Chapter One

Hi, I'm Erik and this is my story, but first let me give you the backdrop so you know the time and setting for it. It happened in the '60s, yeah, no internet, no sex education in schools, all the moms in the neighborhood stayed home, dads went to work and took the only car with them, we walked or biked everywhere, and never heard the word pedo, inappropriate touching, beware of strangers… Yeah, life was carefree and safe. There were no helicopter parents–you know the type, always hovering over their kids. We were expected to be "out from under." It was summer, so we got the boot out the door after breakfast and were not expected back until dinner (Not allowed in my case, my mother locked the doors, said the floors were wet, like she really mopped them every day, and like they took all day to dry.)

We peed behind the nearest bush, unless it was a competition on who could pee highest up the tree. Lunch, if we banged on the back door, we could expect a PB&J sandwich to be handed out to us. The garden hose, or anyone's garden hose, provided all the water you needed. The neighborhood was full of kids of all sizes and ages; we roamed from yard to yard: fences were not an obstacle, except Porky's house, he was a bastard; he'd keep your ball if it went in his yard. Just to be open and honest here, that is what we called him; I didn't change his name, may he rot in hell. I'll tell you about the other neighbors later in the story, especially the doctor who had a barn full of medical stuff and a few cases of ether in cans. He was like 90 something and we only saw him when his daughter brought him out onto his front porch in his wheelchair. She was an old lady herself, but didn't bother us. He'd yell at us to keep out of his yard, we'd run, only to return another day.

Me? Ok, I'm 11 years old in this story. Lean? Yes, spent no time in front of our little B&W TV that only received two stations, except Saturday morning, when cartoons were on: watched with my brothers, all of us in our tighty-whiteys. That's all we wore at nighttime and in the morning, hey it was hot and we did not have air-conditioning. I didn't know anybody that did. Summers were short and hot, winters cold and brutal with a lot of snow, we lived up in the hills. It did cool off at night with the fans in the windows. Oh, I digress, I do that a lot, it'll probably happen again in my story, so, you wanted to know more about what I look like, well, blue eyes and dirty blond hair, apparently from my Northern Scandinavian genes–Yeah, I did one of those genetic tests, came back 95% with 5% French-German. Apparently, I am not as much of a mutt as most people find out when they get those results back. I think, well I know, I'm Viking stuff.

Ok, so you've read this far and you want to know: Is there going to be any sex? Hell yeah, that'll be the main theme, isn't that why you're reading my story?

What kind of sex?

"Jeez, can't you wait?" Ok, I'm going to skip the little kid stuff, you know, "Show me yours and I'll show you mine." We're going straight to the man-boy stuff, that's why my story starts at 11 years of age. What did I know about sex at that age? Not much, no sex ed in school, and no internet. We learned the right way, from the older boys at the corner, well not yet, they didn't like us brats hanging with them and listening to all their girl talk.

***

So, let's get started. It's Memorial Day weekend here in the good ole U.S. of A., the traditional start of the summer and we're all piled into the '62 Ford station wagon. Yes, I mean piled, seven boys, no seat belts; those didn't happen until the '64 model year. A big cooler for the food, big bag of charcoal, paper plates, softball bats and gloves, along with stuff and more stuff. Oh yeah, Jarts, those big heavy lawn darts had not been banned yet. Safety wasn't a thing back then, people didn't worry about that stuff, or children for that matter, what the hell, there were plenty of spares. After fighting over the two window seats in the back seat, we were off, headed up to the state forest, no camping, just a day pass for picnicking.

After lugging all the stuff from the station wagon to our picnic table across the wooden footbridge to a wide-open field, we picked out a table on the edge next to the woods. All the tables were along the perimeter, leaving the middle wide open for volleyball, softball, whiffle ball, Jarts … It was the size of a football pitch in the middle of the woods.

Swimming was first and we raced to the changing room. The towel fight started as soon as we were naked. Some of the other boys there, who didn't want to participate, left. A lifeguard was on duty, but we wondered if she would come get us, because no adults would go into the water, you see, the man-made swimming hole was fed by spring water and freezing, but at that age it didn't stop us. Lunch was up next, and we were dragged out of the water. Hot dogs with ketchup. No going back into the water for an hour: an old wives tale about stomach cramps.

We started to play softball, then Jarts, but then someone suggested a hike up to the fire tower. Everyone was in, especially our parents. No, they weren't going on the hike, just us kids, they wanted us out of their hair, a saying from back then. I still had on my bathing suit and ran to the changing room to put my clothes back on, if only I could find them in there, there seemed to be piles of kids clothes all over the place. A cute boy was changing, he turned his bum to me; I guess he was shy. I lingered. I was eventually dressed and headed out. Everyone had left already. I was told to hurry up and catch them. It was a circular trail up to the fire tower and the sign said about 2-1/2 hours round trip.

I jogged across the field to the start of the trail, and then started walking. I'd been up there before; we'd been picnicking here for years. I decided I'd just take my leisurely time; I didn't need to catch up with everyone; it was peaceful on the trail by myself.

***

So, a little bit more about me, I had 20/10 vision, that means I could see details at 20 feet that most people can't see until 10 feet. At the time, I did not understand why people could not see what I saw, like able to read road signs before anyone else in the car. My pediatrician records show 20/10, and now I know.

So what? you say. Well, I spotted the top of a brown paper bag behind a log a bit of a ways off the trail, the kind from the grocery store. The top had been rolled over, but clearly (to me) had unrolled enough that it was now visible above the log. Curious, I went to see what was in it.

Inside were magazines of nude boys, the printing was not in English; so I just looked at the pictures–all the pictures: boys my age, younger boys, teenage boys. Some were giving blowjobs to other boys and some even to men, yeah, I knew what a blowjob was, sorta, but I never saw one. There were tie-up games, some spanking and whips, but mostly just boys showing their stuff. A few were kissing men and other boys, in the nude!

I quickly looked around, Holy smokes batman, I better not get caught with this stuff! I was on the other side of the log sitting with my back against the log, close enough to hear all the people in the picnic area but well hidden. I had to duck down a couple times as I heard people heading up the trail. Whew, I was a bundle of nerves.

The book was next; it reminded me of my grandmother's Reader's Digest book. It had a lot of short stories, some only a couple of pages long, others more than ten. This one was in English. The cover was white and there were two circles overlapping. One circle was bigger than the other one and had a bigger arrow and the smaller circle had a smaller arrow. I had no clue as to what it meant.

I had time, they wouldn't be back from the fire tower for a couple of hours, and when I heard them, I could just come out of the woods and say I was behind them the whole time.

I started reading. I was a voracious reader since kindergarten. My mother used to buy those kid's books at the grocery store every week. The ones that went like this: See spot run. And of course, my ABCs first.

I read and read. This was rousing stuff. For the first half hour, I had been reading from the beginning, which was about young boys, mostly little boy games, which was not me anymore, I wanted the teenage stuff. I skipped ahead and found pencil drawings, whoa, I went looking for all of them, thumbing through the pages. I then realized that the stories were in sections, the little boy stories first, followed by boys and teens, then high schoolers, and finally men with boys, or was it the other way around? Some of those boys were clearly in charge of the man … an adult!

I liked the high schoolers, the stories where boys were mostly humiliating, forcing, and bullying some younger, smaller classmates. Sweet love did not do anything for my libido. I did not understand all the words used, but then in a different story the same word would be used and because of the detailed explanation it clicked with me what it was and what they were doing. I would then go back and read the other story again. The stories in this section started to get longer, some a little over ten pages in this small paperback.

A quick sample, so you know what I mean: A guy picks up street boys from the same block in New York City, parks in an alley, has them strip, and roughly fucks them in the back seat. He is a regular and knows the boys. An older boy is the pimp and collects the money before the younger boy gets in the car–wow, is this stuff real? There is a young boy, 11, who hangs out but the older boy will not let him go with this guy, who keeps asking, "When will he be ready?"

"He's a virgin, not yet, he'll pull his pants down, and he gives hand jobs, nothing more." (Me: I didn't jerk off my little knub yet, I didn't know what a hand job was, but after reading more stories, I figured it out. I couldn't get enough of this book, real sex education.)

After a few short descriptions with other boys, the man asks, "How much to be the first for the virgin boy?"

The older boy tries to talk the young boy out of it, he says the guy's a hard bastard, and he'd be better off with someone else the first time, but the man offers a hundred dollars [80€] (about $850.00 [700€] in 2021 money) and the boy talks the older one into letting him, because he's ready!

Stipulations though, an older boy must go with him, not the pimp, he has to take care of business. Counter-offer, ok, but they both go back to my place and spend the night for this much money.

I will make this sample shorter, but what happens is the young boy goes to this man's mansion and is spread-eagle tied to a bed, (another word I didn't know) and greased up to be fucked. The man then offers the boy another $20 if he can spank him, not hard, just enough to warm him up.

The older boy, watching, says, "You can't hurt him."

The $20 bill is placed in front of the boy's face. He hesitates and finally agrees, shaking his head yes. "But not too hard."

This goes on a couple more times, the boy's butt is burning red, another $20 bill for a little harder. It goes on until the man places a $50 bill next to the bawling boy's head, in front of his eyes.

"That fifty is yours if you let me use the belt."

The boy looks at the fifty, he had never seen a bill that big. His head was saying yes, his butt no, he was not sure he could take any more pain. He looked at it again, and wanted it. The uncontrollable sobbing started to subside and before he could answer, the $50 is replaced with a $100…

"How about a $100?" Money was nothing to the rich man, and at this moment, everything to the boy who lived in one of the poorest boroughs of New York.

The boy agrees. The screaming is loud, the man encourages him to scream as loud as he wants, no one can hear, the mansion is separated enough from any nearby houses.

So, after his "warming up" the man does fuck him and then leaves him spread-eagled all night. Yes, he pees the bed. The older boy sleeps downstairs on the couch and the man has another go at the young boy in the morning.

Slave boy stories were at the end of the book, and these were the best, but more about that later. The booklet, How to Train Your Boy, caught my attention and being a booklet, I was able to finish it quickly.

These stories had my impressionable mind spinning when I suddenly heard familiar voices returning from the hike. We were a loud bunch; you had to be; it was the only way you'd be heard.

I put everything back in the bag and rolled it up before quickly and stealthily exiting the woods by someone else's picnic spot. No one seemed to miss me and no one asked where I had been. It was my life as usual. I was on my own.

***

I could not get those magazines and books out of my head. After returning home, I could not stop thinking about how I would get back there and retrieve that bag. My banana bike would make it, but it would probably take the whole day up and back. I was not sure; I had never gone that far. Tuesday morning, after the Monday holiday, I set off on my bike to gage just how far I could go. I did ok on the mostly flat part of the way there, but once the road started climbing up into the mountain, my legs started to give out. I knew I was not even halfway and that there was no way I would make it. I turned around.

I decided I would hitchhike, a very common thing back then, mostly teenagers, but hey, there is a first time for everything. I would ask my neighbor, Pauly, if he wanted to go with me. He is ten, and a year behind me in school, but he did hang out with the others and me. I definitely would not tell him about the magazines, just that we were going swimming, you see, Pauly has a big mouth, best if he didn't know anything. I would hide everything in my towel for the trip back. We would go early tomorrow, Wednesday.

***

With towels in hand, and wearing our swimsuits under our jeans, we walked the short distance down the hill to the market and the start of the road that led to the state forest. I warned him that if he told anyone we hitchhiked, that he'd be in bigger trouble than me, because I'd beat him up after his parents did, so he'd better keep his mouth shut.

At the bottom of the hill, we crossed the five-point intersection to the road that went to the state forest and started walking and thumbing–No luck, hardly any traffic midweek, and mid-morning. We kept walking, finally stopping at the entrance to the cemetery to rest. I had an idea, I saw it on TV, a woman raised her skirt while hitchhiking and got picked up right away. That was just before my mother chased me out of the living room and back up the stairs. We were not allowed to watch any movies on TV after 9:00, those were for adults only.

I rolled up my right jean's leg; Pauly didn't know what to make of it and wouldn't do it. Standing at the cemetery entrance, in the shade, it was starting to get hot; the first few cars just went by. Then we saw a convertible, with the top down, what I now know was a '57 Chevy Bel Air. Wow, what a car! He stopped!

"Where're you going, boys?"

"Up to the state forest swimming hole."

"Hop in."

I opened the door and pulled the seat so Pauly could get in the back. I was definitely riding in the front of this car. The man said we could both sit up front. All cars had those big bench seats back then as far as I knew, but Pauly had already jumped in the back, so I just got in and said, "He's fine back there."

We drove off, and I kept looking over at the dashboard, it was amazing.

The man said, "Scoot over for a closer look."

I leaned over. He explained the different gages and buttons to me and then said, "You can sit in the middle, that way you can see everything, and see where we're going."

I did.

This man was nice and easy to talk to, not like any other adult I knew. He put his right hand on my thigh as he talked; it felt nice. He rubbed it a little. An adult touching children was common, so I did not give it much thought. In fact, if the adult was sitting and they called you over to tell you something, they always seemed to grab your butt and pull you in closer, giving a squeeze here and there to emphasize what they were telling you. A couple of soft taps to your butt indicated they were done speaking, and you could run off.

The man brought us all the way up to the swimming hole, told the ranger at the gatehouse we weren't picnicking, just passing through, a nice day for a ride up the mountain. We parked in the parking lot, and he said he'd wait for us. I did not want him to wait for us; swimming was not my objective, just my cover story. I had to retrieve those magazines and those books. He kept insisting, said it was a nice day and he had the day off from work to relax in the sunshine and it was no problem–It was a problem for me!

We headed across the footbridge, running ahead, only to see the sign, "No Lifeguard on Duty. No Swimming." Disappointed, but it was not why we were really here. The man caught up to us, and told us that there was a bigger swimming area at the pond at the campground, and it should be open. I had never been to that one before, because it was for campers only, but he said, no one will care and it will be ok. Thinking on my feet–I was not giving up, I had to retrieve what I came here for–I said I had lost something on the fire tower trail when I was here with my parents on Monday and I needed to go find it. I said, I didn't know where on the trail it could be, and he didn't have to wait for us because it might take a while.

He wasn't giving up; said he had all day … had the day off. "OK, wait here and I'll be back." I quickly went up the trail to that log, only to find nothing there! I was devastated. When I turned around, the man was on the trail looking at me.

He said, "I thought I'd help."

I walked back, head down, upset. He sensed it and kept asking me what I lost and how could he help. I was not about to tell him, no way.

I was not in the mood for swimming anymore and just wanted to go home and sulk. After we got back in the car and headed to the pond, I told him so. He suggested ice cream to cheer me up. I was not in the mood for that either, I just wanted to go home and cry. We did head up to the top of the mountain on the road, reaching the fire tower where we stopped at the lookout to see the view. Pauly still wanted to go swimming, so we did, but not me, I just sat at the table in the beach area with Mark. We talked. He wanted to get to know me better. He said we could go for ice cream tomorrow and Pauly too. I told him Pauly had a big mouth and that would not work. He said it could be just him and me; he had taken the week off work. I did not want anyone to know, he promised it would be our secret.

We agreed to meet at the flower shop on Upper Main Street, just a couple of blocks from my house, around 9:00 in the morning. I warned him though; I was not good at keeping time. He said that was fine, he'd wait; he used to be 11 once too. Pauly finished swimming and told me that the water at the pond wasn't freezing like the swimming hole at the picnic area and that I should try it.

I said, "It's time to go." I was still sulking over my loss.

Mark dropped us off at the market a couple of blocks from where we lived, we certainly did not want to be seen getting out of his car, and boy did his car stand out, so he pulled into the parking lot and parked between a couple of cars on the far side. We walked home. I reminded Pauly to keep his mouth shut.

***

The next day, I was feeling a little better, but not really. I kept dreaming about those stories, and had those pictures on loop in my head.

I met Mark at the flower shop. He had the top down and was parked in their lot. I walked up to the passenger side and said, "Hi."

"Hi, glad you came. Jump in."

I jumped in and scooted over to the middle, I liked Mark, especially after our talk yesterday while Pauly was swimming. He headed out and started to drive north before asking where I wanted to go today. I told him I'd never been to the top of Unger Mountain, the tallest mountain in the state and we were headed in the right direction.

"That's a long way up; could take us a couple of hours just to get to the top."

"It's ok with me; I don't have to be home until 5:15 p.m., dinner time." The only time I was early for because the consequences for being late were no supper and a beating. I did not share the no supper and beating part with Mark.

Off we went, in his beautiful red convertible, the top down, the wind blowing, the radio playing. His car even had a radio, not all cars did; it was an option back then. Our last car, the Buick, did not, so we sang on road trips with my mother leading. The Ford wagon did have an AM radio with a single speaker in the center of the dash, but it wasn't played much, unless there were only a couple of us in the car.

We stopped for gas before turning onto the state road that went up the mountain. He asked me to pick out some soda to drink and some snacks. He was the nicest man I had ever met. I grabbed a bottle of Coke, but Mark said, "We'll need more than that, we won't be back until this afternoon." He then picked up a six-pack of Coke, a couple big bags of chips, and cookies.

The state road was a narrow one-way and once we passed the sign, there was only forest. It must be like the road to the fire tower, a one-way road that looped you back to the bottom.

I happily gulped down my bottle of soda; good thing Mark had a bottle opener, but he said we'd stop along the way to snack; he didn't want chips all over the car. Stop we did, at the first lookout. I had to pee, Mark did too, and we both headed into the woods, just out of sight of the parking area, just in case someone came along, although we were the only ones there at the moment. I still had those images in my head driving me crazy, it was the first time I saw an adult cock. I had seen teen cocks once in the Boys' Club showers, but they weren't as big as the ones in those pictures. I glanced a look at Mark, and saw that he was looking at me. I felt like I had just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and I know I blushed and quickly looked away. Finishing up, we went back to the car and Mark opened another Coke for me, telling me he couldn't drink while driving on this road. (No cup holders back then.)

It wasn't long before I had to pee again, but there wasn't a lookout. I tried holding it a while, but I felt like I was going to burst. Mark spotted a dirt side road, and took it. It led to a grassy field, a good place to stop and snack too. With no one around, I jumped out of the car, and was about to race to the woods, when Mark said, "No need, this isn't a lookout, you can go right there. I have a blanket in the trunk, and I'll get the snacks."

Mark and I talked, ate chips, and I drank more Coke. The chips made me thirsty. I did not know that the caffeine in the soda was making me have to go more. I was wearing jeans and was getting hotter, especially with the sun beating down on me in that convertible. Mark was wearing shorts. He suggested I take my shirt off, but I told him that I burn easily, so I had to leave it on.

"Well then, if you want, you can take your jeans off. No one is here but us guys, and no one will see you in the car either."

True, it was a one-way and no one would see. I felt a bit embarrassed at this conversation, but I liked Mark, a lot, and so I stood up to take my jeans off. After all, I ran around the house with lots of people, including adults, in my tighty-whities, we all did.

Mark watched me; I was looking right at him as I unsnapped my pants and zipped down the front before dropping them to the ground and stepping out of them. It was at that moment that I had a bit of an epiphany. Was Mark like one of those men in the stories? The magazine pictures? I just stood there, with my arms to my side; Mark stared. I do not know what was going through my 11-year-old brain; maybe it was on overload from these past days and now fried. I turned around; I wanted him to see my butt. I stood, in silence. Mark said nothing. I turned back around, and then lowered myself to a squatting position onto the blanket, knees apart. Just like one of the pictures, except I was not naked.

Mark asked me again what I had lost, and why it was so important to me. He told me that it was obvious that I was upset when I went straight to the log and did not find what I was looking for. He told me he followed me into the woods, even though I had asked him to wait. He knew I was not looking for something I lost, because I only looked at that one spot before becoming disappointed and sulking back to the car.

I could not tell him; it was the naughtiest thing I had ever seen in my entire life and I would be in so much trouble. Not just one beating and grounding, but I imagined I would be beat daily for some time to atone for my bad behavior.

"Come, sit next to me, it's ok, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

I did, and Mark put his arm around me, rubbing my upper arm, as my grandmother would when I was crying. I felt better. I used my arm to wipe away a couple of tears. Mark was so gentle with me. I trusted him, but that was too dark of a secret for him or anyone.

We finished up and put everything away before leaving the field. I sat next to the door, in my underwear and tee shirt, looking out. Mark did not say anything as we drove on. I liked him, but would he still like me if he knew? Why was I so attracted to the harder stories? Like the boy on all fours with a man ramming him hard from behind, slapping his butt for effect.

My mind continued to drift back to the stories, as we drove on towards the top. The booklet about How to Train Your Boy, would not leave me alone. It said you should start at eight, that's when boys become self-conscious and do not like to be seen naked. It is when they no longer want you helping them take a bath or seeing them at the toilet. Rules had to be made and followed. Your boy should be kept naked in the house, only the clothes you allow when someone visits can be worn, and they should be kept to a minimum, underpants only is preferred. If it is someone that can be trusted, then your boy should remain naked. The door to the bathroom should never be closed. The boy should never cover himself up; hands should be kept to the side or behind his back or head. He should squat to sit, keeping his knees apart, and his butt on the floor … I just did that for Mark. Why?

Spankings should become routine, and not just for punishments.

My parents spank me. I never like it. The belt is the worst: the bruises stay for days. I am always afraid the tip of the belt will wrap around my naked hip and the tip of the belt hit me in the balls, because it did that one time, and could again. I stand naked, with my arms outstretched, the tips of my fingers just touching the wall. I take a step backwards and then bend forward so that the palms of my hands are flat against the wall. Legs spread wide. That's the position.

Some of the stories had spankings, whippings, nipple clamps, butt plugs, dildos… Many of these things I read about for the first time. Some I did not know what they were, but I read on, and then it clicked, later in the story, sometimes in the next story.

Why did I find these stories so appealing? And the lovey-dovey stories boring?

Mark might be like those men in the stories who like boys. We continued up the mountain. I told you my mind wanders, it is all over the place right now.

Chapter Two

I forgot to tell you about Mark, heck, I forgot to ask him when he was asking all about me while Pauly was swimming. We drove on, no turning back now–the car, I mean, one-way road to the top. I was not used to questioning adults: they questioned you, or was it, "interrogated."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

Turns out, he moved to this area after college. He's an electrical engineer. He grew up outside of Philadelphia, where his father was a doctor. He's a long way from home and does not have any family in this area. He told me he likes it that way. He just bought a small ranch on the outskirts of town, on the same road that leads to the state forest, which is why he saw us. The houses out that way are on four-acre lots, a lot more open space from what I am used to in my neighborhood, and those small houses look odd to me on so much land. Mark's easy-going manner had me feeling like he and I were equals. He did not talk down to me or lecture me. I did not know any adults like him.

My neighborhood is less than a mile from downtown; the houses built in the 1870's, and close together, one driveway between each house. Everyone's driveway is to the right of their house, just wide enough for a horse and buggy to make it to the barn in the back yard. Of course, no one has a horse and buggy today, but a number of the barns still have the stuff in them for hitching up the horse, and muck rakes and stuff. No buggies or wagons though, people put their cars in them now, the ones that have not fallen down or been torn down that is. We've explored all of them; they all have a broken board or two to get in, if locked that is, most are not, the doctor's is, but we slip under a broken board in the back. They're all big houses with two-stories, and huge attics, and a few turned into apartments, with the attics turned into bedrooms. We have a mansard roof, so our attic is really big, so are the gambrels, which are more like three-story houses.

Oh, what does Mark look like? I do have trouble staying focused; I'm caught daydreaming in school all the time, especially staring out the large windows into the nearby hills and mountains. He looks average height to me for an adult, short black hair, in good shape. He says he rides his bicycle to work when the weather's nice, and on weekends. He cycled competitively in college. Told me he's Welsh, but his ancestors go back generations here.

