of him and took extra time licking the ring around his hole which I’ve heard gives the receiver immense pleasure. And apparently it worked because it wasn’t long before I pulled off his ass and saw precum oozing out of his mushroom tip and dripping onto the picnic blanket below. Where it was dripping sat a giant puddle of liquid which had accumulated the entire time I was licking his ass.

Him and I regularly shaved each other’s asses and cocks to ensure we were provided a smooth ride and didn’t have to have any hair in our mouths but this was the first time him or I ever tried eating each other’s ass and I cannot believe I was the one to do it first. But in that moment, I felt it was only right. This was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me and I wanted him to know how much it meant to me. And yes, eating his ass was the only option.

He hopped up and asked me, “You want some milk to wash that down?”

“Ruff” I replied in my soft voice and puppy eyes starting up at him. I grabbed my ass with my one hand behind me and I motioned my head in the direction of my ass.

“If I hump you, I’m going to shoot in your ass and you won’t be able to drink it boy.”

“Ruff, Ruff!” I said as I had an idea and grabbed the peanut butter jar once again and held it out in front of him.

“In here?”

“Ruff!” I said as I shook my head up and down.

He slowly stroked himself with only one or two strokes before he started shooting his load into the deep crevasse we had made in the middle of the jar with both our dicks. When he was finished I grabbed the jar from his hand and drank his milk like it was my morning coffee.

We kept that jar, by the way. We had peanut butter toast every morning before work for the next two weeks, still using the peanut butter in that same jar. Every time, I had a hint of the taste of his cum on my toast.

But that day after we both had our fun, he asked me, “Did you like that?”

“I loved being your puppy. We need to try that again sometime soon.”

“Yeah, maybe this can be a regular roleplay thing we do.”

“I’d love that and I love you for setting all this up for me.”

“You want to clean all this up and then we’ll get out of here and get some lunch?” he asked me.

“I sort of have a problem.”

“What that?”

I looked down which caused him to look down at my cock too. It was now rock-solid again from having eaten his ass moments ago.

“Well, how can we take care of that?” he asked.

“C’mon. I know how.” I said as I pulled him by the leash into another room on the second floor of the building. This room had a big window overlooking the rest of the forest. I pulled him beside me standing in front of the window. “The one who’s cum makes it the shortest distance has to drive home.”

“Oh shit. You do like cumming in public.”

We both started stoking ourselves and soon enough I exploded out the empty, concrete-outlined window and onto the ground below. He wasn’t too far behind me, shooting off his load further than mine, hitting a tree across the dirt pathway.

We extinguished all the candles, packed everything up in our backpack and found our clothes over in the corner.

“Um, Alex.”

“What’s up?” I said as I was cleaning up candles.

“We threw our clothes right into a giant puddle in the corner. They’re soaked.”

“Well, you packed us clothes in the bag in the car, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s right next to the road. So, one of us is going to have to be butt naked and run to the car.”

“I’ll go.” I said as I grabbed the keys and ran down the trail to the car. While I was gone, Troye put our dirty clothes in the picnic basket along with the cum-soaked picnic blanket. He took off his collar and leash and put them in our backpack, knowing we would be using them many times in the future.

I waited for the last of the cars to pass, clicked the button to unlock the doors and ran for my life to get inside the car. Luckily no one saw me. I hopped in the back and put my dry clothes on. Then I grabbed the bag and headed onto the trail to give Troye his clothes.

I got back to the building where he was waiting. He put his clothes on and we took all of our belongings back to the car before heading out.

A little way down the road, we stopped to grab some lunch at a local diner. It was a new place we never heard of before, let alone tried. We walked in and sat down. Before our waitress came over to the table, Troye called out to me, “Alex, your neck.”

“What?” I said as I raised my hand and felt my neck trying to see what he was talking about. “Shit!” I said as I quickly unlatched my collar from the back and stuffed it into my pocket.

A few minutes later, our waitress came to the table and asked what we wanted to drink. After taking our orders, she walked away.

“That was a close one” Troye said to me in complete relief.

The woman came back to our table a moment later with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order.

“Sure.” Troye replied. “Can I have a burger with fries?”

“How would you like that?” she answered.

“Well done please.”

“And for you?” the waitress said as she turned her attention to me. “I’m guessing you want a bone?”

I just bowed my head down and smashed it against the table in complete embarrassment.

“Don’t worry son. It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in this truck stop diner, believe me. Plus, you two look like you really love each other and you make a cute couple.

“He’ll have the same, please.” Troye said to her as I was too red-faced to look up.

I mumbled under my breath to Troye, “Ruff.”

“Seriously, you want a hot dog right now?” He said as him and I started laughing our asses off. We even got our waitress to start laughing.

I looked up to her with my cherry red face and told her, “No, actually the burger’s fine. I just wanted to lighten the mood a little.”