I feel a bit more relaxed now, Mark is easy to talk to, and I'm now sitting in the middle, easier to hear him with the wind noise. His hand is gently resting on my thigh, and he gives it a squeeze here and there to emphasize something. I guess if I were standing, he'd be squeezing my butt instead. His hand does brush up against my underpants sometimes, but it's just the bumps in the road. I like it, but I do not tell him.

The temperature starts to drop as we climb and I ask him to turn the heat on or stop and get my jeans out of the trunk. He turns the heat on low; it's summertime and that's enough. He asks me if I'm comfortable. No one ever asks us kids if we're comfortable.

At the next lookout, he does throw me my jeans, as we're almost to the top and there will surely be people up there. I slip them on before I get out of the car to pee again. He's always thinking about me, wants to help me, and buys me snacks and Coke, something I was not used to.

We had a good time at the top, they had those binoculars that you put money into, and Mark fed it until I was satisfied. I liked the way he put his hands on my shoulders and would help point me in the right direction to see things in the valley below with those binoculars. He was a kind and caring man. I did not know men could be kind and caring, only rough and tough.

The trip back down was less exciting and when we reached the valley floor, Mark suggested we stop for ice cream; the snacks were gone, as we ate them all at the top. I did not know what to get, but I kept staring at the banana split. Mark, told me to go for it, if I wanted it. It was the most expensive item and I was not sure. He assured me it was ok.

Before leaving, we both went into the restroom and stood side by side at the urinals. Mark looked over and down at me, I looked up and smiled this time. He made me happy.

Mark asked me if I wanted to stop by his house, but it was getting late and I definitely had to be home before dinner. After dropping me off at the market, we agreed to meet again tomorrow at the flower shop.

***

It was Friday and sure enough, Mark was there waiting for me at the flower shop. We headed to his house; I wanted to see it. The land used to be a big farm, so there were not a lot of trees and you could see all the other houses. There were some tall bushes behind his house framing a yard, planted by the previous owners, but the property extended far beyond the bushes. We went in the side door that led us into the kitchen-dining area. A living room was in the front, and down a narrow hallway, were two bedrooms and a bathroom. There was not much furniture yet, with a couch in the living room and a TV. One of the bedrooms was empty. The basement was empty.

He had a color TV! I had to watch it, so we plopped on the couch and watched a game show. It was nice, we snuggled. I just loved the soft gentle contact. The house was hot though, no A/C. I wanted to take my jeans off. Maybe it was the body heat; maybe the sun streaming through the picture window. I don't know why I kept wearing them. Maybe because mornings always started out cool here in the hills. I had woken up this morning with those magazines and those two books forefront in my thoughts, and now Mark too, after a wonderful day yesterday. My head went into another spin, or maybe it never stopped spinning, when I asked Mark if I could take my pants off because it was too hot.

"Sure, this is my house, you can wear whatever you like or nothing at all," said with a chuckle to indicate he was joking.

Not the thing to say in my frustrated condition. I did not know how frustrated I was, or that my thwarted desires were driving my chaotic young brain crazy with lustful thoughts. This was all new to me. That paper bag triggered an overwhelming tsunami of thoughts and images that I had no idea how to stop. I had heard the boys at the corner talk of blue balls, and having to jack-off, and doing this motion with their hand. It suddenly dawned on me what they were talking about. The stories, those lovey-dovey ones, Mark had to be one of them. He was not like any adult I had ever met. He was different. It was coming together for me.

I stood up and looked over at the picture window with a view out to the street. I said, "Should I close the blind first?"

Mark said, "Sure."

I was not myself, as I turned from the window facing Mark on the couch. I seductively moved my hips and shoulders back and forth. I looked at his records, and said, "Let's listen to some music."

"Pick out anything you want."

"I'm not sure; I only listen to the radio sometimes. Can you pick something with a beat? I like to pretend I'm playing the drums."

I took off my socks and shoes while Mark looked through his record collection.

Mark picked out "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones. Wow, was he psychic or something. This just can't be happening, could it?

Once Mark was back on the couch, I seductively did a little dance and then keeping to the beat, I pulled the snap on my jeans as the record player belted out "satisfaction." I continued, pretending to play the drums with my hands while dancing for Mark. The zipper went the same way, on "satisfaction," it went down in one quick motion. I put my hands inside my jeans, to the side, palms against my waist, thumbs out. The chorus came up again and the jeans went down, again, in one quick motion. The song ended as I stepped out of my jeans.

"How did you like that? Was I good?"

"You were great; you sure know how to dance."

I was beaming as I moved closer to Mark, and putting my hands on his thighs. I leaned into him and said, "Should I keep going?"

"Up to you, if you want to."

Mark picked another record and set the needle down. "Help, I need somebody," started playing. He had all the good stuff. And, whoa, was that song speaking to me?

I tried to be as sexy as I knew how, peeling off my tee shirt, turning around, and swaying my butt as I bent over. I gave a few flashes with my undies, exposing my butt. Turning, I slowly pushed down the front, stopping just short before pulling them up again. I got close to Mark; I stood between his knees as he sat on the couch. Facing him, I grabbed his hands and placed them on my gyrating hips. I hooked his thumb inside my undies. As the song ended, I pushed his hands down, taking my underpants with them. My skin was hot to the touch. I stepped out of them, and put my arms around Mark, my knees bending onto his lap.

Mark placed both hands on my hips as I leaned into him. Was he pushing me away? Holding me? A dreadful fear suddenly swept through my body. An eternity passed. Did I just do what I did? What is wrong with me? Am I in big trouble now? Will he tell my mother? Will my father find out? He'll beat the life out of me.

I dropped quickly to my knees on the floor between Mark's legs and begged him not to tell on me. I told him that I did not know why I just did that. Kids do stupid stuff, especially me, I told him. The adrenaline was pumping madly, my heart was racing, and I was sure it would burst.

"Don't worry, I would never tell on you."

"Are you going to punish me?"

"Have you been bad?"

"Well, isn't what I just did bad?"

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes."

"And how do you get punished?"

"My mother still spanks me over the knee with my pants down, my father has me strip and stand naked against the wall upstairs and uses his belt on me."

"So, you think you deserve a spanking?"

I crawled up onto Mark's lap, and lay down, butt up.

Mark stroked my butt with his hand, but did not spank me. Instead, he told me how much he liked me and that I could trust him, always, no matter what. He continued rubbing my back, my legs, and butt, as I relaxed. He told me how tense I have been since losing something at the state forest. He told me that nothing I did would change how much he liked me and that I would always be safe with him.

Relieved, but still somewhat perplexed, I slowly climbed off Mark's lap, and said, "Should I get dressed now?"

"Only if you want to; I did say you could be naked in my house."

Understanding adults still eluded me; my world was still black and white, good or bad. I still believed a lot of stuff, no, not Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny, just the Tooth fairy, I still had some molars in the back to come out.

I sat back down on the couch, and cuddled up to Mark as we listened to the rest of the album. I felt so comfortable with him and did not know why. Here I was naked on the couch, just chillin' and listening to music. Is that weird? Not unlike some of those stories, but were those stories real? Do boys and men really do this? Uhm, we are right now…

***

Lunchtime and I was hungry. Mark decided to fire up the grill and cook cheeseburgers. The patio was just off the glass sliding door from the dining area of the kitchen. I put my undies back on and pulled on my jeans. Mark prepared the burgers as the grill heated up. He did not have any patio furniture yet, but standing outside, I saw that those tall bushes completely enclosed his backyard. This was a private yard, not like the ones in my neighborhood. Mark told me it was not necessary to get dressed, no one could see us back here.

"Do you want me naked then?" I really wanted him to want me naked.

"Up to you; as I said."

Not the answer I was looking for. In those stories, it was the men who chased and wanted the boys. Was I wrong about Mark? Was he truly just being nice to me because he's just a nice guy? Well, maybe not all the stories, there were the street boys who chased customers for business. I don't think my strip dance this morning, or chillin' to music worked. I still want to do more. I want to be one of those boys in the stories. What more can I do? Put a sign around my neck saying, I'm available for sex? A sign on my back saying, "Now open for business," with an arrow pointing down.

What is wrong with me? I never had thoughts or urges like this before finding that bag. Heck, I did not know anything about that stuff. It's changed my brain. Rewired things. I'm a mess. I'm like those horny teenagers at the corner–but I'm not a teen! Not yet!

We ate the burgers inside; I kept my jeans on. We talked about what to do this afternoon. Mark suggested a bike ride, but that meant I would have to go get my bike. We decided to go hiking instead. There were many trails; we were surrounded on two sides by mountains. As we hiked up the trail, me in front, Mark behind, I could not stop thinking about those stories, especially the one where the guy takes his boy hiking. It was after I read How to Train Your Boy, and I was back to the book with the circles and arrows.

Well, this boy had been trained since he was 10 years old to be a slave boy. Yes, training can start later; even as late as 12, but only if it's the right boy with the right predilection. I'm running out of time, btw. I'll be 12 soon.

The short version of the story goes like this:

The man takes his slave boy out for a hike. He is wearing a collar that is hidden by a neckerchief, he is allowed hiking shoes, and gym shorts a size too small. In his backpack, he is carrying rope, ankle and wrist cuffs, a crop, leather paddle, food, and water. He keeps the back of his shorts pulled down so his master can enjoy the view of his red butt along the way. They do meet up with people coming the other way down the trail and he pulls up the back of his shorts before they reach him. A few are clearly interested in the boy who is scantily dressed. They talk as the man sizes them up, for maybe some action, but nothing comes of it. A few miles in and they head off the trail down a steep slope and across a ravine. The flowing water is noisy–Hey, we have those. They find a couple of trees and the boy strips off his shorts, puts on his wrist and ankle cuffs and is tied spread-eagle (I knew what that meant by the time I got to this story.) The neckerchief is used to gag him, even though the rushing water will drown out noise. He is whipped and paddled. They enjoy lunch and head back.

There's more to the story before and after, but this is the part that popped into my head as we walked along. Just think, my butt could have been red right now, if I got that spanking this morning. My mind continues to wander, as we walk along enjoying the sounds of nature and the occasional view as we round some of the bends, except, I am not enjoying the sounds of nature or the views. My head is clogged with that paper bag stuff. Oh, a ball-gag, I did not know what that was. How do you gag a ball? I know how you can use a neckerchief as a gag; I have seen that on the cowboy shows.

What kind of boy do I want to be? Or better yet, What kind of boy does Mark want? That's even if he does. He's hard to decipher. Where do I stand with him? He seems to like me and wants me around. What about my needs? What are my needs? Before this past Monday, I didn't know I had needs, at least the kind I do now.

We continue our hike, lost in our thoughts. Yes, I'm lost, and I didn't know it until recently.

We stop to rest and drink water. Mark is nice, hell, I do not want him to be nice, but he is. I tell him I have a leg cramp and ask him if he can rub it out. I drop my jeans, and he starts rubbing it out, but the cramp is higher. He works my thigh muscle … higher. Yes, that butt is sore too.

"Do you want me to take my undies off? We could just go off the trail here, out of site. It's really sore."

"Ok, I don't want you cramped up so bad that I'd have to carry you out."

We find a nice hidden spot; I drop my jeans again and my undies this time.

Mark sits down on a log and I lay down over his lap in the spanking position. He kneads my butt and upper thigh. I spread my legs so it is easier for him to work the muscles. My nuts must be clearly visible between my spread legs. Heck, Mark, Do you like boys or not?

I'm ready to give up. I stand up and we're face to face. My undies are still around my ankles.

"Mark, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, you can ask me anything."

"This one's really personal."

"Well, I can't promise I'll be able to answer, but go for it."

"Do you like boys?"

"Of course. I like you, don't I? I like all children."

"That's not how I mean it. I mean, do you like it when I'm naked?"

"Why do you ask?"

There he goes: that adult thing where they answer your question with a question.

"I just want to know, that's all."

"Well, there are things I want to know too, like what did you really lose at the state forest?"

Touché.

"I can't tell you. It's a secret."

"We all have our secrets, but true friends share their most inner secrets and never tell anyone."

This adult conversation had me confused. I thought it was a straightforward question, and now it is one of those philosophical mumbo jumbo things. Mark is difficult to figure out. We decide to head back. Along the way, I think he wants to do the "I'll tell you, if you tell me," thing.

I am at the point now, with that teenage frustration thing to either "Fish or cut bait" as they say–But I am not a teenager yet, I do not have any hair down there and my dinky has not even started to grow.

Should I agree to his terms? Maybe tell him a little bit, but not all? Maybe just say I found a dirty picture magazine? If I do, and Mark does like boys, Will he be the man I need? The man I want?

Mark drops me off at the market, and I, hesitantly this time, agree to meet him at the flower shop.

Chapter Three

Mark has me all confused, he likes me, he likes me not: at least in the way I want him to like me. I pick a daisy, I pull the petals off one by one, if he likes me not, then I will not go to the flower shop tomorrow. There must be other men out there who will like me, men who do not hold back, real men. I admit I was reluctant at first when this all began, but now, I know what I want.

He likes me : He likes me not : He likes me : He likes me not : He likes me…

I'm not going. It's over. I'm moving on. But how? Mark picked us up hitchhiking, so that is what I'll do, but somewhere close, so I can hop out if it's not the right ride and just hitchhike back. I'll go back and forth until I meet the right man.

***

Friday morning, and my plan is hatched. Upper Main Street is also the interstate highway when you get out of town. They talked about a bypass, but it was too costly and would have to be built on conservation land along the side of the mountain. Traffic was usually heavy and moved slowly through town. The speed limit was 30 MPH. We just called it Upper Main, and just before you left town, it wound along one of the three lakes we had. There was a public swimming area at this one and one other, but not the third lake. I would grab a towel and say I was going swimming. It was about 2 miles away. We usually biked there, but you could walk, and we did that too.

No need to walk this time, I just stood on the side of the road with my rolled-up towel and put my thumb out. I wore shorts this time. I had a few interesting rides with most not so interesting. It was easy getting rides; I never knew it was this easy. There were old ladies, who chatted and seemed disappointed in the short ride, men who did not talk much beyond, "Where ya goin?" A man with a pickup truck and dog who told me to climb in the back, and sit on the floor, the cab was for his dog. The rides were short in each direction with everyday boring people. A few interesting ones though, as I said traffic was always heavy on this road with people and trucks passing through.

A traveling salesman picked me up, but did not drive off right away. He told me I was a cute boy, and asked how old I was, said he'd give me $5 if I pulled my shorts down in the back of his van and let him have a look. I do not know why, but I looked at the back of his van and it was full of junk. He was a fat, ugly, old man. Older than my father, I'm sure. I said no.

He saw me look back and said, "How about we stop at a motel? Would that be better?"

I knew the one he mentioned, it was known to be sleazy and people joked about how it charged by the hour. At least we thought it was a joke, but maybe not.

I said, "No."

He finally drove on, wanted me to pull my shorts down right there in the front seat of his van while he drove, saying, "Just a look, that's all."

I told him I had nothing to look at. It was still small.

"Any hair yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Mind if I take a look anyway? $10."

It was a short ride and I said, "That's the swimming area." I got out.

Back and forth until lunchtime. I went home for a PB&J sandwich.

My next ride did not take long, I must be cute, and I probably did not look dangerous standing on the road outside the public beach area with my rolled-up towel. He was a teenager, probably a senior in high school. He asked what I now know are the typical questions. Do I jerk off? Did I have any hair? How big is it? Would I like to make $5? Hell yeah, I was not going to miss this opportunity, he was good looking, athletic, complete opposite of that gross salesman. We drove up behind the middle school and walked into the woods. He pulled my shorts down to my ankles and played with my dicky and balls. He even sucked them! Wow. Then he got up and ran. I tried to run after him, but he had tied my shoelaces together. Bastard. I pulled my shorts up and untied my sneakers. He took the $5 from my pocket, probably when he was sucking me and tying my sneakers together. He would have taken all my money, but that $5 he gave me was all I had. My first blowjob, and it lasted as long as it takes to tie your shoes.

More boring rides, until late in the afternoon: A man offered me $20 to go to a motel. Said I could make a lot of money this weekend if I wanted to. He was heading up north to a farmhouse and there would be a lot of boys around my age, and with my looks, he said I could make a lot in tips, and the better I was with the men, the more money I could make. It was a club and once a month they gathered for a weekend of fun. He told me he wanted to take some good Polaroid pictures, and that he could arrange a professional photographer who would pay even more money. I told him I had to be home before 5:15 and that would not work. I certainly knew what kind of pictures and fun, he had already asked me if I had any hair, how big it was. Would I mind being naked all weekend? Would I like to go skinny-dipping in the pool? He told me how cute I was. I really wanted to go, badly, but I could not be gone for the weekend. I turned him down; it was too late in the day, and too close to dinnertime.

That night, in hindsight, I decided I should have taken that fat ugly man's $10, and I should have asked the other man if he could pick me up Saturday morning and drop me back before 5:15. I never let on how excited I was and how badly I wanted to go, I mostly just said, "No." Boy, am I dumb sometimes. Yeah, we ate at exactly 5:15 Monday through Saturday, with Sunday dinner in the afternoon, which did vary somewhat. I was learning.

***

I decided to give it a break on Saturday and go up to the lake with the other kids in the neighborhood. We decided to walk, it was always crowded on Saturday and that's when bikes were stolen, they made you keep them at the bike rack in the parking area on weekends. Weekdays we just brought them down to the beach area and left them in a pile with our towels and stuff. It was a typical Saturday of swimming and hanging out. There were two diving boards on a wooden floating dock, one high and one low. If you could swim out to the dock, you could have a lot of fun on the diving board. We were all good swimmers, being so close to two lakes we had to learn to swim, starting at the Boys' Club in the indoor pool during the winter and then lessons from the city at the lake. I had my Red Cross Advanced Swimmer's badge. The other lake for swimming was also about 2 miles away from our house, but in a different direction. We alternated between the two, and sometimes hit both in the same day.

Boys' bulges … I found myself looking and thinking about them more than I ever had. I kept trying to guess how big they were and whether they had hair or not, after being asked myself yesterday. I kept thinking about all the boys swimming. More than that, I stared at the boys in line for the diving board. Some had speedos, and some had regular bathing suits, some cut-off jeans. Later, as I lay down on my towel, on the grassy part of the beach in the shade, I started thinking about all the boys at the Boys' Club who swam nude. Yes, bathing suits were optional in the 1960s. Why was I so suddenly attracted to boys' bits? It had to be that paper bag. They told us in school that there are electrical currents zipping across our brain. Mine must have short-circuited.

It was becoming an obsession, I needed to experience sex, the way the boys in the stories did, not the little boy stuff: I wanted the real thing, the man-boy stuff. I wanted a man to take control, show me how to do it, how to take it.

It was mid-afternoon, and some of our gang started to walk home. I was going to hitchhike home, but I did not want anyone from the neighborhood to know, so I waited until they all left. It was around three when I left. A mom with her kids, who just left the beach area parking lot, picked me up: boring.

***

Sunday morning was church, and then we visited grandma who lived across the street from the church. My cousins were there too, they lived up the street. I always liked Tom; he was 14, and nice to everyone. His brother Bill, 16, picked on us smaller kids, used to beat us up, and yeah, a bully. Their sister, Ann, was a few months younger than I was, and the youngest in their family. There were older siblings that did not hang with us and were not there on Sundays anymore. We were not allowed to eat before Mass, something about not eating an hour before Communion, so we all dived into the donuts and poured ourselves milk.

I had a new and different view of Tom. I wanted to get into his pants. He had a nice teen bulge, long flowing hair that was the new style, and you could see muscle definition. They had bench weights in their basement and Tom worked out.

It was not long before we were told to go outside and play. I hung close to Tom and told him that I wanted to know how you worked out with those weights–my cover story–so we went up to his house and into the basement through the basement door. The house was on a hill and had a walkout basement in the back. Ann came with us. Turns out, Tom was more than eager to get the three of us alone. He wanted to see his sister Ann in the nude, but she wouldn't unless I was there and took my clothes off too. Seems it was a double setup.

Tom told his sister to go into the other basement room that his older brother, Bill, had made into his bedroom and private teen pad, so he could talk to me alone. She did not object and left. Tom told me what was up. That she was willing to take her clothes off if we paid her and if I took mine off. Not all the way, trousers to the ankle and shirt pulled up. I did not have much money, just the coins that we were given to put in the basket at church, somehow not all the coins ever made it in.

"How about you?" I said, staring at his bulge that somehow looked a little bigger.

"No, that's not part of the deal. Did I want to see a nude girl or not?"

I had never seen a nude girl before, and had no desire to either. It was not on my radar, as they say. Pulling my pants down was no big deal and what I really wanted was to please Tom, so I agreed.

We pooled our coins and presented the money to Ann. It was not enough, but a little haggling and the deal was done. We both stood side-by-side facing Tom. I pulled my trousers and underpants down and held my shirt up–for Tom. Ann lowered her tights and panties and held her dress up. It was a good inspection, turning around, and bending over. Tom was more interested in his sister and pretty much ignored me no matter how hard I tried to please him. Then we moved to the old couch. Ann lay down and I was on top of her. Tom gave the instructions. He told me I should get hard and that I could put it in, Ann was too young for anything to happen. I was too young for anything to "happen." I could not get it hard, and in fact, I thought it was gross that I would put my dicky into her pee hole. I was sitting on her legs as she used her hands to pull her lips apart and said, "You put it in there."

We kissed. Ann loved that part. No tongues though. I raised myself up so Ann could get a closer look at my dicky, she played with it, but it still would not get hard. It was probably a triple setup. I think Ann wanted into my pants.

We soon heard voices and I quickly jumped up and pulled my trousers up. Tom disappeared upstairs. It was Tom's mother, who came home to get dinner started. I asked where Tom was, and she answered that she saw him go upstairs. I went up to Tom's room, and when I walked in, he was lying on his bed with his trousers open and with the head of his cock poking out the top of his whitey-tighties. Just the head looked enormous to me, and what I could see outlined was huge, but probably teen sized.

"What the fuck! Don't you knock?" as Tom hurriedly covered himself with his blanket.

"No. Don't you lock the door?"

"There's no lock."

That short circuit in my brain had things wired strangely, as I walked over to the side of his bed, pulled down my trousers and undies, let Tom have a good look at my hard as rock dicky, and then jumped in beside him. Tom just looked, saying nothing. I think he was in shock.

"Let's have fun," I said.

Nothing was said as we both lay there. I did not really know what to do with mine, as it was too small.

Looking under the covers, I said, "Wow, yours is huge! Let me see more of it. Push your undies down."

"What's wrong with you? Don't you hear my mother in the kitchen? She makes a lot of noise with those pots and pans. Someone could walk in?"

"Don't they knock?"

"Stop being stupid. Push the desk over so it blocks the door."

I pulled up my trousers. The desk was up against the wall adjacent to the door, and sliding it a few inches until it was in front of the door on the handle side must be the way Tom "locked" his door.

I returned to the bed, stood beside it, and lowered my trousers again, then my undies, slowly. I stood there for Tom to see. He told me to pull my undies up, but did not mention my trousers. I jumped in bed beside him. He was working his teen-boy cock under the covers but he would not let me see. Under the covers myself, I kept putting my hand down there, only for him to knock it away.

"Let me see."

"No."

"I know what you're doing; you're trying to beat off. I want to see."

"No."

"Let me help."

Tom was getting really annoyed with me, but he was also a nice boy, not like his brother.

"You can rub it on my bum crack," I said. (I had seen that in one of the pictures.)

"Just lie still and don't move."

I was on my back and Tom put his cock along the side of my thigh and started rubbing, it felt good, it was big, at least to me. I loved the feeling. It was not long before I felt a wet gooey substance along my thigh.

"Hey, you just peed!"

"It's not pee, it's cum. Don't you know what that is yet? Baby makers?"

"Oh."

I got up and looked for something to wipe it off with, finding one of Tom's socks.

"Hey, don't use the outside; you have to use the inside of the sock. You want my mother to find out? Turn it inside out and then back again."

It was a two-sock load. I pulled my trousers up and Tom told me to go downstairs.

Tom's mother was in the kitchen, busy making Sunday dinner. I smiled.

"Did you find Tom?"

"Yes, he was in his bedroom." His bedroom, I realized, was over the kitchen.

"What were two doing up there?"

I must have turned a deep shade of red as my eyebrows went up. Did she know?

"Nothing," I said.

"You sure?" as she stared into my eyes.

"Yup," as I turned and hurriedly went out the front door and walked home.

***

That night, all I could think about was Tom's cum. It was sticky and yet silky. It had a funny smell to it, funny good, not bad. I should have tasted it. I wish I could have seen more of his cock and balls. I did see a glimpse when I tried lifting up the front of his underpants before he knocked my hand away. It was beautiful, with a patch of hair at the base. Not a lot of hair, not like the men in the pictures had.

I pictured my head resting on his stomach, gently playing with his balls as I stare at the head of his cock. Would I dare take it into my mouth? I did not know, but I wanted the opportunity to see if I would. I am sure if he had told me to, that I would have. I might have hesitated, but I knew I would.

The men in the stories know what they want from their boy. They told them, made it clear, demanded it, and the boys complied. The boys learned; I'm learning. Mistakes happen. Boys are punished. I'm punished when I mess up: it's the way things are.

Chapter Four

Another nice day and I cannot stop thinking about sex. I do not think about anything else before I go to bed and that is all I am thinking about when I wake up. As I lay here, I try to do what Tommy did, and I rub the front of my underpants. I get hard just thinking about how close I was to him, how he came… on me! Was he thinking about me as he rubbed his teen cock up and down my leg? His arm across my chest to keep me still. I hear his voice still, "Hold still." Was he thinking about seeing his sister naked? Was that the first time he saw a girl naked? It was mine.

I remember sitting up on her legs and looking down, when she parted her vagina lips and said, "Put it in there." It was ugly; I could not imagine doing that, ever. My dicky softens; I rub harder; I fantasize about Tom. In my fantasy, he tells me again, "Hold still." I become hard again; I rub softly. Tom comes on me again. I smile. We're alone in his older sister's apartment. She leaves the key hidden near the back door. She lets Tom use her apartment in the evening to watch TV. She lives by herself, is gone by 2:30 in the afternoon, and she does not return home until late at night, it is the 3-11 shift. Tom tells me to go wipe off and come back. I'm totally naked. I left my clothes in the bathroom; I have my trousers and shoes ready like a fireman in case anyone comes by. Tom is dressed. He only pulls his pants down when he wants to, like just now. I return, but Tom's not there, he is in the kitchen sitting on a chair.

"Did I tell you to hold still?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"I don't know."

"Guess, and make it a good one, because that's how many times I'm going to spank you."

"Five?"

"Wrong answer, so 5 is doubled."

Tom puts me over his lap and asks if I am ready. He spanks me hard on my right cheek.

Whack!

"Don't move; if you move, it won't count."

Whack! across the left cheek.

"When I tell you to stay still, you stay still."

Whack!

This continues, 10 on each cheek. I keep saying I'm sorry. I moved a few times; those did not count.

I get up and Tom goes into the living room to watch TV. I stay standing where I am. He calls me. "Stand facing the wall next to the TV."

I have time to think. I have this tingling feeling all over. I like that Tom controls me. I like that I help him to come. I have been spanked many times, it hurts, but this is different, I am doing this for Tom, the feeling is different.

I am awake, it is only a fantasy; I want it to be real.

***

I decide to go on a bike ride. I usually go with Dave, he is my age and likes to go on bike rides, but today I just want to be alone in my thoughts. I go to the city park; the western edge is only a couple of blocks from my house. It has many dirt roads and paths that wind through its 250 acres. It is a large park by city park standards. I had heard from the boys on the corner that a teenage boy had fondled a six-year-old boy there, that he had lured him into the woods with candy and then pulled his pants down. Not a bad thing. Wish it were me. I hang close by some teenage boys, nothing happens, they do not notice me.

I bike around. I cannot shake the thoughts that dominate my head. I leave the park and bike towards the lake, the other one. I keep going, along the valley floor. I pass the turn to the lake and I keep going. I am now headed towards the state forest. I will turn around before the road starts to climb. It is hot and I am thirsty. I did not bring any water.

I go past the turn that is the state road that climbs up the mountain to the state forest where we go picnicking. The development where Mark lives is just ahead. I will stop there for water, if he is home. His car is in the driveway, so he must be home. I knock on the side door, no answer. Is he sleeping? I go through the gate and around to the back, to the sliding door. I knock. Again, no answer. The slider is not locked, and I let myself in, calling out, "Mark."

No one is home? Oh, he bikes to work, I forgot. I help myself to a glass of water. I decide to look around. It is the middle of the day; he will not be home for hours. What if he does come home? Would he spank me? I can only hope. Would he call my parents? I hope not. The cops? I hope not. I look around. The living room is the same, the kitchen and bathroom the same. The empty bedroom is still empty. Mark's bedroom is where I go. I strip down to cool off. Well, I just want to. I lay naked in Mark's bed and rub my dicky. I fantasize about all the things Mark would do to me–hell, could do to me if he wanted to, and I want him to.

All those stories come back. My mind is going through them, like a catalogue. I pick a good one. Maybe the best one. At least I think so. I have a paper route. That's how we met. My man's house is my last stop. I have to double back to make it so.

Well, not me, I do not have a paper route, but right now, I'm the boy in the story. Mark could never be my man, he is too different, so Frank will stay Frank, but the boy is now Erik!

I ride my bike down the street; I look to be sure no one can see me before I zip into Frank's driveway. Sometimes, I have to make another pass. He has a tall hedgerow along the driveway that leads to his detached single car garage. The hedgerow continues around his yard. It is very private. I quickly put my bike behind the garage. I look down the driveway, the coast is clear.

I make my way to the back of the house and through the door onto the screened-in porch. The house is L-shaped, with the kitchen in the small part of the L. The porch is on the inside of the L and well hidden from that side as a result. The other side is blocked with that dense tall hedgerow. It is almost 4 o'clock. Frank gets home at four. I open the small wooden box by the door, the one with the combination padlock. I remove the contents. I sit and remove my shoes and socks, next my shirt, shorts, and underpants. I am not allowed to wear clothes inside Frank's house. I neatly fold my clothes and then I place my shoes in the box with my clothes on top. I close the box, but I do not lock it. Frank will inspect it. Socks neatly inside shoes, then shorts folded seam-to-seam, shirt folded as they do in the store, then my underpants, folded in thirds with the crotch side up and center. Frank will inspect those for sticky wet spots. I always put on a clean pair just in case.

I peek through the window on the side of the porch that looks into the kitchen to see the clock. It is getting close to four and I hurry. First, I put on the leather ankle cuffs, then the wrist cuffs. I struggle with the one on my right wrist because I am right-handed and have to use my left hand to do it. I should be better at it by now. I put my collar on; it has a metal tag with Frank's name on it. Yes, Frank, not my name, I do not have one; Frank's name, he is, my owner. I unlock the door with the key from the box and I head inside, placing Frank's paper on the kitchen table. I make my way down the short hallway that leads to the front door, past the stairs on my right, to the living room on the left where I drop down and carefully crawl to the picture window, staying out of site. The houses are close to the street with small front yards. Frank has a 4-foot chain link fence along the sidewalk, with a gate at the walkway to the front door. It keeps people off his lawn. He is particular about that. That is how we met, but I have skipped that part in my fantasy. Maybe another time, every part of this story makes my body tremble, as I am now, in Mark's bed, rubbing my dicky slowly up and down with my right hand. My left hand is on my chest. I play with my nipples; they become hard. Frank taught me that.

I have to close the drapes; the cord is on the left side as you look out onto the street. I have to make my way there, staying below the window. If only it was on the right side. I look up; a couple of teenagers are walking by; I duck back down and make my way to the cord. I hear Frank's car coming into the driveway, I peek out just as the drapes close completely. Whew, I made it.

I take my position, standing in the middle of the double-width doorway between the living room and hallway. I am facing the fireplace at the far side of the room. My hands are behind my head, legs spread so my feet are even with my elbows. I bend down slightly to be sure my feet are in the right position. I stand straight and look forward, eyes on the fireplace. I wait in anticipation of Frank's inspection.

I feel what the boy in the story is feeling; words alone cannot describe it; my insides feel it: a felicitous ache inside me like no other from my groin to my chest. I cannot stop rubbing, slowly, seductively. My body is squirming on the bed. I am glad Mark does not make his bed: it would be a mess by now. I do not know how to make this stop, my body has an eternal case of what the boys at the corner call blue balls, I am sure that is what I have. At least they can jack off and get some relief. I do not make cum yet. Ah, that stroking motion the boys do. It clicks. Boy, am I dumb. I put my thumb and forefinger on my rock-hard dicky and I stroke. It is not big enough for more fingers than that. Those boys are lucky; they probably can use all their fingers. I stroke madly, I squirm wildly, the ache inside me subsides but there is no relief, it is just my brain becoming razor focused on stroking, as I slow down, the ache in my belly intensifies.

Frank comes in the back door; I hear him put his keys down and go into the kitchen. I do not move. I hear the refrigerator door open and close and then the sound of a can opening. I wait. I hear his footsteps; I do not move. He stops behind me and feels my bum; he gives it a squeeze. He goes upstairs to change out of his shirt and tie into comfortable clothes. The routine is the same and the apprehension intensifies as to what today will bring. Will he fuck me? Will I give him a blowjob? Will I pass the inspection? Will he punish me? Will he let me cum today? Oh, will today be the day. I dare not spill my seed without his permission, but it is oh so hard not to do so.

The boy in the story is 13. I cannot wait for my dicky to grow. I feel his apprehensiveness mixed with his innate cravings. I desire the same things. They seem diametrical, how can one crave pain and pleasure at the same time? It is incomprehensible–and it is to me. Still, I want to be that boy.

Frank inspects me, in silence. His hands roam over my body. I took a fast shower after school after changing out of my school clothes. I do not have time to shave during the week; I have my paper route. I use my sister's hair removal cream; she uses Nair. I found it in the bathroom, under the sink. I did not know what it was for. Frank taught me that. He looks closely under my arms, lifts my balls, checks my pubic area, it must be smooth as a baby's bottom says Frank. I bend over; I do not have any hair growing there yet.

Frank is the teacher I need, the man I need. He knows everything. He knows how to make his boy feel good. I do not have any hair down there yet, but I need to be ready when it does start to grow. I do not have an older sister, so I am sure we do not have that stuff. My mom does not wear a bikini. I will need my man to help me, instruct me. At least I do not have a paper route, not yet, at least: you must be 12. I will be 12 in September.

My breathing is getting slower and deeper. Oh, how I want a man, need a man, the right man. Are these stories real? Are there men like that out there? There must be, it did not take me long to hook up with a few perverts while hitchhiking.

Frank plucks a single hair from under my scrotum; I suck my breath in. How did I miss that one? Did it grow since I shaved and used Nair this past Sunday? In three days! I know what that means, I will not be allowed to cum today. Frank usually lets me cum on Wednesday while he is fucking me. He shows me the hair, holding it between his thumb and forefinger; he holds it in front of my face. Nothing is said, we both know.

"On the coffee table."

I am on all fours on the oak coffee table in an instant. It is built rock solid and easily holds me. Frank gets the crop. I deserve it, I should have checked, I come here every Wednesday, I could have checked while I was in the shower. I rush too much. I usually do not shower after school, except Wednesday. I could have checked Tuesday night before bed when I do shower. I could have used more Nair, but I do not want my sister to become suspicious. I need to learn to be more careful. I will do better before I return on Saturday–I better; we have all day. I collect my money from Frank last. He tips me the best.

Whack!

I let out a short quick scream, not too loud, the neighbors might hear, as the houses are close together in this part of town. Frank gets the ball gag; I open my mouth. He places the ball in my mouth, and I hold it there with my teeth breathing through the holes in the ball while he clasps the attached leather straps around my neck.

Whack!

I do not know how many, but I do know my bum and the back of my legs are burning and will be red. I hope it does not show below my shorts. I am sure Frank knows what he is doing. As I leave my fantasy and take a break, my heart feels like I just ran a race, my breathing quick and shallow, I feel exhausted. Ding, my mind connects the missing information. Why did I not connect this before? Now I know what a ball gag is. The other stories did not explain it well. Yes, some stories do a better job of that it seems, and then again, maybe it is something that should not have to be explained: adults should know this stuff. Was it just information overload at the time I was reading? It was there all along in my head, I just needed to connect it. It is like school, you do not connect everything at first, but then there is that one thing that makes it all click together.

I need another glass of water, so I get up and go back to the kitchen. I can see my reflection in the glass sliding door as I pass by. Mark did say I could be naked in his house whenever I wanted. My body is glistening with sweat. I do think I look hot, as hot, if not hotter than those boys in the magazines. Surely, there is a man out there that would think so. Frank would be that man, I know he would, like the boy in the story, he trusts him; he knows he will not be red below his shorts. He obeys him; he did not have to be told twice to get on the coffee table. He opened his mouth without having to be told. I am sure he held still while it was being clasped behind his head and most importantly, I am sure he was grateful to Frank for putting it on so the neighbors would not hear him scream. I could be a good boy for my man, I could learn, I just need someone to teach me.

Chapter Five

The house is hot and stuffy with all the windows and doors closed, so I open the slider to the patio before getting another glass of water, I am still thirsty. I feel the coolness on my body from the outside air and I linger. It feels good, like when you open the refrigerator door and stand there until you are yelled at. His house is like an oven, he needs fans for the windows. After I fill my glass, I head outside onto the patio; it is shaded now, as the sun has moved west to the front of the house.

It feels oddly exciting to be outdoors naked. True, bushes frame the back of his house for privacy, except where it meets the driveway there is a small chain link fence with a gate. I have to pee. I decide to pee in the bushes on the other side of the yard. It brings me away from the house, off the stone patio and across the grass. It feels dangerous and naughty. What if someone sees me? As I move to the back, I realize they could if they look up the driveway past the fence. I move to the other end of the yard away from the driveway and pee in the corner.

I like being outside naked, there is just something about it. I explore the yard. I take chances. I see that the car in the driveway blocks some of the view. You would have to look at just the right angle to see me. There is no one out there and this house is set a good distance from the road, not like the houses in town that are set back maybe twenty feet. They do not have sidewalks in this neighborhood and the two-lane road does not really go anywhere that I know of. It eventually climbs into the mountains.

I take my chances and I sneak out the gate, like an Indian in the old west, I crouch low and hide behind the car. I am going to stalk the cowboys. I always liked being the Indian, captured and tied up. Every time we played, I would daydream being naked except for my loincloth. I would imagine the torture, tied to a tree and whipped across my chest. My loincloth lifted and my balls squeezed or slapped. Or, my wrists tied over my head with the rope thrown over a big branch, exposing every part of my body to torture.

In reality, the boys that played the part of Indians were shirtless and kept their shorts and sneakers on. Sometimes, we would have lipstick, paint our faces with red stripes, and circle our titties and belly button red. We thought that was so funny. Tied to a tree, the torture was tickling, fake punches to the belly, and only once did a small boy punch me in the groin. Everyone laughed at that. He was only five, so it did not hurt much and I do not think he knew what he was doing, it was just the height difference.

There is a house to the side, about fifty yards away. I see the bedroom windows are on that side. I watch. I do not see anyone. I take my chances and dart along the bushes to the back. The grass is tall back there, easy to dive down and hide. I stop, crouch down, and look around. The coast is clear. I make my way into the woods, another thirty yards. I spot a trail, but I do not have my sneakers on, and my feet already hurt. If I can make it to the trail, then I should be ok. I carefully step until I am on the trail.

What am I doing? I wonder, as I walk along the trail, my senses on high alert. I have gone crazy. They will lock me up in a looney bin, one of those mental hospitals that we always joke about, telling other kids, "You belong in Hampton," a reference to the nearest mental hospital. They will throw away the key.

I hear voices, faint voices off the trail, I go to explore, silently, in Indian mode. I come across a small clearing; there are kids there who I do not know. I crouch down. There is a large rock with a small boy standing on it; his waist is about eye level to the three other boys and a girl standing around the rock. The boys look older, my age; the girl looks to be about the age of the boy on the rock. There is a campfire, long out, and lots of cans and bottles. It is a hangout for teens. We have many of those in these parts, even in the city park close to my house, a place for teens to go drinking alcohol.

They are talking to the boy on the rock. I cannot make out what they are saying. Now I know, the boy lowers his pants and raises his shirt. I know this game. I try to get closer for a better look, keeping low to the ground. I make too much noise, twigs snap. Everyone stops and they look in my direction. I duck down, but it is too late, one of the boys yells out, "Someone's there," and they all run, the boy on the rock quickly pulls up his pants, jumps down and runs after them.

I would have gladly played along if given the chance. I wonder if the girl was next. Maybe she would have liked me better. That boy looked like he was only eight. The girl was shorter than the boys were, but taller than the boy on the rock.

I stay down. They are gone. I make my way back. Careful where I step, I should have put my sneakers on.

Back at the house, I put my clothes on, stopping to rub the front of my underpants before pulling my shorts up. I was soft; my little adventure stopped the madness in my head, but for how long?

***

Curious, I look in Mark's closet and find the usual stuff, clothes, ties, shoes, belts, and dress trousers on hangers made for that; no hidden boxes or paper bags with the good stuff. He has a small drawer table beside his bed. Not much in there either. A box of Trojans, lubricated. I knew about those, from one of the boys at the corner. He had one in his wallet and was keen to show everyone, although they said it looked like it had been in there a long time and the other boys made fun about it never being used.

I check the time, it is mid-afternoon, and it will take me an hour to bike home. I have time to watch a game show on that color TV, so I do. As my mind drifts to the boys on the corner, I remember one of them saying he takes his older brother's Playboy from his hidden stack in his closet, but only one at a time, so he doesn't notice. He keeps it under his mattress and swaps it out with another one when he is finished.

The boys laughed and said, "Does he notice the sticky pages?"

Ah, another epiphany, thinking about my experience with Tommy, that sticky stuff is cum and he is jacking off to the pictures. Boy, I am just dumb when it comes to this stuff. How can I be smart in school with mostly As and some Bs, and yet I cannot put 2 and 2 together when it comes to this sex stuff.

I do that now, look at the pictures and try to get off, except the pictures are now in my head, and no sticky stuff comes out of my dicky yet. I cannot wait to be thirteen.

Holy smokes Batman! (One of the cartoons I watch on Saturday morning.) I did not look under Mark's mattress. I head to the bedroom to look. First in the corner at the foot of the bed as you enter the room. Not there. Then the other corner. Then the corner by the drawer table. Ah ha! He does have magazines. And they are boy magazines! He is one of those men who likes boys, I am sure of it now.

Again, they are in a foreign language. I see Nederlands, which must be Netherland, we studied that in school, that is where they have windmills, wooden shoes, and the test question I got right that the main form of transportation is the bicycle. I race through them, picture by picture, teenage boys, younger boys, together, by themselves, and some with men, mostly just modeling. A few show boys giving a blowjob, but nothing more than that. The boys are all smiling, they like what they are doing. None of the hard stuff that I saw in the paper bag stash at the state forest.

Where did he get these?

I know Playboy is behind the counter at the pharmacy, I have seen it there wrapped with brown paper with only Playboy seen at the top. There are other magazines too. You have to ask the pharmacist for them, it must be like the medicine my grandmother gets from that same man, only for us boys who have this "condition."

It is getting late and I have to get home. I put the magazines back and head out the slider, onto my bike, down the driveway, and head home. It is slightly downhill most of the way, which makes it easier. The last bit, after the market, is up a steep hill, but I usually walk my bike up that one.

***

Mark is there, on the opposite side of the road, passing the grammar school, which is just before the market. Will he notice me? I pretend not to notice him; he is on one of those fancy bikes with all those gears, his head is up looking straight ahead. We pass each other. Whew, I am a bit nervous, having gone in his house when he was not home and finding those magazines. I do not know how he would react to that. I continue the short distance to the corner where the market is. It is a five-way intersection and I stop and walk my bike across. They have stop signs but no traffic lights.

As I walk up the hill, Mark is suddenly behind me.

"Hey, what's up, I missed you at the flower shop."

Turning and in a bit of shock, I feel the blood rushing to my head. I see Mark differently now. He is not just a nice guy, he likes boys–boys like me. He does like to see me naked. My head is spinning.

"I … ah … I couldn't go out on Friday. My … ah … father … I mean my mother … said I had to clean my room."

"Oh, that's ok; I thought something might have come up."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"No problem, I waited again on Saturday, just in case."

"Oh, I thought I missed you and that was it."

"What are you doing this Saturday, now that I'm back to work, I only have the weekend."

"Oh, uhm, yeah, this Saturday. I can't make any promises though. I never know."

"That's ok, Sunday is good too, if I miss you on Saturday."

"That won't work, we go to church on Sunday and then my grandmother's house, and then I have to be home for Sunday dinner in the afternoon."

"Ok, well, if I miss you again, look for me on the following Saturday, same time."

"Ok."

Mark turned around and got back on his bike.

I head home. I cannot be late for dinner. I continue walking my bike up the hill.

Will he know I was in his house? What did I do with that glass? Will his bed look different? Will he be mad at me? I need to know where he got those magazines, but that would give it away. Should I meet him? Will I have to settle for Mark and not find "Frank" from the story? I'm a wreck.

***

That night, in bed, as I am staring into the ceiling, another one of the stories comes into my head as I slowly rub the front of my underpants. I wanted to be first to shower and get to bed. My condition is back.

My brother comes into the room after showering. He is nine, almost ten. His birthday is in September, like mine, only 10 days earlier. He is now shy, just like they said in How to Train Your Boy. He has a towel wrapped around his waist and heads to the chest of drawers, he used to have it around his shoulders, and when he walked into our room, you could see his little dicky. He would drop it and then look for his underpants.

We each have every other drawer, starting at the top, which is my drawer because I am older and taller. I watch him as he pulls out a clean pair of underwear and puts them on under the towel. The towel drops at the last moment and I catch a glimpse of his naked butt. He quickly turns and leaps into his bed, keeping his back to me as he pulls the covers over himself. I am now staring at the ceiling light.

"Turn off the light," I say.

"No, you turn it off."

"You turned it on when you came in, so get up and turn it off."

"No, I don't care if it's on all night."

It becomes a standoff. I cannot get up with the front of my underpants tented out. If I could, it would be to punch him first. Silence and anger from me until my dicky eventually goes down enough for me to get up and go to the door, keeping my back to him as much as possible, at least until I turn off the light. He is on his side under the blanket. I punch him in the arm before I get back in bed.

I start rubbing again, slowly; I do not want my brother to know what I am doing. I reach my hand into the front of my underpants and it is hard. I have a boner. I remember the story about the man who meets a 12-year-old boy at the swing set in the park. The boy is by himself. They talk. He has no friends. The man buys him ice cream at the stand. They become friends. The boy starts mowing his lawn, he is shirtless; the man offers him lemonade. The boy goes swimming in the man's pool to cool off. He does not have a bathing suit with him and the man lets him know he can go nude or keep his underpants on. He goes in his white underpants. They do not stay up, especially when he dives in. They reveal everything once wet. The man joins him in the pool, naked, so the boy knows it is ok.

They develop a warm and loving relationship that leads to sex. The man blows the boy, he cums a few clear watery drops. The boy returns the man's love as he learns not to use his teeth, how to lick the knob, how to caress his balls. They embrace, they kiss; the boy loves kissing the best. His man is warm and kind.

"What're doing?"

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Your blanket keeps going up and down, you're playing with your pee-pee."

"I am not, go to sleep."

"You are too, I can see it."

"You can't see anything, it's dark."

"I can too, there's light coming through the window from the street. The shade doesn't keep it all out."

"Shut up and go to sleep before I punch you."

"I'll yell, and you'll get into trouble."

"Just shup up."

Silence reigns for some time before I roll onto my side and put my hand back into my underpants. It is difficult because I have to roll onto my right side so my back is to the little twerp, and I am right-handed. I try my left hand as my left arm has more freedom. It just does not work as well.

Mark must be the lovey-dovey type. It is not very exciting, there is very little action, as it is always the same thing and is expected. They hug, they kiss; man sucks boy; boy sucks man; they snuggle. There, you have it, the same story over and over again. The only thing that changes is how they met, how they look, where they go, what the boy's situation is, what they do when not sucking each other. For variety, some of the men fuck the boy. It is always the same, there is no surprise, or anticipation of what is to come, what is to happen. The unknown of what will come next? Will it come? Where is the thrill in that?

"Your bed is shaking, and I see your arm moving, you're playing with yourself again."

"I am not, so shut up."

"You are too."

"Go to sleep."

"No, I'm going to keep watching you."

Twerp. I can never have any privacy in this house, seven boys. There is always someone around, barging in. Even the bathroom, you cannot be in there five minutes before someone is banging and yelling, "Hurry up, I have to go." There is no lock on that door and I do not know why. If the shower is going, someone will just walk in to use the toilet. "You're behind the curtain; stay there until I'm done."

Mark's house is at least private. I had the place to myself this afternoon. I did not have to worry about being naked in his bed with no covers and in the middle of the day! Heck, I did not even close the door to his bedroom. I walked around naked. Mark does like that; he just will not admit it. I looked at his magazines without worrying about being caught. He may not be the right man for me, but if we are true friends, like he said, we could share our deepest thoughts without concern. But will he no longer like me because we are different? He said nothing I did would change the fact that he likes me.

I think I will put that to the test, this Saturday.

Chapter Six

Saturday comes and I still do not think Mark is my man. I am going to meet him anyway, because right now, he is the only one that could possibly help me.

Sure enough, he is there waiting as I hop into his car.

"Where to bud?"

"Your place."

"On a nice day like this?"

"Sure, it's only 9 in the morning and I can catch some cartoons on your color TV."

"Ok, if that's what you want to do."

It is a nice day and Mark has the top down as we drive the short distance out to his house, probably 20 minutes starting from here, 15 if we started at the market. Mark knows I live between the two, but does not ask me exactly where. I think he does not want to be seen with me in my neighborhood, and I know I do not want to be seen with him. There would be too many questions, and any one of my neighbors or friends would notice this convertible. That is why I am always careful to give a quick look around before I approach his car.

It feels strange to me that an adult takes directions from a kid, and does what he is told. I was worried that Mark would ask me if I had been in his house. After all, I was coming from that direction when he met me, but then again, I could have been coming from Pine Lake. Maybe not though, I did not have a towel with me.

We arrive at Mark's house and I head straight for the TV. Watching cartoons in color is far better than black & white and we are just in time for the Jetsons, one of my favorites, and the last part of Popeye.

Mark, sitting next to me, puts his arm over my shoulders as we watch TV together. I feel different now; I know for sure that he likes to see boys naked. I say nothing. I do want to say something; I just do not know what to say or how to say it. Should I come right out and ask about the magazines? He would definitely know I was in his house looking around if I did that. Should I tell him what I lost at the state forest? Maybe just a little bit? Would that open him up some?

"Mark."

"Yes."

"Are we best friends?"

"I hope so. Do you want to be?"

I pull the adult thing on him, and avoid answering him. Instead, I ask him about the other day, and if we would still be friends no matter what.

The other day you said, "We all have our secrets, but true friends share their most inner secrets and never tell anyone. Do you really believe that?"

"I do."

"So, if I told you something, you would never tell anyone, ever?"

"Yes, I would never tell."

"Ok, then, I want to be best friends."

Mark smiled at me and said, "Me too."

"Mark, Why don't you have any fans in your windows?"

"I just moved in here from an apartment downtown that had air conditioning. I do need to get some, or maybe one of those window units."

"Oh."

"Why? Are you hot again? The sun hasn't hit the front part of the house yet."

"Yes."

I was not really that hot, and I was wearing shorts, I just wanted an excuse to strip.

"Can I take my shirt off?"

"Of course, I told you, you can wear whatever you want in my house."

"Well, usually on Saturday morning, we watch cartoons in our underwear at home, because we just got out of bed and haven't gotten dressed yet."

"If that's what you want."

I got up and turned the volume down on the TV, closed the blinds, and then asked Mark if he could put some music on again. I told him I wanted to dance. He does what I ask him, like I am the adult here–so weird. I do my strip dance again, rubbing my crotch seductively, turning and rubbing my bum up and down, I give it a few slaps. At the end, I stand in front of him with just my tighty-whities.

"This is all we wear at home. Mark, how much do you really like me?"

"I think you're really nice and I like you a lot."

"Show me how much you like me."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to keep asking me questions, I want you to show me how much you like me."

Mark seems lost, like a lost puppy. I stand there, my crotch at his eye level, as he continues to sit on the coach. He is focused on my bulge. I do not have a boner. I turn around; I wiggle my bum practically in his face. If that is not a clear invitation, then I do not know what is. I am pushing it. He does not seem to have a limit. What is wrong with him?

I am trying to see how far I can go before Mark cracks. He did say he would never tell on me.

I take him by the arms and pull him up. He finally resists; I know why, he has a boner. It is too obvious, and he is trying to hide it.

"Get up off the coach and follow me."

I head down the hallway to his bedroom and plop myself down on his bed.

"Mark, I'm waiting."

Mark finally enters, his tee shirt is out and he has obviously adjusted himself to be less obvious, but it is obvious.

I am on my back; my hands are behind my head with my fingers intertwined. My legs spread.

Mark just stands there, waiting for me to tell him what to do next. I am on a roll, I have this newfound drive to take charge and if he does not like it, he can stop it and bring me home.

"Mark, I want to see you take off your shirt and shorts. You watched me and said I was good. I want to watch you."

"But I'm an adult. Adults don't go around in their underwear."

"It's your house; you can do whatever you want."

Mark hesitates and does not comply. It is a standoff, like with my brother. I am going to use his words. "Mark, I want you to take off your clothes, it will be our secret, and no one will ever know. We're best friends. I want to know what my best friend looks like."

Mark turns around and leaves, saying nothing. Damn, I pushed him too far too fast, but I am not going to give up. It has been almost two weeks since I found that paper bag and it has unleashed a tiger in me.

I grab the magazines from under the mattress. I look at the pictures again. I am getting hornier by the minute. My boner is tenting my underpants. I do not care if Mark comes back in and sees me like this. I want him to see me like this–looking at his magazines.

This is not the way it is supposed to be. Mark is supposed to take charge. He is the one who should be the master, not me. I cannot contain myself. I get up and head to the living room, magazines in hand. He is on the coach, eyes closed, curled up on his side.

"Mark!"

"What?" he says softly, in a guilty tone.

"What are these magazines I just found?"

"Huh?"

"These magazines, I just found them in your room. Where did you get them?"

Mark starts blabbering, stuttering, and is incoherent. He is acting like a little boy who just got caught doing something bad. I think I shattered him. I am not sure what to do now. Adults don't act that way, just little kids, smaller than me. What's wrong with him?

Am I supposed to be the adult here and yell at him to act his age? Should I console him, like my grandmother would? I just don't know what to do. Should I call someone for help? Like I would know who to call and then have to explain why I am here. Maybe it is time for me to go and hitchhike back home.

I pulled a chair from the dining area, sat down, and just stared at him. Well, not completely, I decided to look at the magazines too. Time passed, I was harder than I ever was, my dicky was throbbing. These magazines do that to me. I looked down, the tent in my underpants was big and obvious, I was sitting with my legs spread, not like a girl who has to keep her legs together. The teachers in school reminding them how to sit popped into my head.

Mark eventually sits up and looks over at me, I hold the open magazine up in front of my chest and continue to look at it while at the same time I spread my legs just a smidge more so he notices. I wait for Mark to speak, but he doesn't. We're both lost in our thoughts.

An idea crosses my mind, Maybe I should be the Master, the adult, like when I imagine I am playing baseball in the pros, I am Babe Ruth, an adult. Seems like a weird thought to me, and then what, do I boss Mark around? Is that what I have been doing? No, we went up to Unger Mountain after he asked me what I wanted to do, I did not boss him, although he does keep asking me what I want, like cartoons, lunch, snacks, ice cream. Maybe that is his way of letting me know that I should be the boss.

I try the grandmother approach and hold the magazine down to my side; I don't want to block the view.

"Mark, it is our secret, no one will ever know, I like these magazines too."

Mark hesitated and said, "I never wanted anyone to know. I tried to change, but I couldn't."

"Mark, Do you adore my body?"

"I think you're the most beautiful creature, but it's wrong for me to feel that way."

We sat there, for how long, I do not know. The cartoons were still on with no volume, I had turned it down for the music.

***

It was close to lunchtime and I heard Mark's stomach growl.

"Mark, your stomach is growling and I'm hungry too. Can you make lunch? Or better yet, I want to go to McDonalds. Let's go there for lunch."

"Ok, McDonalds sounds good."

I got dressed, turned off the TV, and we left.

Mark was now the quiet one in the car as I shuffled over to the middle, putting my left hand on his thigh.

"Mark, I found some magazines like the ones you have. That's what I was looking for at the state forest. Where did you get them?"

Mark spoke quietly, almost too quiet to hear. I had to tell him to speak up.

"There's a porn store just over the state border. They sell everything you could imagine."

"Good, after McDonalds, that is where we are going this afternoon."

The state border is about an hour away on the highway. We had plenty of time to get there and back before 5:15.

I told Mark on the way up that I wanted some harder stuff. I wanted to see people tied up and punished. I wanted some slave stuff, ball gags, dildos, wrist cuffs, handcuffs, a crop, a leather paddle. He did not say no. He just listened. I told him I saw that stuff in the other magazines and read stories.

"I don't have enough cash for all that and they don't take checks or credit cards."

"You'll have to stop at the bank then."

"It's too late; the banks close at 1:00 on Saturday."

"Ok, do you have enough for magazines and I want some books to read."

"Yes, I can manage that."

***

We left the highway and took a back road that crossed the border. There it was, a country store with a porch, except the windows were covered with plywood. Plenty of signs saying you had be over 21. Mark told me to duck down and stay down. They won't sell stuff if they think you are buying for someone underage, and I was clearly that. He did not want to raise any suspicions. He was still skittish about stuff.

I could see that Mark parked away from the store, and other cars. I stayed down mostly, stealing a peek here and there. Most cars parked right in front of the porch on either side of the wide wooden stairs, usually three or four at a time.

Time passed slowly, but Mark eventually returned with a brown paper bag. I could not wait to see what he bought and grabbed the bag as he started the car. I popped up onto the seat as we drove off heading back home.

What a stash, it rivaled the one I lost. He did as he was told. I had my head down the entire drive back, turning page after page.

"You did good, Mark."

Chapter Seven

It had been a month since Mark's training had begun. I used the booklet How to Train Your Boy as my guide. The booklet said eight years old was the best time to start, before the boy developed any bad habits like covering himself up, being shy and not wanting adults to see him naked, no older than twelve though, and only if the boy had the right disposition. It seems to be working on Mark, so I can only think his sexual development never happened. There were kids like that, you constantly heard their parents say "Grow up, and act your age." Heck, I was jolted a few times myself and had to make instant adjustments to my behavior or face the consequences.

The booklet said training would mold the boy into the boy of your dreams. It spoke about sissy boys, girlie boys, bitch boys, pussy boys, houseboys, and slave boys. The tag names were not that important according to the author. Each boy was unique and tag names did not always fit. Boys could be different at different times, act differently, and look different, as these were growth years. Many Masters wanted the quintessential all boy, with those strong masculine traits that made them a boy, the boldness, the curiosity, lean, strong, and athletic. What matters is that the boy is obedient, disciplined, docile, and focused on his Master's needs.

It was up to the Master to find the boy that lay within and help to bring that boy out in a way that suited them both: before the boy developed along a different path. An experienced Master knew the signs, knew how hard to push before reaching the boy's limits, constantly stretching those limits to new experiences. It took time, boys developed at different rates, a good Master worked to the boy's rhythm, constantly repeating the drill before moving on to the next drill.

Some Master's fail to see the signs: pushing too hard at the wrong moment or missing an opportunity to take it to the next level. It was a "carrot and stick" approach, and the Master needed to know which to use when. Eight to twelve were the critical years in a boy's development when he was most impressionable and malleable. Looking back, they would be fleeting years, so mistakes could be disastrous. Painful as it may seem, an experienced Master knew when the project was a lost cause and it was time to start over.

There is a reason that the military only takes recruits between 18 and 26: at that age, they can be molded into lean, mean, fighting machines. Something they have known for a long time. Beyond 26, they are no longer malleable. Some recruits wash out, it happens.

Mark, like me, is close to the upper end of the range. Time is of the essence.

***

I had asked–no instructed–Mark to go back to the porn store and find the book with the white cover with the two overlapped circles with arrows pointing out at the one o'clock position: one circle larger than the other with a larger arrow and the smaller circle with a smaller arrow.

He was successful, including finding the same magazines and the all-important booklet How to Train Your Boy. The stash I had found, and lost, probably came from that same store. Mark's progress was coming along well.

Mark's basement was no longer empty; he had started working on fixing it up evenings and Sundays, as he was not a churchgoer and had no family anywhere near here. On other trips to the porn store, Mark knew what themes to search for and our stash grew. He became a voracious reader, like me.

We started to share more, those deep dark secrets that only true friends shared. I told him about my favorite story, about Frank, whose boy came over on Wednesday for a short visit before he had to be home for dinner and then Saturday, when he could spend the whole day.

Mark was more relaxed around me, we were true friends, but in a very special way.

***

Mark adored my boy body, and no longer ignored it or recoiled at my nakedness. Your body is a temple and Mark knew how to worship there. Kissing led to sucking my nipples, a soft bite sent shocks through me. Making his way downward, Mark sucked on my hard dicky until it was so sore, I could not take it anymore, but I did, grimacing and grinding my teeth, I let out muffled sounds of agony. My balls were not spared, nor the taint before reaching my boyhole as he pushed my legs up. I knew to grab my ankles and hold them high above my head and spread them wide. This was Mark giving me a carrot. I was in ecstasy. His tongue worked its magic.

We followed the book, Mark giving me stretching exercises, first with his finger as he was sucking me and then with a small dildo he had bought. I was on all fours on his bed, and using my finger to lube myself up. I would always look back at Mark, he delighted in seeing my expressions. I did play it up for him as tantalizing as I could.

"I'm ready."

Mark presented the vibrator to my mouth and I eagerly sucked on it, getting it as wet as I could with my spit.

"That's enough," Mark said.

Mark inserted the vibrator slowly, pulling it out slightly when I told him it hurt.

"There's no pleasure without pain, doesn't your hockey coach tell you that? No pain, no gain."

I grunted; my body jerked as I gasped. It was finally there: hitting my prostrate, as the vibrations through my body amplified and felt wonderful. I asked Mark, no begged Mark, to turn it down.

"It's not on."

"Wwwhat? Thattt can't be!"

My whole body shook. I felt things I had never felt before.

Things were going along better and faster than I had anticipated, we both must be preconditioned to be a certain way, and want things a certain way.

We were confiding in each other our deepest dreams and desires, our fears and hopes. I knew now what Mark meant about being soul mates.

***

Mark had feared me, the way I came onto him, the sexy strip dances, the nakedness. It started with me sitting in his car with my underpants. How I never repulsed his small advances … it was not the bumps in the road. Having to pee at the same time as me was not coincidental. I was more open and welcoming and started to take the initiative, seductively squatting down in the field on the mountain. I intimidated him.

Mark finally confessed exactly what his fear was and why he was balled up like a little boy that day on the couch when I was spread-eagle on his bed. It all came to a head for him, his worst fears overwhelming his thoughts, he had lost control and his brain went into overload. Something he had kept hidden his entire life in the deepest recesses of his mind. He had locked it away. He ran from it whenever it reared its head.

Mark did not just like boys like me, he was attracted to us in a way that defied everything he had been taught, everything that society says was evil. Yeah, people joked about men who had sexual relations with boys because they could not get a woman–the nerds of the day–they laughed at them. But these were not the evil ones, they were the pitiful ones, and yes, it was wrong to do what they did with the boys, but they knew the boys liked it too. Street boys were common, even in our town, I came to learn, and making money was the American way.

Hurting a boy was both pleasurable and repulsive at the same time. Yin and Yang. He knew if he went down that path that he would not be able to stop himself. He had promised himself never to take the first step on a journey that he knew would suck him in and consume his being. He told me about a book he read in college, Lord of the Rings, and how the pull of the evil ring was too great for man and would lead to his doom. I had never read that one but it did sound interesting.

Mark was unable to resist his attraction to me, although at the same time, he knew it would lead to his downfall. He soldiered on; obeying me, knowing it was a suicide mission.

It took a lot of convincing on my part that it would not lead to his doom, that it was his fate and destiny that brought us together.

Mark was Frank.

I released the barracuda in Mark, and began to have fears and doubts myself. Would Mark be able to control himself? Did I just unleash something that I would not be able to control? Did I just condemn myself to the doom that Mark feared? I did not share this with him; I did not want to undo the progress we had made.

***

Mark picked me up as usual on Saturday morning at the flower shop, but things were now different between us. Glancing around to be sure no one I knew could see us, I quickly got into the car, scooted over to the middle and said, "Good morning, Master."

It was not up to me where we went or what we did. Mark had changed. He was the adult. I felt a nervous apprehension, a stirring in my stomach that I had not felt before. I was no longer imagining what it was like: I was experiencing it.

"Are you wearing your brother's underpants?"

"Yes, as you instructed. They're a size 10, two sizes smaller than what I wear."

"Good, they'll be nice and tight on you. Take your shorts off and put them on the floor of the car."

I do as instructed. It is more daring than the time I did it going up the mountain, we are in the city and someone could see me. The streets are two-way with one lane in each direction, so I do not have to worry about a truck beside us with someone looking down. We stop at the stop sign, and I worry that someone walking by on the sidewalk might see me.

Mark is following the book, he is making sure I follow his instructions quickly and without hesitation, but also, making me feel self-conscious in a state of undress while out in public. I am not a little boy anymore; I would not think to be naked in front of adults, like the little boy who has his swimsuit changed by his mother on the beach for all to see. I know the time will come when Mark will tell me to strip in front of strangers. Well, strangers to me, I am sure he will know them. This is but one small step in that direction. Will I hesitate and embarrass him when that moment comes? I am not sure.

"Do you have a boner?"

"No, I do not, Master."

"You should, those underpants should be tented out."

I try to get boned, but it does not work. Mark strokes me, which helps, but I struggle.

We reach Mark's house and I am instructed to put my shorts back on and go out back to the slider. I know what to do; I put my clothes neatly into the box and put my new wrist and ankle cuffs on. I have not yet earned the right to wear a collar. Mark enters through the side door. I wait outside, standing in front of the sliding glass door, with my hands behind my head and legs shoulder width. This is Mark's rule. When he is ready, he will open the slider and I will ask permission to come in.

"Master, permission to come in."

"Come in and go directly to the basement."

"Yes, Master."

The basement is not yet finished, but I know what this means. I have disappointed my Master and I will pay the consequences. There is a carpet covering a quarter of the basement, to the right of the stairs as I go down. There is a pegboard on the front wall holding instruments that my Master has recently purchased. I stand in the middle of the carpeted floor, and wait. I look around, there are many eyehooks screwed into the floor joists above, folding chairs, the aluminum kind with the webbing. A sturdy wooden table, old, probably something he picked up at a flea market. In the far corner, there is a garden hose coming in through the basement window, by the sump pump.

I try to think about what I did wrong. I should have been able to get boned when I was told, it would have obviously tented out those underpants nicely, being as small and tight as they were. That is why he wanted me to wear them. Time moves slowly until I hear his footsteps. The basement is cooler than upstairs and I have goosebumps on my skin, but is it from the coolness or my excitement?

Master goes to the pegboard and picks out the leather paddle.

"Turn around and grab your ankles."

I quickly do as I am told, keeping my legs spread. I am sure my balls are visible as they dangle between my legs. I hope they will not be hit; I have experienced that shooting pain before. It is not something I want.

Whack!

My body moves forward, I lose my balance, but quickly recover into position.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

The wide leather paddle stings across both cheeks, but does not hit me in the balls, for that, I am thankful. I have tears in my eyes. I am sure my butt is red.

"Stand up and tell me why you are being punished."

I keep my head down, my hands to my side, "I was not able to get boned when you told me too, Master."

"Get back into position."

Whack! Whack! Whack!

I am crying out loud now, and my breathing is deep and heavy as my chest heaves.

"Stand up and tell me why you are being punished."

"I am sorry, Master, that I was not able to get boned when you told me too."

"No, think. Why did I want you to wear those underpants?"

"Because a boner would have tented them out so it was really obvious."

"You're getting warmer. Do I need to warm your bum some more?"

The tears are streaming down my face as I try to think. I do not want to be spanked any more, it is so different when it is real and not part of my fantasy.

"Please, Master, can I have another clue?"

"Were you happy to see me today? After a whole week!"

Oh, I am still dumb sometimes. The boy's joke: "Is that a banana in your pants or are you happy to see me?"

"Master, I was so happy to see you today and I am truly sorry that I did not show it as I should have, please forgive me, Master. I know I disappointed you."

"Drop to your knees and tell me what you see."

"I see the bulge that tells me how happy my Master is, how happy he is to see me, naked in front of him. I know my Master adores me and I should show my appreciation. Today, I did not, and deserve to be punished. Master, may I show my appreciation and suck your beautiful cock?"

"You may not, that would be rewarding you for your insolent behavior. Get back into position."

This time it is the back of my legs, and the pain is unbearable, as I cry uncontrollably. I am told to go upstairs and put the underpants on and stand outside the slider with my back to the door. Only when I am properly boned should I turn around.

I do as I am told, of course, and curse the fact that I do not become hard at the slightest thing, not like teenage boys, but I should have been boned this morning just thinking about today. I had been waiting a whole week as my Master said. I was up early this morning and out the door, arriving at the flower shop a few minutes early. Not like before when I walked over a bit late.

As I stand there, I feel the heat from the back of my legs and I think it will show below my shorts. I wore short shorts, thinking that would please my Master. Now, I do not think that was such a good idea.

I am not sure I want to continue playing this game, Mark did warn me that he was afraid he would go too far, which is why he feared taking that first step. I believe him now. Should I tell him I do not want to play anymore? I so much enjoyed the fantasy, but the reality stings, literally. I do want to be fucked though, I have not experienced that, and once you get through the pain, the stories all speak to how much pleasure your body feels, even at my age. A real man's cock pumping away, slap, slap, slap, as my man pounds my rear end with his tool, and if I believe the stories, dildos are not the same.

No pain–no gain. I am hard! I look down, and I see what my Master wanted to see this morning. It is so hard, my three inches [7.5 cm] is now poking out, stretching my brother's underpants as if they were going to rip. I know it is two inches [5.0 cm] soft; I measured it. I turn around. My Master is not there, he is watching TV. I wait and hope it does not go down again. I keep thinking about being fucked. The stretching exercises that I need to get there. It stays hard. My Master checks on me and comes to the slider.

"I see you're happy to be here."

"Yes, Master, I am very happy to be here as you can see. May I come in and show you how happy I am?"

"You may enter and stand in the living room for a full inspection."

"Thank you, Master, should I remove my underpants?"

"No, leave them on."

Master inspects me closely for cleanliness, smelling my hair, checking my fingernails, behind my ears, and my toes. I did trim them close last night so I would not scratch my Master, and I was extra careful when I showered this morning.

"Stand on the coffee table, hands behind your head, legs spread shoulder width."

I do not hesitate. This is fun again. Master is admiring his work as his hand gently feels the skin on the back of my legs. I am sure he can feel the heat. He pulls the waistband out and down slightly. Red, I am sure. He pulls the waistband out as far as it goes, I stumble, and he lets go. Snap. That stung, I should not have stumbled. Nothing is said. Master tells me to turn around. He fondles my balls through my underpants, he squeezes my stiff dicky and runs his finger along the outline, I am so thankful it is still hard.

"You will start growing hair down there and when you do, you must keep it shaved. Use your father's razor, but be careful, you don't want to nick yourself. If I find a hair, it will be pulled out with tweezers and that does hurt, but it will remind you to be more careful next time."

Master then pulls out my waistband and fondles my balls from the inside, I am so boned and excited, and a smile breaks across my face that does not go unnoticed by my Master. He yanks the waistband out some more, which causes me to step forward.

"I like you boned, remember that." He then lets the waistband go with another snap. I stay where I am.

***

I have to stay in my undies the rest of the day. As punishment? I do not know. As a reminder of how I should be greeting my Master after a week of not seeing each other? Maybe. We cuddle on the coach and watch cartoons, me gently stroking his adult sized cock, probably six inches [15 cm], which I hear is normal and that is the number they use in the jokes that the boys at the corner use, although to my eyes it was humongous. Master rubs my back. I enjoy these moments, maybe the Master-slave thing was not my thing after all. Maybe I am the lovey-dovey type.

As I continue to gently and slowly stroke his rod while watching TV, Master suddenly gives me the signal and I quickly bring my face to rest on his stomach as volley after volley of warm sticky cum sprays my face, my hair … my lips. I taste what is on my lips, salty, silky. I like salty things. I suck the salt from potato chips before I finish chewing and swallowing. Master knows this, he knows more about me than anyone. I show him my face, proud to be the one who made him cum.

Cartoons have ended and it is noontime. I head to the shower as Master makes lunch. Should I take my underpants off before getting in the shower? Master told me I was to leave them on the rest of the day, but surely this is an exception, is it not? I decide it is better to leave them on as I was told. When I am cleaned up, I step from the shower and dry off, except my undies stay wet and see-through. I head out to the kitchen area.

"I see you kept your underpants on, good, I was wondering if you would obey me or not, or ask if you could take them off. The answer would have been no, with another spanking for questioning me. You're learning fast, the reading must be helping. Let's have lunch."

After lunch, I go outside to dry my undies in the sun. I am not allowed to touch myself, another part of my punishment. Mark bought furniture for the patio and we relax on the lounge chairs, close to the house for me as the sun had moved to the western sky and the house provided a little shade on the patio. The grass was still bright and sunny. There were more magazines and books. Master was making this a weekly trip it seems. Probably on Sunday.

My stretching exercises were next as we headed into the house, the window fans doing their job as the afternoon sun beat down on the front of the house. Master had me lay across his lap and held the back of my undies down as I lubed myself. It was a new dildo this week, a large one shaped like a man's cock, with balls too.

"Thank you Master for the new dildo, it looks big, I hope it will fit."

"We will make it fit, and if it hurts, consider that part of your punishment."

"Master, When will I be ready for the real thing?"

"Soon, this is the last dildo, after this one, you will be ready."

"Next Saturday then?"

"Depends. Depends on the boy that gets in my car. Hopefully not the one from this morning."

Chapter Eight

A miserable week. I have been wearing my brother's underpants all week as instructed. They are tight and a constant reminder. My brother seemed to have noticed midweek.

"Hey, those are my underpants."

I claimed mom must have put them in the wrong drawer, again–"No, I didn't check and No, I did not notice; it's not the first time she's done that, you've seen mine in your drawer."

Laundry is every day with seven boys, so they do not pile up and are returned to the drawer the next day. I am not allowed to touch myself down there for any reason at all. I must sit to pee. The only exception is showers, a quick scrub with a soapy washcloth. I wash my bum extra, as instructed, using my finger to get the soapy washcloth up my boy pussy, as Mark has taken to calling it. I wash that part extra-long and deep, that I am allowed to do.

The books have helped, both me and Mark. A Saturday afternoon of reading outdoors on his patio gets both of us worked up again for more. I know how I am to behave, what is expected of me. My body belongs to Mark, I know that, it is for his pleasure, not mine. I try my best to be obedient, disciplined, docile, and focused on my Master's needs, anticipating them and always ready to serve. I cannot wait for Saturday.

***

The morning does not arrive soon enough and I am awake early, too early to get up, the house is quiet, my brother still sleeping. A good time to play with myself, and it takes all my willpower not to do so. Would Mark know? From what I have read, Masters somehow know, it is like my mother, she seems to have this sixth sense that kids do not have. I could still do it and suffer the consequences, but then Mark might punish me by not fucking me today, and today should be the day that I have been dreaming about, the day Mark fucks me for real. I am ready, I know I am. I was able to take that life-size dildo last week. It hurt, but I did it.

Out of bed earlier than I usually would be to take my mind off that, I pee, and head downstairs to eat breakfast and catch some cartoons.

"You're up early," mom said.

"I know, I'm hungry."

Pouring myself cereal, I get the milk out of the refrigerator.

"Those underpants look too small on you. Are those yours?"

"They were in my drawer."

"That doesn't mean they're yours. Didn't you check?"

"No, I just put them on."

"Well, after breakfast, you should, and change them."

"Ok."

After breakfast, it was time for cartoons and as I sat on the couch watching, my brother came down.

"Hey, are you wearing my underpants again?"

"No, so shut up."

"I think those are mine."

"I am going to check after this cartoon, and if they are, I'll change them."

"I want you to stop wearing my underpants or I'll tell mom."

"Ok, I'll check from now on."

"Take them off now."

"Right here? Stupid."

"I don't care, go upstairs and do it."

"After this cartoon."

"Mom!"

"Ok, I'm going."

Upstairs I go, but not to change them, only to dress for the day and head out, which is what I do, going straight out the front door while my brother is in the kitchen eating breakfast. I walk to the flower shop slowly, dawdling along the way. I know I am a little early, but not much. When I arrive, Mark is not there yet. There is a big round clock in the window of the flower shop, with flowers painted on the face and hands that look like flowers, one with a long stem, the other a short stem. It is quarter to nine, and I decide to go in and look around.

"We don't open until 9."

"The door was open."

"Yes, I just opened it. Where's your parent?"

"I live around the corner; I'm just looking."

"Don't touch anything."

Nine comes and goes, as I keep checking outside.

"You've looked enough, and I have customers coming in now, time to go."

Customers have been coming in since before nine as I head out the door to wait in the parking lot. Mark arrives a little late, and I jump in, sliding to the middle. Turning and leaning over, I put my right hand on Master's thigh.

"Good morning, Master."

"Good morning."

Master backs the car out, pulls forward and we leave the parking lot, and as we do, I pull off my shorts and put them on the floor of the car.

"Did you follow my instructions all week?"

"Yes, Master."

"Did you play with yourself? Even once?"

"No, Master, I was good all week, and wore my brother's underpants all week too to remind me of how I should greet you, see."

It was true, I was boned this time. The excitement of today had been building up all week. I wanted today to be the day, and while waiting outside the flower shop, all I thought about were things that made me pop a boner. I guess the opposite of what I did in the boys' showers, sometimes counting in my head to keep from popping a boner, and turning towards the wall, so I did not see the other boys. Anything to keep it down.

"You never touched it? Even to pee?"

"No, Master, I peed sitting down, as you told me."

Master then felt between my legs, keeping his eyes on the road. It felt good, and he kept it up until we were on the road to his house, slipping inside for a better feel.

"I don't feel a wet spot, did you shake it after peeing?"

"No, Master, I never touched it, except with a soapy washcloth in the shower and then only once quickly."

"Take them off and show me."

My belly sucked in as my chest expanded with a deep breath. I had never done this before. It was one thing to be in my underpants and quite another to be naked. I hesitated. My head told me: Do as you are told, this is a test, you read about this, as did Master. We're in the car, I'm small and no one will see me.

I hook my thumbs inside my underpants and slowly remove them, holding them in my right hand.

"Why did it take you so long."

"I don't know." I had froze, I knew I had froze, but that is what came out, maybe it was true, maybe I really did not know.

"Let me see if I can see a wet spot, show me the inside."

I show Master the inside crotch area and sure enough, there is a small dry yellow spot from this morning.

"Good, I see you follow directions well."

I am beaming with a smile, as I did try hard all week to follow my Master's instructions.

"But you hesitated."

"Sorry, Master, it won't happen again."

"That can't go unpunished, as you know. I want you to put your underpants in your mouth, the inside of the crotch first, taste them, get that part all wet."

Gagged with your own underpants or your Master's underpants is something I had read too, but lifting this stuff off the pages and doing it for real was different. Fantasizing was exciting, the real thing I dreaded sometimes, depending on what it was, and this was one of those. Was I chicken? I looked at the spot, it was my own pee, it was supposed to be harmless, it came out of me and was just going back in, I reasoned. I reluctantly did as I was told. It tasted bitter and salty, more so as it became wet. I stuffed more in, breathing through my nose.

"Leave it there until I tell you can take it out. When we get to my house, put your shorts on and head to the back slider. You know what to do there."

I did, but it was a little confusing. Do I take them out and put them in the box? That is what I usually do, that is the routine, and then stand naked, waiting. Master did say to leave them in until I was told I could take them out. I am not sure what I should do and it would be hard to ask while I am gagged. I decide to leave them in and hope I made the right decision.

Master is again pleased with me as he lets me in and tells me I can take them out and put them on. I do not hesitate, as I am in my Master's house now.

"Stand on the coffee table for inspection."

Master seems to enjoy seeing me in my wet underpants as I maintain my boner. When it comes time to take them off, I do, and stuff them back into my mouth as told, and the inspection continues. I pass, including having a very clean bum, or boy pussy I should start calling it. I am excited.

Maintenance spankings are expected and I do enjoy them, lying over my Master's lap, feeling his manhood pressing into my belly as he lightly slaps each cheek. I was not sure if today would be a maintenance spanking or the real thing for my hesitation as I lay there waiting for it to begin.

"Did you stay in your underpants this morning when you went down for breakfast? You can take your underpants out now to answer me."

"Yes, Master, I did."

"Good. Who saw you?"

"My mother, who noticed and told me I should check before putting them on and to change them after breakfast. I don't know if my older brother did, I was sitting at the kitchen table when he came down and wanted an egg sandwich to go, he was in a hurry. My little brother made a scene while I was watching cartoons, but that's when I got dressed to meet you."

"Good, you need to be naked or near naked as much as possible. You need to become used to that. You don't need to put your underpants back in your mouth, your punishment for hesitating is over."

It was a maintenance spanking, light slaps followed by rubbing. They do not hurt at first, but after a while, when I know my bum is red and hot like a sunburn, they begin to sting even though they are not that hard. We watch cartoons, me on Master's lap getting my bum good and red. It should stay red for most of the day, maybe needing a touch up from time to time. I have had too many sunburns, so I know if I do not touch it or sit down, it does not hurt too much when it is over.

***

It is noon, and cartoons are over. Master has me kneel between his legs and I see that he is super excited to see me. I relish these moments, someone who adores me for who I am, loves me, loves my naked hot boy body. I know I am hot; I have compared myself to those models in the magazines. Master has told me I am. My unkempt dirty blond hair is longer now that school is out. I have a little tan, mostly what they call a farmer's tan, my arms and legs darker than the rest of me. I weighed myself this week, it was 101 pounds [46 kg]! I weigh triple digits! I was so excited to break 100. My father thinks I am too skinny and I need to put some weight on and tries to get me to eat more. Mark loves me for who I am.

"What do you say?"

"Master, may I suck you?"

"Not enough, try harder."

I know what he wants, I forgot. I try again.

"Master, May I please suck your beautiful big cock? I will kiss it, lick it, suck it, and make you feel so good."

"Better, you are getting better."

Releasing the monster from his shorts must have been a relief to him as it tents out his underwear and the head pokes above the waistband. I gently kiss the head, licking a bit of what I now know is precum. I suck it lightly to get the rest. I pull his shorts down as he lifts his butt up for me. I remove his shoes and socks and off they come along with his shorts. I kiss each ball before asking permission to remove his underwear. Master is clearly excited as he breaths deeply and his chest heaves up and down. Off they come. I kiss and lick the shaft, I am good at this now, the lessons master has given me–shown me on my own little dicky–have made me the best little cocksucker of any 12-year-old, at least that is what I like to think and fantasize about. Gone are my fantasies of being the best baseball player, like Babe Ruth, or Wilt Chamberlain when I shoot hoops, or my sport, hockey when I imagine I am Bobby Hull–I am the best 12-year-old cocksucker in the whole world!

The times my teeth accidentally scraped Master were not good. It ruined the moment, not to mention being slapped across the face and hearing, "Watch your teeth." I know how to give the best blowjob ever and I am so happy that I can make my Master cum.

"Now!"

I quickly put my mouth over Master's head as volley after volley of cum shoots into my mouth. I hold it there to show Master how much he shot. I taste it; I like the silky smoothness, the salty flavor. Master holds my head in place as I breath through my nose. I know not to move.

"Show me."

I proudly show Master as I look up and open my mouth. Some drips down and out onto Master's belly.

"Ok, swish it around and then show me again."

I do as I am told. I am in heaven, pleasing my Master as he looks at me, watches me. I know he is proud of me. I show him again before he tells me I can swallow. I lick up what spilled, slowly and tenderly. I do not have to be told.

***

Lunch is made on the grill. Master likes to use the grill on the weekend and gets the charcoal going. Cheeseburgers it is, with two slices of cheese. I stand at the small round patio table to eat. Master does not make me eat like a dog, not yet, maybe we will play that game sometime.

"Sit down and eat."

"I don't mind standing." In reality, I did not want to sit on my red bum. I knew it would not feel good.

"Let's talk about obedience and what you've read and learned."

Oops, I just messed up again. My eyes pop as I suck in my breath. I sit down.

Our lunch conversation today is all about obedience: blind, trusting, and without hesitation. I need to think about that more, it has been five weeks now and everything has turned out ok, well better than ok, it has been wild. I have not been damaged as the books say, hurt, yes, a punishment spanking does just that, but the hurt does not last and I do keep improving because I do want to be a slave boy. That is what I was most attracted to when I first found and read the stash of books and magazines at the state forest. That is what I want.

Being a Master to a slave boy is what Mark fantasized about and at the same time, feared the most and hid from. Avoiding the magazines and stories about slave boys, he was like an alcoholic avoiding pubs and liquor stores. We were both meant for each other and fate brought us together. I need to be more trusting; that is the path to obedience. I know I will be tested again and the tests will become harder. I need to do better. I sit still, moving is uncomfortable.

We relax and read after lunch, just like rest period at summer camp. I move into the shade, close to the house as the sun moves west to bake the front of the house. I think all the reading we do has helped me come along far faster than I would have if I only relied on Mark to guide me, mold me as the How to Train Your Boy booklet says.

The topic of discipline goes beyond punishment. The discipline to hold the slave positions when commanded, to hold your tongue, to keep your boy body in shape, hairless, and clean inside and out. I like reading and this stuff is way better than the reading assignments from school.

Docile I think I am good at. When Master places his hand on me, to direct me to a certain position, I immediately respond. When he gives me a sign or signal, I respond, a simple hand gesture is all it takes. I know when he wants me on his lap to spank me and I comply. No words are mentioned, just simple hand gestures are all that is needed.

Focused, like obedient, is probably where I need to try harder. My thoughts sometimes wander, I do not always pick up on things. Like not knowing I should have been boned last week when Master picked me up.

I read on, I read the booklet, How to Train Your Boy, again. I have read it many times now. I do not think it was meant for the boy to read, but Master says it is ok, as soul mates, we do not keep any secrets from each other. I think it helps, I know what is expected, I know when I mess up, I know Master is manipulating me, but not really, because I want to be his boy and make his dreams come true. I need to be more trusting.

***

Our rest period ends and I am sure Master is ready for another round of sex, hopefully today is the day he fucks me for real, I have read about it so much that I cannot wait. The discipline not to ask is killing me, I just wait and hope it will be today.

"Let's go inside and down to the basement."

"Yes, Master."

What did I do wrong? I wonder, but I am not going to mess this up. I have thought of nothing else all week. Obedience and Discipline, I keep repeating to myself.

Downstairs, I am directed to that garden hose that is coming through the basement window. There is a smooth metal thing on the end, like one of those small vibrators we have used. I rack my brain, thinking about what it could be. I have read so much stuff, I should know, but there are not many pictures in the books.

"This is for an enema. Do you know what that is?"

"I think so, a friend of mine, Bobby, had to have one because he was plugged up and had stomach cramps. His mother gave it to him. But she used this rubber bag thing with a tube on it. I saw it in their bathroom when I was over at his house."

"That's right, except I don't want to take any chances that a slave boy might have an accident in my bathroom, so we're going to do it here and you are going to use that portable camping potty that I bought. In the future, it will be your responsibility to clean yourself out, down here, as well as empty the portable potty."

"Yes, Master."

"Ok, the water in the hose should be warm enough and there's enough in the hose to clean you out a few times. Stand close to the sump pump, so any water that spills out goes down into the sump. First, you lube it with Vaseline, and then it goes into your boy pussy. You want to turn this cock valve slowly. I have the spicket at the house on the other end of the garden hose opened a crack, so it flows slowly, but still, no need to take any chances. You fill yourself up until you feel really full, like you just finished a big holiday meal. Then you hold it as long as you can, it might be only a couple of minutes at first, but you should be able to hold it for up to 10 minutes with practice."

Master did the work this time, explaining everything again as he went along, encouraging me to hold it until I was ready to burst. It was not as bad as I thought it would be. The urge to go came on suddenly as I plopped myself down on the portable potty and everything came rushing out. We did this three times.

"Ok, I think that should do it. Head upstairs to my bed and get on all fours and lube yourself up."

The excitement I felt inside my stomach and groin had my insides doing butterflies. I knew today would be the day, I just needed to stay disciplined enough to keep my mouth shut, no questions. Trust–trust–trust.

I took the stairs two at a time and ran to the bedroom, grabbed the lube from the drawer and went to work. Master was right behind me.

"Can't wait?"

"No, Master, I can't. I hope today will be the day, and I beg you to please make it so, it's all I have thought about this past week … last week too."

"You have been a good slave boy today."

I continued to lube myself seductively while on all fours, looking back at my master as he stripped out of his clothes. I pushed two fingers in and then three. I was loose from the enema tube. Master presented his cock to my willing mouth and I knew what to do as I covered it with as much saliva as I could; it tasted much better than those rubber dildos.

As he got into position behind me, he asked if I wanted to be gagged.

"If you want to gag me, it is up to you, I will try not to make too much noise." I put my chest down onto the bed and used my hands to pull my cheeks apart exposing my boy pussy to Master. The time had finally come to experience what I had only read about. It was really going to happen.

Master grabbed my thighs with both hands and pulled back on them as the head of his rod hit the target. It was painful as he pushed to enter. I groaned as he pushed. The head popped through as I let out a loud, "Ahhh." Master pulled back out.

"I want you on your back for this one, I want to see your face."

I rolled over and Master placed two pillows under my hips before grabbing my legs and pushing them up.

"Hold your legs high and wide."

Master placed lube on his cock and lined up again. It slipped through as my mouth and eyes popped wide open and I let out a long gasp. He stopped, and let me settle before pushing further. Each time garnering a response from me.

Breathless, I had to ask, "Is it all the way in, Master?"

"No, but when it is you will feel it hit your prostate."

I knew what that felt like, the dildos did reach there. I held my breath as Master eased deeper into me.

"I feel it Master, you're there."

"Just a little more and I'll be all the way in."

I kept looking into his eyes as he looked down at me, slowly, my body jerked with each push, a pause and then another push. The weekly practice, opening me up, stretching my boy pussy over these weeks was the right way to do it. I was taking it all in.

"I'm there. How does it feel?"

"Please, Master, can you let me get used to it. I feel so full, more than I ever have before."

I knew that Master would pound my ass, that is where this is going, I knew the slapping of his pelvis against my red butt would mix pain with the pleasure. I had been trained for this–no wait, I had read about this, we had talked about this, but this is the training, the real thing. Master did not say anything, he just looked down at the facial contortions I was making, the squirming of my body. He gave it a couple of minutes.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

The pounding began, slowly at first, gradually increasing. It was the most wonderful sensation I had ever experienced. My head moved side to side as I moaned in pleasure with an occasional, "Ahhh," as pain shot through me, but then it was pure pleasure. I felt my sore butt and knew it would be redder, but surprisingly, it was muted compared to the sensations the rest of my body was feeling.

Then it happened, Master let out a cry and I felt shot after shot hitting my insides. It was the most wonderful feeling, as I orgasmed too, the best ever! It kept going, even after Master finished. I had never orgasmed like this with any dildo. An ear-to-ear smile let Master know how wonderful I felt as I looked up to see him smiling down onto me. We stayed motionless until Master bent over to kiss me, a passionate French kiss that I never wanted to stop.

Chapter Nine

Saturday with Mark was the best, a real fucking that left me glowing the rest of the day. Mark was in a good mood too, as we relaxed together on the lounge chair on the patio, me lying between Mark's legs with my head on his chest, not talking, just enjoying the warm air and blue sky. I slowly drifted off, turning onto my side, with my head nestled onto Mark's soft belly, my right hand gently cupping his manhood as he rested his arm over my shoulder. The rhythmic breathing lulling us both to sleep.

It was the growth of Mark's member that woke me up, and being a good boy, I gently kissed the head, lightly sucking and licking it as my hand felt his rod straining to stretch the velvety skin to a rock-hard pole. Mark's breathing changed as his belly began to rise and fall deeper, as he gently stroked the top of my head, letting me know how appreciative he was. I stroked his shaft a couple of times in response as I kept my mouth softly working on the head of his cock.

Mark spoke softly, "Don't take it too far."

"I don't mind if you cum in my mouth, you know I like the salty taste and silky texture."

"That's not what I was thinking … I was thinking about another go at that tight boy pussy of yours."

"I'd like that too, but it does seem a bit sore right now, even though we followed all the stretching exercises per the book."

"If you still want to be my slave boy, you need to think only of my pleasure and not yours, you know that."

"Yes, Master."

"Yes, Master, What?"

"Yes, Master, I still want to be your slave boy and my focus should only be on your pleasure. My body is your toy to do with as you please. How was that?"

"Better."

"Master, When will I get my slave collar?"

"When I'm satisfied that you're ready to completely submit to my will."

***

Mark and I were settling into our roles nicely, each having done the reading and having these Saturday afternoon talks, so we both knew what was expected, well, I think I had the tougher part, as I was expected to anticipate my Master's needs and then fulfill them. Turning fantasy into reality was hard work, I guess it was like actors who worked hard to get into the roles they played.

Putting the rigors of Master/slave aside for these afternoon sessions allowed us to explore each other's wants and desires and maybe set limits too. I certainly did not want to be "damaged," and I was not sure about everything, so I guess Mark was right, I am not ready yet. I needed to know more about Mark if I was to understand his desires.

A slow stroke on his shaft kept it hard as we continued our talk, me asking a lot of questions this time. Mark told me that he was the controlling type, even as a teenager, he always wanted to be in charge, he felt more secure that way. He even did things as a teenager to control other people, little things like switching the coffee in the coffee can from regular to decaffeinated because he thought it would be better for his parents who were constantly high strung with him. Always telling him what he could and could not do, where he could go, who he could hang out with. At 16, when his father would not let him borrow the car, he removed the distributor cap, so no one could use it. He was always interested in engineering and wanted to know how cars worked, from the electrical to the mechanical. His father was not inclined to know any of those things, always calling someone to fix stuff. After towing the car to the garage, it was a simple fix, but the mechanic let him know that someone must have removed it, a distributor cap does not come off by itself. He was the prime suspect, of course. He wanted to live his own life and could not wait to move far away when he turned 18 and would go off to college. That day could not come soon enough. Life was stifling.

When not in control, Mark has a tough time coping, like when I took charge and decided to do a strip dance for him and then demanding he strip. It was a double whammy, a paralyzing blow, first his darkest secret that he was attracted to boys would be revealed and second that he had lost control of the situation–it was getting out of hand. Waving the magazines in front of him and demanding to know why he had them sent him over the edge.

Mark told me he had a younger sister and an even younger brother, now a senior in high school, who told him that things were not so bad anymore, that his father had mellowed in his old age and that he had definitely wore him out when he was living there as a teenager, which his brother was thankful for.

Opposites do attract. I have the freedom to go where I want, do whatever, hang out with whoever, and no one seems to notice or care … provided I am home for dinner, go to church on Sunday, visit grandma, and am at the table for Sunday dinner. No one missed the fact that I did not go on the hike to the fire tower, or that I hitchhiked up there, or that I have been spending Saturdays with Mark. That would entail asking me, and I guess then, they would have to ask all seven of us. Wow, dinner would take forever. I am usually out the door in 20 minutes, we do not have to wait for everyone to finish and there is never desert.

***

Another couple of strokes as Master seems lost in his thoughts as he recalls his teenage years. A soft kiss and a gentle sucking bring it back to full mast. I dare not take it too far, I was told not to. Master's hand squeezing my butt is a nice feeling, the earlier spanking having lost its sting. It was not long before a finger started to probe the crack between my butt cheeks and I cringed, more at the thought that maybe my boy pussy needed more time than any pain.

Master sensed this and brought his fingers up to my mouth and I happily slathered them with as much spit as I could. I knew that I was probably still lubed up there from the earlier fucking–Oh, that fucking was good, better than the dildos. Better than when I imagined it. The books and stories try to describe it, but the real thing brought feelings inside me that were better than any words on a page. Some boys do feel pain, at first, and I did too with each successive dildo, but the excitement of the real thing, having Master finally "take me" overwhelmed any minor pain. It is true, no pain, no gain.

A finger slowly circles and rubs my anus–it is a bit sore but also exciting as I suck in my breath and start working Master's penis with renewed vigor, taking it deep into my mouth and swirling my tongue around the shaft. As saliva runs down, I quickly suck it back into my mouth, swallowing. I taste precum. Should I go further?

"Ow." Master's finger just pushed past my ring and my mouth is wide open and no longer sucking. Nothing is said but he does stop and hold it there. I gather my thoughts. I am focused on the finger, but my focus should be on the cock inside my mouth. I close my lips around the shaft, just below the head and breathe through my nose. I know how to do this. I use my tongue to flick the head as I try to put the pain out of my thoughts. This is harder than just imagining it, the physical sensations, the tastes, the musk smell as I breathe–breathe–breathe, I keep repeating to myself.

Master pulls out his finger and presents it to my mouth. Gross, that thing was just in my butt. I look at it closely, I do not see anything gross, I guess the enema took care of that, but still… I wipe it clean with my hand and then wipe my hand on my bare thigh.

"No, that's not what you should do. It needs more spit."

I look at it again. I examine it closely. This is one of those things I did not fantasize about and was sure I did not want to do. I do not say anything.

Mark grabs a napkin from the side table and wipes his finger clean and then presents it to me again. I slather it up.

Another "ow" and he is back in, keeping it in place while I return to sucking. The pain subsides and I do what I do best, at least I think so. Gradually, Master pushes in further, pausing as my mouth opens to a silent "ow." I suck in a breath through my mouth each time, short ones, not like the first push. I go deep on his cock, my gag reflex is still there, so I stop when it hits the back of my throat.

As Master massages my prostrate with his finger, I struggle to stay focused on his cock, but I know that is what I should be doing, what I need to do. This is harder than I thought, I really am not as far along as I thought I was. Suddenly, it happens, and I receive a mouthful of Master's cum. I swallow, determined not to let a drop out, but it is too much and some drips out anyway. I show Master what is left in my mouth and he nods, so I swallow. He keeps his finger in, but no longer massages my insides, he just leans back, takes a very deep breath, and relaxes.

***

On the ride home, Master does not give me any instructions, he seems quite content as we both just sit quietly and enjoy the short ride to the market. I do not know if I am supposed to wear my brother's underpants and not touch my pee-pee. That was probably my punishment, to humiliate me, something slave boys need to put up with. I do not ask, it is not my place to question or ask my Master.

I do like riding in his convertible with the top down. As we arrive, I spot a neighbor and duck down, telling Master I see someone who knows me. He pulls into the parking lot, towards the back and waits.

"It's clear now."

Keeping down, I open the door and exit the car, checking that the coast is clear. Maybe this is not the best spot, the grammar school is less than a block from here on the same road we go to his house on and with summer, no one is there except kids sometimes playing basketball in the schoolyard.

Making my way towards the street to walk home and past the market, I run into that same neighbor coming out with a small bag. That was quick.

"Hello."

"Hi."

"Are you going in? To get something for your mother?"

"No, I'm going home."

"What are you doing down here by yourself?"

"Nothing."

"I've seen you here before, a couple of times, and that red convertible."

"What red convertible."

"You can't miss it, a car like that. Do you know him?"

"No."

That lady is nosey, I have heard the adults call her a busybody. That is all I need, for her to tell my mother that she has seen me down here and thinks I have been with a man in a fancy red convertible. She could ruin everything. I tell her I need to run, so I am not late for dinner and off I go at a jog. Thinking about it, I do come down here by myself sometimes to get things for my grandmother. She always gives me money for the candy counter too. Next Saturday I will talk to Master about a new spot, this one is too busy. Someone could just walk out of the market at the wrong moment.

***

Sunday was the usual, except Tom keeps his distance from me, not ignoring me, but not letting me get as close to him as I want. A nice teenage cock in my mouth is what I want, and in my butt would be nice too–maybe better. The pain of yesterday is gone and now I feel I am on the prowl again. I seem to have this never-ending lust.

When I was over my grandmother's house on a weekday by myself, she told me that she could see that I look up to Tom, and thought that was nice, "Tom's, a good student, he gets all A's, and is very well behaved."

Thinking about it, I said, "Yes, he is always nice to me." I took notice that grandma noticed, except school grades and behavior were not what I was thinking. I need to be more secretive.

Tom disappeared after donuts and I thought about asking where he went, but now I was self-conscious that people would notice that I am chasing him, so I just went up to his house, the most likely place. Going in the front door and calling out, only his older brother was there, and told me he was not there and he had not seen him. He probably would have said that even if he had seen him.

I find Tom out back in the woods, he was working on his tree fort, the hammering gave it away, he wants to be a carpenter. Right now, it consists of a floor only. I offered to help and he accepted. After we got going, I said this would be a good place to hang out and fool around, like we did before up in his room. No one would know.

"Boys don't fool around with boys, only girls. Don't you know that?"

"What if they want to?"

"Then they would be homos."

"Oh … So what?"

"So, I'm not a homo, and you shouldn't be either, it's wrong, you'll get beat up."

"How do you know if someone is a homo?"

Tom tried to explain something about wearing an earring, but only on one side and it had to be on the–I forget whether it was the left or right, because they somehow meant different things. He talked about how they dressed and talked and looked at other boys, ignoring the girls. It really did not make a lot of sense to me, knowing what I already knew, but I did not share any of that with Tom.

I told Tom, "I don't think I've ever seen one."

"They say one in ten boys are homos, so there must be some in school, but they keep it hidden. Look out for the boys that stare at you in the showers, they're the homos, and stay away from them."

Hmm, I usually turn to face the wall in the shower, and I do not stare for two reasons: I do not want to be caught and I do not want to pop a boner. Mostly, I count silently to distract my brain. Seems Tom does not know everything.

Tom continued, "They hang around the downtown oval, and the cops catch them. That's why you don't see them."

"What do they do with them?"

"They call their parents and send them to that juvie camp, the one that's really a prison."

"Where's that?"

"Far from here, I don't really know, I've never seen it, only heard about it."

"Why do the cops pick them up? What do they do at the oval?"

"Men pick them up in their car and they do stuff for money."

The family cabin tent is set up in the backyard to air out, a perfect place I think for Tom and I to do stuff, but I am not sure he would be willing. We continue working on the fort until Tom's mother calls out the kitchen window for Sunday dinner.

"I better get going too, see ya' later."

***

Mid-summer on a Monday and I am hangin' with my friends, stick ball is our favorite, we use an old broom handle and we each pitch in our nickels, pennies, and dimes to buy a whiffle ball at the corner store. We play facing the house, the whiffle ball will not break anything. The rules are simple, hit it onto the back porch and it is a double, the roof of the porch to the upper roof a triple, and the upper roof a home run. Anything in the infield is open to as many bases as you can get, unlike baseball, you can throw the ball at the runner and if you hit him, he is out, unless he is on the base, of course. Some boys stop at first base, others chance it.

We start playing around nine in the morning and the ball usually lasts for around three games before it breaks so badly, we cannot use it anymore. Which is lunchtime anyway. After lunch we find something else to do, like swimming at the lake, a bike ride, basketball, or nothing. We usually break up into small groups and go our separate ways.

Saturday seems like a long way away, and I know what I would like to do. I start thinking about the twenty boys in my class, and if Tom is right, there must be another one like me. I wonder who. Come September, I will have to find out, but that is even further away, as it is only July now.

The downtown oval is in the middle of the city, a large oval where Upper Main Street meets Lower Main Street, and East Street meets West Street. We live close to downtown and I have walked there many times. Around the oval is the public library, where I have been many times, along with city hall, a museum, a church, two banks, the court house, a hotel, and two restaurants. Traffic goes around the oval, which has crisscrossing walkways with park benches. The grassy area has many different trees with plaques, I was told they are planted and maintained by the local arboretum society. The first tree is a huge oak tree that is 200 years old and the first planted.

The story about the boys in New York comes to mind and it would make sense there would be a place here too. I have to check it out. Today.

***

I find my summer reading list and decide to get an early start, usually, I wait for school to start and the teacher reminding us, and then giving us delinquents time before our book report is due, but this year I will read a book over the summer. I pick The Call of the Wild by Jack London.

Walking to the library with my library card in hand I head to the children's section and use the card file to find it. I then head out, across the road, and sit on a park bench in the oval and start reading. Mostly looking around to see who was there and what they were doing and if Tom was right, I should see boys being picked up, but I do not see any boys around and it was getting hot. I did see some old men reading newspapers, they occupied the benches in the shade. I head over to one of those, but the old man told me the bench was taken and find another one … back to the one in the sun. I did spot a boy sitting on the high granite curbing that separated the sidewalk from the grassy area in front of the court house. He was just sitting there. I wondered if he was in trouble or something.

Suddenly, a man approached me from the other direction from where I was looking

"What are you doing here?"

I looked up at a man towering over me, wearing a shirt and tie with an unbuttoned jacket. His hair cut like a sergeant in the army, short with a flat top. A menacing look on his face, which sent an abrupt fear through my bones and I went into adult interrogation mode, adversarial, and at the same time respectful of this adult figure.

A curt response, which should have been obvious, "Reading my book."

"You shouldn't be here."

"It's a public park, I can be here if I want to."

"It's not a park for kids. Can't you see that?"

"I see people reading, just like me, except mine's a library book." Said as I showed him the inside cover with the cardboard sleeve holding the cardboard with the due date stamped on it.

"What's your name?"

"Erik."

"Where's your parents?"

"My father's working and my mother's home."

"How did you get here?"

"I walked."

It was the kind of grilling that adults use, and I was answering the questions directly and providing no more information than necessary to answer the question. It always frustrated my father, which was my intent.

"Move along and find somewhere else to read your book."

When adults use that tone, I do as I am told, mostly. I start heading towards East Street, I do not know why, because I live off Upper Main Street, maybe I did not want him to know that. I pass by the court house and the boy that was there earlier is gone. He looked about the same age as Tom. I turned right, maybe he is around the corner, but I do not see him. I double back and turn onto Center Street, which is also off the oval between city hall and that old church. It runs parallel to Upper Main, so at least I am heading in the right direction now. I pass by the police station, which is across from the post office.

On the next block north, the boy from the court house is standing in an alleyway.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi."

"What did that cop say to you?"

"He was a cop?"

"Yeah. You didn't know?"

"No, he wasn't wearing a cop uniform."

"He's a detective; they don't wear uniforms."

"How do you know?"

"I watch them coming and going, from the court house and the police station, that way you get to know who they are."

"Oh. Is that what you were doing in front of the court house?"

"Yeah, Monday's are always busy after the weekend. If you look closely, you can see the bump where they holster their gun, on the left side under their jacket. They never take their jacket off, not like the lawyers, who fold them over their arm sometimes. They have a badge on their belt, under their jacket, and as they walk and the jacket flaps in the wind you can see a quick reflection. The other thing to look for is no brief case. There are bankers and business people too, so not all of them are cops."

"Oh, he was creepy."

"What did he say to you? What did he want?"

"He wanted to know what I was doing there, which I thought was obvious, asked me my name, how I got there … then he told me to go read somewhere else. He said it wasn't a park for kids."

"Did he ask you anything about other kids hangin' out around here? Other places nearby? What times? Stuff like that?"

"Why are you asking me so many questions?"

"You know why that cop was asking you all those questions, don't you?"

Terror struck and I am sure the cop thought I was one of those boys that gets into cars with men for money. Holy crap, I just dodged a bullet and being locked up in jail.

"Yeah, I do."

"You have to be more careful, you can't just be out in the open like that. You must be new; I haven't seen you around before."

"I am, my cousin told me, he's a lot older."

"Oh. How far do you go?"

I did not completely understand the question, my mind was thinking distance for some reason, like how far would I travel in the car with a man.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, just let them have a look and a feel, nothing else, or do you go all the way? 'Around the World' as they say."

"Oh, I don't know." I did know, but I was not going to give too much information to this boy that I just met.

"Didn't your cousin explain it to you? How experienced are you? What have you done?"

As we continued our conversation, we started to walk, the boy did not want to stay in one place too long. Turns out most boys will not take it up the butt; most will only give hand jobs after they pull their pants down for a look and feel. He would not give me his name or where he lived. He asked about my cousin and I told him my cousin was 17; I lied, thinking I did not want him to know too much either.

The best time to make money was in the evening, after dinner. The price for a "Look and Feel" was $10, hand jobs went for $20, but you could accept $15. Blow jobs were negotiable, if you do that, only about half the boys do, usually the older boys, and no cumming in the mouth. Start high, like $40 for a blow job and let them know if they cum in your mouth it will cost them double. Up the butt, should be $50 or whatever you can get. Virgins can go for a $100. Wow, that was the price in that story, those stories are real.

The men like the younger boys better, so I am at the right age to make the most money, especially with my looks. He seemed interested in my cousin, like maybe they met, he was good at remembering people. I told him he does not do this anymore. "Yeah," he said, "aged out." That's why the older boys have to do more, like blow jobs and fucking, otherwise the younger boys are the ones that get picked up.

"Are all the boys homos?"

"No, they just do it for the money. Well, maybe some are, I don't know. I'm just trying to make as much money as I can before I age out."

That last part put a damper on my thoughts, he was good looking, probably 14, maybe 15, nice build. It was obvious he worked out from his arm muscles, and his chest and shoulders were broad and sturdy leading down to a slim waist, well, maybe regular, I was thinking about how jeans are sized: slim, regular, and husky. His face was unblemished, so he must be using that zit stuff, or maybe he was just lucky. Like me, his hair was longer and unkempt now that school was out.

As we walked along, stopping frequently, he said, "Which way do you live?"

"This way," pointing north on Center Street.

"I don't want to keep going this way, it's not the right direction for me."

We turned left at the next side street and cut over to Upper Main Street, and turning left again, headed south.

"I thought you lived that way."

"I do, but I want to know more."

Chapter Ten

Monday night I took a shower early in the hope of having the bedroom to myself, without my twerp little brother. I dropped my towel on the bedroom floor, and opened my underwear drawer. I closed the drawer and opened my brother's drawer. I was not sure if I was supposed to keep wearing his or if that was just a punishment from Mark which is now over. I just stood there. He did say he liked the way they tented out, so I should wear them this Saturday.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Twerp came in, leaving the door open. I quickly closed his drawer as he accused me of trying to take his underpants again. Denying everything while quickly turning my back to him I shouted to close the door and grabbed a pair of my underwear and pulled them on. Twerp was laughing with a smirk as he pointed at my groin.

"Hey, yours is smaller than mine and I'm only nine, almost ten."

"Is not, it just hasn't started to grow yet, but it will, soon, and you didn't see anything, I turned around too fast."

"Not fast enough."

"Yours is tiny still."

"Bigger than yours."

"Yeah, I don't think so."

At that he pulled down the front of his shorts and proudly showed his dick and balls, but then quickly pulled them back up again.

He did look bigger, he had my father's genes, everyone on his side of the family were shorter, stockier, and seemed to grow hair on their lips and underarms sooner than my mother's side, much sooner. I looked like my mother's side, and the boys on that side always looked much younger than they were, frequently being mistaken for how old they were.

The first time we went swimming at the Boy's Club with a group of us from the neighborhood, and started a towel fight in the changing room, Kevin had said the same thing, laughing at how small I was. I was eight at the time and I wore a swimsuit from then on, except a couple of times when I forgot it, but used my hands to cover myself until I was in the water. I was not the only boy that did that, including boys who got out and in line for the diving board. They used one hand to cover up. About half the boys wore swimsuits and half did not. As they ran down the diving board, that was a chance to see what they had if you watched, which I did. All different sizes, but some boys were older, some younger.

"I'm tired and going to bed, so close the door on your way out and turn the light off."

Twerp smiled, chuckled, and walked out, leaving the door open and the light on. He was such an annoying brat all the time. I should beat him up and take the consequences.

Closing the door myself and turning the light out, I jumped in bed and contemplated all the things I had learned from the boy I met this afternoon. He sure did know what he was doing and probably making a lot of money too. I thought about a man picking me up in a car and going to some dead-end street where I would pull down my pants, get fondled and sucked off–and paid for it too! Just thinking about it had me hard and rubbing.

Better still would be a man taking me to his hotel room on the oval, stripping me naked and playing with my dicklet and balls. As these titillating thoughts flooded my head, I pictured myself in the many positions I had read about, and even seen in some of the magazines. I would start between the man's legs, standing, as he sat on the edge of the bed running his hands over my body and playing with my boyhood. I would sink down to my knees and slowly unzip his pants to free the object of my desire, pulling it out through the flap on his underwear, gently stroking, kissing, and sucking the head, licking along the shaft while the man told me how good I was, cupping his hands on the sides of my face, feeling my cheeks, puffed out from the cock in my mouth.

A whump startled me as the door flew open and the light came on.

"Thought I would catch you again. It was too early to go to bed."

"I was sleeping. Get out. Turn the light off and close the door."

"No."

Twerp sat on the edge of his bed and just stared at me.

"Leave me alone, I'm tired."

"This is my room too and I'm not tired. If you want the door closed, you'll have to get up and close it yourself."

"You close it, you opened it."

"What's the matter? Can't get out of bed?"

The front of my underpants were pulled down under my balls and with my boner, he was right, little shit. It was a standoff. I hated him. I rolled over onto my side with my back to him, pulling the blanket over my shoulder. I did try to fall asleep, ignoring him. My thoughts went to me lying on my back in the hotel room, with that same man presenting his cock to my face.

Using only the tip of my finger, like scratching an itch, I rubbed up and down the shaft of my dicklet. I knew Twerp was watching me, he was an evil presence that I could feel, but I had to scratch that itch, it had been with me since this afternoon and all through dinner and early evening.

My breathing became deeper and the "scratching" more aggressive, when suddenly the blanket was torn off.

"I knew it, you can't stop playing with yourself."

Laughing, Twerp ran out of the room, leaving the door wide open and the light on, of course.

Living in this house keeps me in a constant state of sexual frustration, something I knew nothing about until this summer. The more I learned from the books and magazines and the more Mark and I did, the more I needed–wanted it, badly. There must be something wrong with me, but I dare not tell anyone. What would I say? Mom, can you take me to the doctor? I think I have a case of sexual frustration that won't go away. Yeah, mom, I know what that is, I've been doing a lot of summer reading, a real lot, you'd be proud of how much. You've always said I was a good reader, and you know I'm in the advanced reading class at school … well, real advanced now, I'm into the adult stuff, and I have a man who helps tutor me. Of course I'm old enough mom, every now and then a few drops of clear liquid comes out…

This is not helping my boner. I should be counting, like I do in the boys' shower at school. I read about "edging" and Mark did explain it, and boy, I am not looking forward to that in my role as a slave boy. At least in those stories, the slave boy does eventually cum … maybe that is better than this. Damn, I cannot take my mind off this stuff for one moment, just one moment to lose my boner, jump out of bed and close the door.

I listen for anyone out in the hallway before quickly jumping from my bed to close the door and turn out the light. It would be too embarrassing for anyone other than Master to see me tented out like this.

Back in bed, I decide I will find that boy again and hopefully he can help me some more. I do not want the cops to catch me, that was too close this afternoon, and my heart jumped when he told me it was a detective. He must know how to earn money and not get caught. Trying to satisfy myself here with Twerp is never going to work and waiting until Saturday is just too long.

***

Tuesday is more stick ball in the morning; I do love playing that game. In the afternoon, it is off to the lake for swimming. The adults call this the dog days of summer. I am not sure why. It is fun cooling off at the lake with friends, and the water has warmed up from the spring when it was nippy and took some getting used to. Now, you can just dive right in off the dock.

By late afternoon, some of my friends from the neighborhood start to head home. I decide to stay a bit longer and relax on my towel and watch some of the older boys who seem to be arriving as the younger kids leave with their mothers. Yes, I want to check out those teen bulges.

With my friends having gone home now, I head back into the water and hang onto the side of the dock. It is in the shape of an H with a buoy line cutting the lower part of the H to mark the non-swimmer's area. I am hanging on the part of the dock that makes the middle of the H, looking up as the boys walk by. Most are wearing cut-off jeans that do not show as much as speedos or regular swimsuits. The floating dock with the two diving boards is out from the H dock, and you must swim to get to it. That is where the teenagers are hanging out, so that is where I go next, but it is too high out of the water to hang onto the side, you need to climb onto it at the ladder. I wonder if they notice me checking them out? If they do, nothing is said.

My mind and thoughts are back to that itch that needs scratching. Maybe if I hitchhike home, I might be picked-up by someone who likes boys. Oh, that won't work, we biked here.

I head home for dinner. A bike ride downtown after dinner is hopeless too, I do not see that boy, or any boys that I think might be "working" like the boys in the New York story. Wednesday is the same. Thursday is when the downtown stores stay open late and there are a lot of people as I bike around. Groups of boys are biking around too, and some are just hanging out with friends. I do run into Dave and Bobby from the neighborhood who are together. Dave is in the Boy Scouts and is buying some Boy Scout stuff at the big department store, he is going to the Eagle Scout Camp for a week this summer. I was in Cub Scouts with Dave and Bobby. We met at Bobby's house on Friday afternoon after school, his mother was the den mother. At eleven, we should have moved up to Boy Scouts, but only Dave did.

The week is miserable. The only short-lived joy was beating up Twerp, who likes bugging me, leaving the door open, and the light on. A few strokes across the back of my bare legs from my father's belt was worth it. I tell Twerp I am going to beat him up again and again and I do not care if that means the belt.

***

By Friday, I have some hope of finding the boy who knows how to pick up men, or rather what to do to have men pick him up. I bike around downtown, as that is the fastest way to cover a lot of area, stopping where I think might be a good spot. It is busy with people, but not like Thursday with parents and kids out shopping, it is a different crowd, I know what the boy meant now, that Friday was the best day, people were going to the restaurants and bars with the stores now closed. Maybe I should have walked, as I realize I cannot really be picked up with my bike, and I cannot just leave it to be stolen.

Out of luck again, I head home as it is getting late and is already dark. Tomorrow I will meet Mark at the flower shop and hopefully some relief.

***

Saturday morning will not come soon enough. I woke up with lingering thoughts of the day ahead, my pillow and sheets were damp, and I could hear the crickets outside. The heat and humidity are high this time of year and the nights do not cool off like they used to. The house was quiet and it was still dark outside. The fan was not on. I got out of bed to turn it on and noticed how tented I was and a small spot of wetness on my underpants. Precum. I knew I was having a good dream and I wanted to get back to it before it faded completely.

Morning, and Twerp is sleeping in as I quietly take a pair of his underpants and hide them in the hamper in the bathroom. My plan is to change into them later without being caught. I head down to the kitchen in my tighty-whiteys for a bowl of cereal.

"Good morning, Erik."

"Good morning, Mom."

"We're going up to the state forest today on a picnic. Your father wants to relax today, we haven't been on a picnic since Memorial Day."

"What! Today?"

"Yes, today."

"Do I have to go?"

"Of course, you do. We're all going."

"What if I don't want to? Can I stay home?"

"No, we're all going."

"What time?"

"As soon as everyone is up and ready. We have to pack things, and I need help after you finish breakfast and get dressed."

"But Mommm."

"No buts, and wake your brother when you go upstairs."

"Can't I go out to play before we go?" I was thinking I had to get to the flower shop and tell Mark.

"No, you'll have plenty of time for that when we get there. I don't want anyone leaving the house, I don't want to have to look for anyone when it's time to leave, and besides, I just told you I need help packing. Now, do as you're told."

Disaster. This is turning out to be the worst week ever.

***

We stop for ice on the way up, there is an ice house a few streets over from our house. Everything is nearby to us, the advantage of living so close to downtown. It is cheaper than the market my father says, because they supply the markets around town. We get there as the man is about to close for the day. They close early on Saturday, after the deliveries are done. They are out of cubes, only blocks left. We buy a block and my father breaks it up into chunks for the cooler.

Our picnic at the state forest is the same as always. The water is freezing, and the field in the middle of the picnic area is crowded. I brought my speedos this time, I do not know why, I like to wear them when we go to the Boys' Club pool, because you can swim faster in them and we always have races. Here, we do not race, we barely spend time in the water, seeing who is brave enough to dunk their head underwater, not out of fear, but because it is that cold.

Hot dogs for lunch, potato salad, macaroni salad, potato chips, some cookies my mother says are for later, not now.

After lunch, I suggest a hike up to the fire tower, but no one is interested, we already did that and it is too hot.

"How about the Berry Brook Trail?" That trail goes down along the brook, starting at the small dam that was built to make the man-made swimming hole, yeah, the one that is spring water fed, freezing, and the one we were just in.

No one is interested, softball is the consensus or nothing in the case of adults, except a cold beer and a glass of white wine for my mother. Apparently, dog days are when even the dogs do nothing but lay in the shade panting.

"Don't go off by yourself. Maybe a little later someone will want to go."

Having someone to hike with me was not what I was thinking. I wanted some alone time, and if they thought I was with everyone, like last time, then I could break off and look for more stuff, or at least jackoff, maybe even run into a man to have fun with. A real possibility I thought, after all, it must have been a man that likes boys that left that bag and probably retrieved it too before I had a chance.

Alone time at home is not possible, one bathroom with no lock, and brothers that think nothing about barging in–"I have to go, don't come out of the shower" or "Hurry up" as they bang loudly, and if you don't, they barge in anyway.

My two older brothers share a room and no one dares to go in there without knocking and hearing "What?" Their door is always closed, mine is always open, thanks to Twerp. The oldest has a summer job and is not here, he is home right now and has the house to himself. He has to go to work this afternoon, washing dishes at a restaurant downtown. He does not hang with my friends and is usually not around. Must be nice to be 16 and have all that freedom.

Softball it is, until I notice no one is really paying attention to us, my mother is watching my three younger brothers, who are six, four, and two. I decide to sneak off and take the Berry Brook Trail, but before I go, I go into the changing house and take off my shorts. I have my speedos on under them, they dry in no time because they are nylon, so you can do that. Canvas sneakers and a tee shirt and I am off. I like the look; my tee shirt hangs down over my speedos and makes it look like I could be naked down there, hehe, I think that's funny.

The trail is crowded. The berries are out and people are picking and eating them along the way. A popular trail is not what I wanted, but I continue on my way, maybe a man will notice how I am dressed and take an interest in me. I think about the fire tower trail, or the ridge trail, both go up, so I reason they will have less people in this heat, but then again, if I were a man looking for boys, this would be the better trail. Undecided, I keep walking, picking berries myself and snacking.

"Hello."

It is a man by himself, I smile and say, "Hi."

"Nice day for berry picking."

"I guess so, I was just hiking, but I did pick a few, they tasted bitter."

"You have to look for the ripe ones, those are the ones to eat," as he shows me what to look for.

"Thanks," as I take one from his outstretched hand and eat it.

"Are you hiking by yourself?"

"Yes, I just came from the swimming hole, no one wanted to go hiking, so my family is back at the picnic area."

"Well, that explains why you're still wearing your swimsuit."

"Yeah, it almost looks like I'm not wearing anything because it's a speedo. I can swim fast in this suit."

"It did look that way at first. You don't mind?"

"No, I think it looks cool, I like it."

"How far are you planning to hike?"

"Oh, I don't know, I didn't think about it. I just have to be back to the picnic area before anyone misses me, that's all."

Just then a lady holding the hand of a young girl walks up the trail and she says, "Caught up. We don't walk as fast as you."

"Yes, I stopped to wait, and ran into this boy from the picnic area. He was picking the unripe berries, now he knows the difference."

"Nice to meet you. Well, let's keep going."

Uuugh… It's hopeless.

Chapter Eleven

After Sunday dinner, I head out on my bike to the park and ride on some of the dirt roads and even on some of the trails, walking in some spots where my bike would not make it. I keep a sharp eye out for any kids or teenagers that might be fooling around in the woods. There are a lot of people, and even more places for people to hide. It is a big park.

Finding a hiding spot myself, well off the trail, up on what we call Indian Rocks, I stop to rest. I had to walk my bike up the steep and narrow trail to the boulders at the top of this small hill, surrounded by trees with a small brook below. I wonder why we call it that? The name does not appear on any signs or park maps, and we always think of it as our secret hideout. The boulders that cover the top are good for climbing and hiding between them. I can imagine Indians hiding up here and shooting bows and arrows down on the cowboys.

Lying on one of the boulders, I stare up into the clouds with my right hand inside my shorts. I am wearing my brother's underpants, and they are tight. They remind me of Mark and what we could have been doing yesterday. I gently rub the cotton fabric and lull myself into a daydream as my boner struggles for freedom against its cloth cage. I do hope he is there next Saturday.

A new story comes into my mind, not one that I had read but one that my imagination is making up as I lay here. My parents sometimes have my aunt and her husband over on a Friday night to play cards and drink alcohol. I always like those nights, because as they play and drink more, us kids become a distant thought. After my mother puts the younger boys to bed, the adults become louder as they get into the card game. They play in teams, sometimes the men versus the women, sometimes my mother and her sister's husband. They mix it up.

Mark does not have any friends around here that I know of, at least he has not mentioned any, and I know his family lives far away, so I will give him three friends to play cards with, all men around his age. Strip poker crosses my mind, but does not feel right, so it will have to be straight poker. As the men arrive, bringing their beer, I introduce myself as Mark's nephew. My parents are on a second honeymoon cruise and Mark is taking care of me for the week. They will be back this Sunday.

As the men play cards, I watch TV until Mark tells me it is time to get ready for bed. It is still light out and early.

"Aww, do I have to?"

"Yes, you know you do. I said you could stay up late tonight, if you behaved and were ready for bed. If I have to carry you to bed, I want you ready."

"I can just sleep in my clothes."

"No. Now don't argue with me. You know what your parents told me if you misbehaved."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, what?"

"Yeah, I know."

I was standing next to Mark at the table, in front of these three men who I just met, and I did not want to be in my underpants in front of strangers. That is what Mark meant by ready for bed.

"Can't I get ready later?"

"Don't argue with me, now tell me what happens when you're naughty."

"What?"

"You heard me, tell me what happens when you're naughty. What did your parents tell me to do?"

I put my head down, to hide my face, which I am sure was turning red now.

Whispering, I said, "I get spanked."

"Speak up, I can't hear you, and for whispering, now let everyone know. It's not a secret, it happens to many naughty boys."

I hesitate, looking around the table. All eyes are on me. I just want to crawl away and hide.

"I get spanked."

"How?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tell us how your parents told me to spank you."

Mark looked at his buddies and said my parents were very traditional and did not believe in spoiling the child by sparing the rod.

With my head down again, I said, "Over your knee."

"And?"

"And with my pants down."

"Then what?"

This was excruciatingly painful the way Mark was dragging it out in front of his friends.

"Time out in the corner."

"Do I have to drag every bit out of you?"

"With my pants down, and my nose in the corner, hands on my head."

"Ok, now go get ready for bed and come back here so I can be sure you did everything you're supposed to do."

My first stop is the bathroom to take a bath, not a shower, my parents told Mark, boys take baths not showers. Locking the door, yes Mark's house has a lock on the bathroom door, I fill the tub while brushing my teeth.

It is relaxing in the tub and I do not mind as I play around. I am in no hurry to head back out there in my underpants, when suddenly there is a knock on the door. "Open up, I need to pee." It is one of Mark's friends.

"I'm taking a bath."

"That's all right, you can close the curtain."

"Ok."

Getting out of the tub, I unlock the door and as I turned, the door opens and the man rushes in before I could get back in the tub.

"Hey, I'm not back in the tub and the curtain isn't closed yet." Said as I was closing the curtain.

"Sorry about that, couldn't wait."

The splashing was louder than I had ever heard, maybe because I was at ear level sitting in the tub next to the toilet, or maybe men pee more than boys because they have a bigger hose. When he was done, he pulled the shower curtain aside and said, "All done, and by the way, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

I quickly covered up and was mad that he would do that. I finished my bath and headed to the bedroom to put on a clean pair of underpants.

Standing next to Mark, he examined behind my ears, my fingernails, and even my feet. I had to turn around as he checked the back of my neck and stuff. It was embarrassing, being inspected like I was a piece of meat or a vegetable for sale. Before I knew what he was doing, he put his finger inside the waistband of my undies and quickly pulled them out and then let them snap back hitting my belly. The men laughed, as Mark said loudly, "All clean and shaved down there too?"

"I don't shave yet."

The men were still laughing at me and enjoying this at my expense. I think they had had more than enough beer for the night, they were obviously drunk.

"Ok, you're ready for bed, now get me another beer while I go to pee."

"Me too," one of the men called out.

I went to the refrigerator and there were different kinds, so I looked back at the table to see who was drinking what. I was then asked to clear the empties, and then the other two needed a beer.

"Can I go watch TV now?"

"Not before your spanking."

"What! I did everything you asked me."

"Don't I owe you one from earlier today? Wasn't that our agreement? That I would wait until tonight."

"Yes, but not in front of everybody."

"Well, we didn't discuss that part."

Mark now had my left upper arm grasped firmly with his hand as he guided me onto his lap and held me there.

"I have another deal to make, we discussed it while you were taking a bath. I can spank you until you are good and red, maybe even a little black and blue, or we each give you a normal little boy spanking, which won't be so hard."

This was embarrassing enough, on Mark's lap, my underpants at my knees and now I am going to be passed around the table?

***

As I lay on the boulder, my hand now inside my underpants, I hear a noise that brings me out of my daydream. It is the sound of twigs breaking, someone is coming. I quickly pull my hand out and sit up just before a couple of boys come up the trail. I do not know them.

"Someone's here," said the first boy.

"I thought you said no one ever comes up here," said the second boy, just behind him.

They look about ten, the same age as Twerp. Speaking up, I tell them usually no one is here, and that is why I came up, and if they are here to do stuff together, go right ahead, I do not mind. I tell them that I have seen other boys up here doing stuff, it is a good place for that. I secretly hope they take the bait.

"We didn't come here to do stuff; we're just checking it out."

"Ok, that's cool too. You did know this is the secret spot where boys do stuff together, right? It's well hidden with all the trees and bushes and there are a lot of hiding places between the boulders. With one trail up, you can hear if anyone is coming. I heard you."

"What were you doing up here?"

"Nothing, just chillin'."

The second boy was just looking at me, and then said, "Did you pee your pants?"

"What!" As I looked down, there it was, a wet spot. Damn, it is happening more now. That leaking precum that I read about. A quick orgasm and cum is what I need, but I know that is not what it is, not yet at least. I am now a little embarrassed, as I try to explain that it is not pee, I did not wet my pants.

"Come on, Billy, let's keep going."

The boys headed over the boulders into the woods as I shouted out, "There's no trail over there, no way down." They kept going. I could hear the branches breaking as they made their own trail.

My boner is under control, it did deflate when I heard those boys coming up the trail and it is true, boys have been caught up here fooling around. I have heard the stories. Teenagers come up here at night with their girlfriends. It is secluded.

***

I head back down the narrow trail and decide to bike around downtown. I like that Sunday dinner is in the afternoon and then I am free the rest of the day. Maybe I will run into that boy again, I hope so. It is quiet, the quietest I have seen all week. No luck finding that boy. I bike over to the hotel at the oval and I see people unloading luggage and heading in. Mostly men by themselves, some arriving by cab. There is a couple of benches on the sidewalk in front of the hotel and I decide to sit there and just watch. The boy did that, spent time watching and observing. That is what I need to do too.

A man came up to me and asked if I knew where there was an ice cream shop. I did not see where he came from, it must have been out the front door of the hotel. The sidewalk benches faced the street, which is the direction I was looking.

"There's one a block from here, that way. Would you like me to show you?"

"No, that's ok, I think I can find it, thanks."

Hmm, asking a kid where to find ice cream, is one of the things men ask when they really mean, "Do you want to have sex?" It is supposed to lead to "Let me buy you an ice cream," which eventually leads to how much for sex. Did I play it wrong? I did offer to show him. Maybe I should have just said, "Follow me" and then asked him if he was interested in anything else. I just do not know, or if he did come out of the hotel, that was one of my fantasies.

The hotel is 12 stories, the tallest building in the city, with a restaurant-bar at the top with views in all directions. I have never been up there; I am sure I would not be able to just walk into a fancy bar and sit down. I decide to sit on the end of the bench facing sideways, that way I can watch the people coming and going. I do see kids, younger than me, my age, and older. All with parents. Tourism is big up here in the summer, and again in the fall for the fall foliage, with skiing in the winter. Spring, I think, is quieter.

Walking with my bike around the outside of the hotel, I see the glassed-in pool out back from the street with the domed top open for the summer. There are a lot of kids in there swimming with parents on the lounge chairs. There is one side connected to the hotel, so that must be the way in. It is brand new, replacing the old pool that was outside only. Not the best kind to have around here, winters are too cold and snowy, not to mention spring and fall are not the best either for swimming outdoors, so this new one is year-round they say.

It is getting late and I head home. I will return, I have a plan. I hope it works.

***

Monday afternoon I put my plan into action. I put my speedos on under a pair of gym shorts, put on a tee shirt and flip-flops and then walk the two miles down to the hotel carrying a rolled-up towel. When I get there, I go in a side door, put the towel around my neck and make my way to the lobby where I ask a man where the pool is. He points and tells me to follow the signs. That was easy.

At the pool, I take off my gym shorts, tee shirt, and flip-flops and head into the pool. I am having fun. They do have a small diving board at the deep end and I use that. After a couple of hours, I discover they have a sauna and steam room, so I check those out too. Coming out of the sauna, a lifeguard asks me where my parents are. I am back to being dumb or maybe being incredibly honest was beaten into me too much, either way, I tell her that my mother is home and my father is working. She asks me what room I am in, and I tell her, that I live nearby and I do not have a room. She tells me I cannot be here; it is only for people staying at the hotel. I told her I did not know and asked if I could go for one more swim in the pool to cool off because I was just in that hot room and I need to cool off. She says, "Ok, but then you have to leave and do not come back."

She then moved on, and as I turned, a man was sitting in a lounge chair who had overheard everything. He smiled at me and said in a hushed tone, "You should have told her your parents were in the room and did not want to be disturbed and sent you to the pool. She would have said OK, and not checked."

Keeping my voice down, I said, "Thanks, I guess I blew it then, and now she knows me, so I won't be able to come back."

"She's not the only lifeguard, they have others that work different days, so you just need to look out for her. So how far away do you live?"

"About two miles in that direction."

"I haven't seen anyone else with you the past hour. Are you here by yourself?"

"Yes, I walked here by myself to check out the new pool."

"Do you have a summer job?"

"No. I could be mowing lawns or something, but I don't have a lawnmower that's any good. We only have a rotary one with dull blades and rusty wheels. You can barely push it. The kids that have the power mowers make money. I wish I could make money. I never have any."

"Well, I got out of work early today, and I am here on business and could use some help. Think you might be interested?"

"Yeah, definitely. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it." My voice had raised a bit and the man brought his hand to his chin and then with a quick short motion, did the shush sign with his forefinger, just quick enough for me to get the message.

Motioning me closer, I lean over to hear, "It's confidential, so I can't tell you here and you would have to agree to keep it secret forever. Think you can do that?"

"Yeah, I keep a lot of stuff secret, I'm good at that. Is it stuff like they do over at that manufacturing place, the one with barbed wire and guards? They say they make military stuff."

"Not quite, but if you're interested, I can pay you more than you'd make mowing a lawn."

"Yeah, I'm real interested."

"What did you wear getting here?"

"My clothes are over there, gym shorts, a tee shirt, and flip-flops."

"Ok, are you hungry? It's a bit early for dinner, only four, but we could go for something quick."

"Uh-oh, I have to be home for dinner at 5:15, but I can come back after dinner. It only takes me 20 minutes to eat and then I could be back here by 6:30. Can I come back? I really want to make money."

"Well, do you have time to talk and then decide if you want the job or not?"

"I definitely want the job."

"You are eager, I like that. Get dressed and then follow me out the front. Not too close, I don't want people to know we're together."

Once clear of the hotel, he heads in the direction I told him I lived and then stops in front of a store. I catch up and we walk together. I promise again to keep everything secret forever and then he asks me if I have ever taken my clothes off in secret, like with a friend, because most boys have, not in the school showers or anything, but secretly.

"Yeah, I've done that."

"What did you do?"

"Well, stuff, but if I told you then it would not be a secret anymore." I thought he was testing me, and I am good at taking tests.

"Ah, good. Have you done anything like that with a man? Stuff like you did with a friend?"

"Maybe."

"Ok, I think I can trust you. Can you come to my room after dinner?"

"How much do I get paid?"

"Ah, you are a smart one, depends on what we do. You'll have to take your clothes off, you know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can you wear something different? You'll blend in better at the hotel with dress shorts, a button-down shirt or polo shirt, and loafers."

"What are loafers?"

"Like moccasins, or boat shoes, do you have any of those?"

"No."

"Do you have good looking sneakers, like new looking?"

"Yeah, I have those."

"Good, come to room 812 and knock."

Chapter Twelve

Hurrying the rest of the way home, all I can think about is finally being able to go up in the highest building in the city and looking out. The adults have said you can see all over the city from the wraparound bar and restaurant at the top. That would be great if we went there, but I am meeting him in his room, still pretty high up. I cannot wait to look out the window. I picture myself naked in his room, and wonder what the rooms look like, I had never been in a hotel room before. They say every room has its own bathroom, with a full-size bathtub and all. The old hotel on that site was built so long ago they had one bathroom on each floor and no air-conditioning. I have seen pictures of it at the historical society room in the museum on the oval. It was wooden and probably only about four stories high and the pictures show horses and buggies out front. There are other pictures of the grand ballroom and lobby, all black and white, and in some of them, the people are blurred. Apparently, you had to stand real still for pictures back then. It was torn down for this new modern high rise, not too many years ago, but I do not remember the old one. I have a vague memory of this one under construction, with fencing surrounding the whole place and scaffolding around what would be the hotel, but when I saw it, it was only about half as tall as it would be when it was done. I was little back then.

***

As I went in the front door, I could smell the chlorine, and knew my mother would too. She always said something if we did not shower after swimming at the Boys' Club, but the Boys' Club pool was closed in the summer for maintenance: painting and stuff. They ran an overnight summer camp west of the city and closed the downtown building for July and most of August as the staff moved to the summer camp. I went to summer camp for two weeks when I was eight, nine, and ten, but decided not to go this year. I like the freedom of doing what I want when I want during the summer, instead of having periods when it was your turn to go swimming and having to show up at the activities you signed up for at the right time. They did have a camp wide sound system that blew to tell you a period was over and then you only had so many minutes to get to your next period. They had different sounds for different stuff, like lunch and dinner. The 16-year-old counselors took attendance, helped by the 14-year-old counselors in training, or CITs they called them, not many were nice, just a few. It was fun, except the mandatory rest period after lunch, which I was convinced was for the counselors, not us kids, and the early bugle call in the morning, and marching down to the dining hall with fog still rising off the lake. Too early in the morning, obviously. Ah, I keep digressing, I did let you know my mind does that. I daydream a lot at school, the teachers have noticed and called me out on it and my mother was told too, but she thinks it is the school's responsibility when I am there and hers when I am home, she has too many kids to keep track of them everywhere she says.

Anyway, I cannot have my mother asking me questions about why I smell like chlorine, so I dart up the stairs and into the bathroom, glad no one was in there. I strip off, put my speedo in the hamper and jump in the shower for a fast shower. When I get out, I smell chlorine still and realize it is coming from my speedos in the hamper. I bury them under the other clothes. It is almost dinner time as I decide to put my gym shorts and tee shirt back on and run downstairs. I never went without underpants before and the rush of air as I descended the stairs felt weird. Running my fingers through my hair like a comb, I head to the kitchen, on time. I am not the last one to arrive, but everyone does rush in.

My father is sitting at the head of the table and my mother is taking stuff off the stove and putting it on the table. We have a hot meal every day, no matter how hot it is outside, but everyone is eyeing the food waiting for my mother to sit down, and when she does, my father is first and then passes the bowl or plate to his right to my oldest brother, then next oldest, then me, then my mother, who sits at the other end of the table. My youngest brother is next to my mother, no longer in a highchair, which was always at that spot so my mother could feed whoever was in it at the time before the next one came along.

Dinner is uneventful, the best kind, my older brothers eat lightning fast and then take more, there is little conversation, mostly just the sound of forks and knives against the plates. My parents do talk, and no one is in trouble, so there is not the dreaded raised voice from my father and threats of a beating after dinner. That is the most interaction my father has with us, he is the disciplinarian, and does not take any interest in what any of us are doing. I do not remember him asking even the simplest of questions, like, Did you win your hockey game? What did you do today? How is school going? Then again, it would probably take forever to go around the table, prolonging dinner.

Finishing my plate, a requirement, I get up, put my plate in the sink, and head upstairs to change. I do have dress shorts, my older brother's hand-me-down. I wonder if anyone noticed that I was not wearing underpants. I know if I was sitting on a chair in the living room, with my legs open, then I am sure you could see right up them. I know you can see boys' underpants when they are wearing gym shorts, because I look at school during gym and during the summer. Should I go without tonight? I wonder.

As I am zipping up, I feel the zipper against my dicky and stop. If it becomes caught, and I have heard about kids at summer camp where that has happened, and then having to go to the nurse to get unstuck and then a band aid–how embarrassing, because she was a woman. I have pictured the scene before, especially after it goes around camp and everyone wants to know who, and then the whole camp knows who, the ultimate embarrassment. I stop, but should I put my own underpants on or my brother's underpants? I put my own on, I do not want to risk having him barge in and then making a scene. I find a nice polo shirt and tuck it in, then my better-looking sneakers with high top socks. I race down the stairs and out the front door. Good, no one saw me.

It takes about a half hour to walk there, maybe it is not really a full two miles, I do not really know, but it does take me a little longer than that when I go to the library, but this time I hurry along. I cannot wait, this is exciting, naked, looking out the window from the eighth floor will be thrilling. So high up and able to see everything. I wonder what it will be like. I am sure different than when you are up on the top of the mountain, where the cars and houses look tiny. Oh, but if I am naked, I should not be at the window where I could be seen. I wonder if someone on the ground could see you up that high? I pick up the pace.

***

As told, I go in the side entrance on West Street, where the elevators are, just off the front lobby that faces the oval and is on either Upper Main, or Lower Main. I do not know, maybe the buildings around the oval are not on any of those streets, just, "on the oval." I get in and press the button for the eighth floor. I find room 812 and knock. No one answers. I wait, before knocking again, this time a little louder. A man in the room next to this one opens his door and looks out, before I hear him tell someone, "It's the room next door."

Then the door behind me opens and it is the man from the pool, "Come in."

"Wrong room, I thought you said, 812."

"I did. I was watching you through the peep hole."

"How come?"

"To be sure you were alone and following directions. You're on time, punctual, I like that."

"I had to hurry, especially after I saw the clock on the front of the bank building. I jogged some of the way."

"Good, let me see you, stand at attention."

"Yes, sir." It reminded me of the military, well, army movies. So I stood at attention, hands to my side, looking straight ahead into the room, just inside the doorway.

The man ran his hand through my hair and said, "You need to brush this better; you look like you just got out of bed."

"Sorry, I had to shower as soon as I got home to get the chlorine smell off, and then run down for dinner. We cannot be late for dinner at my house. Then I forgot after dinner."

"Do you have a belt?"

"No, I don't."

"Ok," was all he said, as he pulled my shirt out from my shorts, and I instinctively raised my hands.

The man put his fingers inside the waistband of my shorts, feeling how tight they were, like my mother does when trying on clothes for school. He tugged them up a bit. My mother does the same, must be another one of those adult things.

"Take those socks off, they don't look good, but first give me those sneakers so I can use a wet towel to clean them up better."

Kicking off my sneakers and handing them to the man, I sat down on a chair to take off my socks and sneakers, as he went into the bathroom. I could not help looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse out the window, only seeing the closed curtains. The room did have its own bathroom and a really big bed, bigger than my parents, and chairs, a desk, a TV … this was great.

Suddenly I felt the pull of a comb through my hair as the man was behind me combing it.

"Where do you part your hair."

"On the side, this side," motioning with my hand.

"I am going to part it off center, same side, more towards the top."

I did not know why, but I did not question it. I put my sneakers back on, with no socks.

"Ok, one last look before we go. Stand up … turn sideways … turn around…"

The man was adjusting my shirt, his hands on me the whole time, turning me as he said it. He really did not have to say anything, I knew what to do the way his hands were directing me. He wiped something off my butt cheek, both cheeks, one at a time. I did not move. He gave it a slap, like coach does when the boys come in off the ice to the bench, not hard.

Facing me, and not saying anything, he put his hand between my legs and pushed up on my crotch. Next, he reached under my shirt and hooked his thumbs on either side of my shorts and pulled them up, enough to lift me off the ground.

"We don't have much time, I have a dinner reservation at 7 and we'll just make it. They'll hold it until 7:30. Don't tuck your shirt in without a belt."

"Ok. But I ate already."

"Yes, I know, I haven't, but I'm sure you can find room for dessert."

Then we left the room, taking the elevator down to the parking garage. He had a nice car, with a Hertz sticker on the bumper.

We drove south on Lower Main Street, not too far, crossing the line into the next town before pulling into what looked like a really nice restaurant.

***

Opening the door for the man and stepping aside so he could go in first, I followed. The maître d' seated us as a waiter picked up my cloth napkin and arranged it on my lap, while the bus boy poured ice water into our glasses. This was a fancy restaurant.

"The menu sir, and you master." There was that word that sent a tingle down my spine, but I knew he did not mean it that way. Boys were called master, as in master Erik, men were called sir in higher society. A few teachers in school still used the term, the old women, who for unknown reasons had not retired yet.

Looking at the menu, the prices were higher than what I ever saw at a restaurant with my godmother. She was going to charm school at night to learn how to become a proper lady so she could catch a nice man. She used me for practice, as a proper young lady would not go to a nice restaurant alone. We were always celebrating something–not really–she would just tell the waiter or waitress that. Sometimes I would get a special dessert because it was my birthday … so they thought.

I knew what all the silverware was for, using them from the outside to the inside going towards my plate, dessert spoon across the top, crossing your silverware on your plate if not finished, together with handles at the 4 o'clock position when done. Used silverware is not returned to the table but kept on your plate. Napkin back on the table to the left if finished, used for your hands only, and then only one side, and carefully folded over to hold or capture any food or sauce… Holding the door for a lady. Excusing myself by just saying, "Excuse me." No one wants to know you are going to the restroom. On and on, water glasses, wine and champagne, butter dish, bread plate… I did have fun and I loved my godmother better than anyone. She was also my aunt, and the youngest on my father's side.

"Can I try one of the appetizers?"

"Sure. You didn't want to go straight to dessert?"

"I don't see dessert on the menu. Do they have a dessert cart or a dessert menu?"

"A dessert cart, should I ask them to bring it over?"

"No, that's ok, I would like to try one of the appetizers."

Dinner was nice. The man said he noticed how well behaved I was at the pool, and the way I casually fit in as if I were a seasoned guest. Usually when boys come to the pool that are not guests, and he said I was not the first, they stand out and are quickly asked to leave. So, making it as long as I did was something. He told me he was surprised when he overheard that I was a local boy on my own. The adventurous type, which the more we spoke over dinner, the more he found out that I really was adventurous, on my own most of the time with a detached father and a mother busy taking care of my younger brothers, cooking, cleaning, and running the household.

After dinner–I did have that dessert, but skipped the main meal–we went back to the hotel. He complimented me on my table manners, far beyond my years and the first boy to really know how to behave in a fancy restaurant. He said most boys flunk within minutes, some make a lot of mistakes, but I did everything right and he was curious about that, so I told him about my godmother, who is also my aunt. I had a good teacher.

"It's hard finding boys like you, that one boy in ten I say, so many don't make it this far in the interview."

"Oh, thank you. Was that part of the interview?" There was that one in ten number too, and my first thought about one in ten boys are homos, that is what my cousin Tom had said, so I felt good about this whole thing, convinced I was one of those one-in-ten boys.

"Yes, well, part of the rating. I rate boys according to their abilities. The most important being able to keep a secret and be very discrete when in public. Other things, like how they look, how they stay in shape physically, how they dress, their mannerisms. Their availability. Not all boys are hired, and some boys are hired for the better jobs."

"Oh, I guess I didn't pass the dress part, you had to fix that."

"That's one of the least important, easy to fix. The hard stuff you excelled at. You carried on conversations at dinner quite well, you're articulate, and obviously intelligent. Those things I can't fix."

"Does that mean I get the job?"

"Not yet, there is still more I need to know. What time do you need to be home?"

"8:30"

"You're late, it's after nine."

With an under the breath, "Ahhh, I'm in trouble."

"Let me drop you off nearby, and come to my room at the hotel tomorrow, same time."

"Ok, thanks."

***

From the outside, I checked through the windows. My father was in the living room watching TV and my mother was in the kitchen. Both doors blocked. We had a large cast iron vent pipe that ran up the outside of the house at the corner, which I decided to use to get onto the roof of the front porch and then in through the window of my parents' room, with windows open in the summer, and screens easy to push up from the outside, I then snuck down the hall and into my room.

I took off my shorts and polo shirt and threw them in the closet on the floor, I did not want my mother knowing I wore them. She knew I wore gym shorts and a tee shirt today.

I jumped in bed. It was not long before Twerp came in, maybe 20 minutes.

Shouting down the hall, "Hey, he's up here; in bed."

"Where were you? Dad's going to kill you."

"In bed."

"You were not, I was up here earlier and you weren't here."

My mother came in and asked the same question.

"I was in bed–I don't know why you didn't see me–maybe I was in the bathroom when you looked–I don't know why you didn't see me come in–I was tired, I didn't want to watch TV."

"He's lying, mom."

"I am not."

"Ok, next time, let me know you're home, I've been waiting for you and your father too."

Yeah, I thought, waiting to exercise his belt.

***

The next day was typical, except I spent time cleaning my sneakers so they shined. I even used white shoe polish on them. I took a shower before dinner, and made sure I was clean everywhere, including, well especially, my boy pussy as Mark had taken to calling it. I combed my hair a little higher on the side, just as the man did.

I was the first done with dinner and I raced upstairs to put the same dress shorts back on, I only had the one pair, but a different polo shirt. With no belt, I left my shirt untucked. No socks.

Knocking on the right door this time, the man opened the door and in a very low voice asked me if anyone was up or down the hall.

"Yes, I said, there's a man locking his door, and now he's coming this way."

"Go back towards the elevator and come back when there is no one in the hallway."

It was then, that the man poked his head out and in a normal voice that the man walking down the hall could hear, "Sorry, you have the wrong room."

"At the elevator, the man caught up and said, what room are you looking for?"

"912"

"This is the 8^th floor, one more up, it might be easier to just take the stairs, I'm going down."

"Thanks," as I went towards the stairs the man stepped into the elevator and I went back to 812.

I told the man what I said and did, and he smiled and said, "Good, I knew you'd be good for this job."

It was not really hard I thought, with six brothers, you had to be quick with your tongue, otherwise, you would not survive, like last night with Twerp and my mother.

I noticed a tray table in the room, with dinner on it under a silver cover. I guess we were staying in tonight.

Standing inside the doorway, the man noticed my sneakers, shirt, and hair, and said, "Boy, you really want this job, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

"I know you will, I noticed how well you behaved yesterday, moving easily with just the touch of my hand, and not moving when I adjusted the crotch on your shorts, or rubbed your butt, even a nice slap."

"Was that part of the interview too?"

"Yes, it was."

"And I passed."

"You did, and if you didn't, then we would not have moved on to dinner."

"Oh, what would we have done?"

"Probably not much, as I said I'm looking for those very special boys, and I think you're an exceptional boy."

I started to blush, as the man looked into my eyes, his hands on my shoulders, holding me firmly but gently, not speaking, just smiling. After a moment, he pulled my lower lip down with his right thumb and slowly put it into my mouth, pushing down on my tongue. I opened my mouth wider. The pressure lifted, so I closed my mouth on his thumb and instinctively started to suck on it while using my tongue.

"I would say you have some experience. I thought so when I told you would have to take your clothes off. It's at that point most boys are gone and I don't see them again, but you didn't even hesitate. I wasn't sure if you were working the streets though, because if you were, you would have come on to a number of the men at the pool, but you didn't."

"I have some, I know stuff, I read a lot."

Picking up men was not something I knew about. Mark was the only man who picked me up, and if I could find that other boy again, I would need to learn more, like where to go, what to say, how to do it. He did give me a lot of information, but not enough.

The man lifted my shirt and I raised my hands, this time the shirt came off.

"Take your shoes off."

As I did that, the man sat down and started to eat his dinner as I stood there waiting for the next instruction. "Come closer, stand there in front of me."

He was eating chicken with a sauce on it, asparagus, and small broiled potatoes.

Standing as directed, hands to my side, I stayed quiet. Slave boys do not speak unless told to and do not question orders. I was in slave boy mode and I liked it. This man was definitely in charge and knew what he was doing, not like Mark, who needed my direction. With a hand motion, while he was chewing, I moved to his side and stood while he rubbed my butt with his hand, moving to my back next. He did a twirl motion with his left hand, and I turned around. He squeezed and fondled my crotch with his right hand and then went back to eating. A stroke to my belly and then a circular rubbing with his index finger around my tits was next. All with no speaking and with him eating his dinner in-between. He had me raise my arms onto my head next and used his index finger to check my armpit.

Then he tapped his index finger on the top of my shorts, where the snap was, and I unsnapped them, lowered them to the floor, stepped out, and returned my hands to my head. More squeezing and fondling on the outside of my underpants as he finished his dinner.

Standing up, and pushing the dinner cart aside, he said, "You are an exceptional boy; the best."

Pride filled me like never before. No one had ever complimented me like that, certainly not my parents, maybe my godmother, but with her it was more about how much she loved me, no matter what. Even with Mark, I never felt this proud as I was now standing there.

The man put his fingers in my mouth, one at a time and then together, as I licked and sucked them clean before he used the napkin.

Grabbing a 3-ring binder, he moved to a stuffed chair in the room and had me in front of him. As directed, I removed my underpants as he felt my balls by lifting them with his fingers. He talked while writing notes, but did not ask me questions, so I stayed quiet.

"Removed underpants without hesitating and did not cover up. Hard straight erection that points up to his belly button. Stayed hard through dinner. Balls are dropping nicely, and feel good, normal for an 11-year-old, almost 12. Some downy hairs just above the penis, but no pubes yet. Does not pull back when touched."

Pulling a small ruler out of the jacket packet of the binder, he measured 3 inches [7.5 cm] and noted it. Thin.

"We'll have to measure it soft later."

I was not sure how we would do that, I can stay hard for hours, and the way this man is treating me, like a slave boy, it will never get soft.

He examined my skin, head to toe, including how well I clipped my nails–short, I do not like them long on either my fingers or toes. He had me kneeling as he checked the hair on my scalp, dirty blond at the roots, bleached out from the summer sun.

Standing again, he noted a firm round butt that filled my shorts earlier, "Boy exercises daily, swimming, biking, sports. Very active outdoors. Light tan, with tan lines from a speedo. Arms are darker, wears a shirt most of the time."

Spreading my legs, I bend over and grab my ankles for that inspection.

"Very clean, well-scrubbed with a nice red rose bud."

Weighing myself in the bathroom, I was 105 pounds, I had gained a little weight and thought that was good, more muscle.

For the next inspection, I was on all fours on the bed as the man inserted a small dildo into my boy pussy. It was lubricated and went in with a short "Ah" as I relaxed and pushed out. Once it was all the way in, and I was used to it, the man had me lay on my back with my head at the foot of the bed. He pulled some rope from the corners of the bed, that he must have put there earlier and with leather cuffs attached. I knew what they were and what he was about to do, and I put myself into a spread-eagle position.

"I've never gone this far with a new boy, but I do think you're exceptional, one in a million," he said as he was removing his clothes.

I was looking around to see him, holding my head up, because only my shoulders were on the bed, not my head.

"You don't seem scared, which is amazing to me. Do you know what I want you to do?"

"I think so. I think you want me to give you a blowjob, and in this position, I think you want to face fuck my throat, but I can't, I'll gag and throw up, but I can blow you."

"You do have experience, but I'll probably never know, will I."

"No, it wouldn't be a secret if I told."

"That's another thing I like about you."

"What's the other?"

"You never question me when I tell you what to do or ask me a lot of questions. Not even my name or anything about me. The people I work with don't like the boys to know anything about them. Usually, I have to keep reminding them, but you never ask."

"Oh, yeah, I was brought up to never question an adult, so I forget to even ask anything."

The head of his cock was now dangling in front of my lips, so I sucked it in. This part of the interview test I was sure I could pass, at least I thought I was good at it and Mark never complained, well not after the first few times I accidentally brushed my teeth against his throbbing rod.

"Do you want me to let you know before I cum?"

Taking a breather, I said, "It's up to you, I don't mind the taste."

"Oh, you keep getting more and more special. I might pull out and spray it on your chest and stomach. Would you like that?"

"That's ok too."

"And feed it to you afterwards?"

In a mumbled response this time, I was able to say, "OK."

The man did not force it down my throat, letting me do the work with my mouth, until he was close, and then he would pull out and drop his balls in. I worked my magic on those until he put his dick back in my mouth. It was not long before he did spray onto my chest and belly.

"You are one hot boy, has anyone ever told you that?"

"No, you're the first."

Sitting on the edge of the bed he fed me his cum off my belly, which did not taste as good as getting it straight from the hose as the teenage boys at the corner would say, but it was ok. He left me cuffed and spread-eagle on the bed as we talked, I ate, and he pushed on the dildo with his other hand.

I was not a virgin, which was unfortunate because I could have made a ton of money for that first time. He said I had got the job, and the way he would contact me is through the personal section in the Phoenix newspaper, a free paper with personals and advertisements that I could pick up from one of the many newspaper boxes on Upper Main in the business district. I was to look for "Congratulations Erik, Uncle MB and," he would add a letter to indicate the day of the week to meet, [MTWRFS]. That meant to meet him on the sidewalk bench in front of the hotel between 6:30 and 7 on that day. R was used for Thursday, so it would not be mistaken for Tuesday and Sunday would have MB and Son. He would not say anything to me, I was to follow him at a distance to a safe spot.

MB thought I looked cute there, sucking his fingers clean and my belly rising and falling in a heavy manner as he increased the speed of his pushing on the dildo.

"Need some relief?"

"Yeah, badly." I told him about Twerp and how hard it was to have time to myself, as he shushed me and picked up the rhythm. Soon, the orgasm started, sending waves of pleasure up and down my body and MB smiled and went faster. I was twisting and turning in the cuffs, making it difficult for MB to keep up the pace as his hand would slip away only to grab on again.

Squirt! It happened, a small amount of clear liquid that MB wiped up with his finger and brought to my nose.

"Precum, nothing yet," before tasting it himself. There was not any left for me, it was only a little drop.

***

I was dropped off at the flower shop and given $100 that I was told to put in a passbook savings account. Anyone finding that much money would become too suspicious.

Now I have two men.

Chapter Thirteen

As I lie in bed, I feel good, happy really. No need to play with myself tonight and risk Twerp catching me. He will have the same issue in a couple of years, and I will be sure to keep an eye on him and make it as difficult as I can for him. Payback.

My head is a jumble of thoughts as this whirlwind of a summer has changed my life. I went from knowing what a blowjob was and picturing a boy licking another boy's balls, yeah, those expressions that boys use with other boys, "blow me–lick my balls–kiss my ass–you homo," I had visualized them time and again, but this summer, with the help of those books and magazines and meeting Mark, it became more than thoughts in my head. I bet the boys at the corner do not know nearly as much as I do now. They just talk about getting into a girl's pants, or feeling her titties, but I bet that is all they have done, talk, talk, talk.

Oh, shoot, Mark. He will be expecting me on Saturday. What if MB wants me on Saturday? Oh, wait, that would not be until after dinner. Whew. Wait. What if the message is "Congratulations Erik, Uncle MB and R." What if on Thursday he tells me to meet him on Saturday? Do I have to choose? Could I just skip Mark and tell him I had to go on another picnic? Maybe a family thing? Maybe MB will not ask me to see him on Saturday. Oh, what about Sunday? Did I tell MB I have to be home for church, grandma, and Sunday dinner?

I do not feel good anymore, this is really complicated, and now I cannot sleep.

***

The next day, I ride my bike downtown to find the newspaper. I have seen the boxes chained to posts, but I never stopped for a newspaper. We have the Tribune delivered every afternoon, some kid I do not know. There are three boxes, the Tribune, Phoenix, and Sampler. The Tribune is 10 cents, the other two are free. A man puts a dime in, opens the box, and takes a paper. Hmm, what would prevent someone from taking all of them? I take a Phoenix and Sampler and head over to the Veteran's Park, a small park on a downtown corner with a statue on a granite block commemorating the veterans from the Great War and a newer one for World War II, none for the Korean War, they must have their own memorial. There are several benches, small trees planted in big pots, and some flowers. It is a small park if you ask me, too small to even call it a park. Behind it, going down the side street is the bus/train station. The train comes through twice a day, in the morning it is going East and in the evening West. Some people take it in the early morning to the state capital and return at night. A day trip. I heard it is a two-hour train trip in each direction. The buses go in all directions and at all times. I do not know where they go, I never thought about it, I have just seen them pulling in and out. They avoid downtown on the way in and out.

Checking the Sampler first, I find the personal section, and look for my name. Not there, but a lot of interesting stuff. Roommates, stuff for sale, stuff people looking to buy, and a lot of advertisements for sales at local stores. Entertainment has all the movies that are playing plus things like plays and music. I did not know we had this much going on here. I know we have a lot of tourists, escaping the summer heat, so I guess they need to do something besides camping at the state forest.

The Phoenix is next and I decide to read some of the personals. Weird, they seem to use a lot of letters, like "WM looking for YWM must be outgoing fun open to new experiences and games reply to box 45219." Some are "WF seeks older WM." Whoa, some give details, like, "17 but look 14, 135 lbs, blond hair blue eyes, want to hear from someone older, nice, sincere, etc. Pic required. Reply to box 46817." Then, advertisements for magazines and film, "Chicken Lovers, the latest from Europe." It goes on and on, and in one ad, it says, "Scrumptious chicken, from springers to roosters, only for those with a pocketbook to match your gourmet taste. Details sent after a detailed letter from you."

Chickens are boys that do sex stuff and chicken hawks are the men who like to do sex stuff with boys. I read that in one of the books, so it is true, and I cannot believe they advertise like that, and films too, I did not know they made movies. Maybe I will tell Mark to buy some movies.

Finding, "Placing Ads," I see they charge by the letter, hence some of them use very few. The reply box is extra and they charge by the week. Ah, "Ads must be in by Tuesday noon for Wednesday's paper." It only comes out once a week. That means I will not hear from MB until next Wednesday's paper. I am free to see Mark this weekend.

***

Two weeks seems like a long time, and it is. I meet Mark at the flower shop, wearing my brother's underpants. He does not say anything to me, just drives towards his house, in silence. I am nervous and try to explain but Mark cuts me off and says, "Slaves only speak when spoken to and given permission."

In silence, I go to the back door and strip down, leaving my underpants on and putting my ankle and wrist cuffs on. I am nervous, I have never been this worried about meeting with Mark, in fact, I have always been excited, and my dicky can attest to that. This time though, there is no tent in my underpants and I try to fix that with some rubbing and thoughts of sex. It works a little bit, but not enough as Mark comes to the slider and lets me in.

Still not speaking, he motions me to the coffee table in the living room and I take my position, standing on the table, hands behind my head, fingers interlocked, feet spread as far as the ends of my elbows. I look straight ahead–out the picture window! The shades are up and the drapes wide open. Terror grips me as I begin to tremble. Fear of being caught? Fear of what Mark, my Master, has in store for me? Both?

The house is set back a good distance from the road and there are no sidewalks. I see an occasional car go by as I suck in a breath each time and keep a keen eye on it as it passes. Mark is sitting on the couch, behind me. What is he thinking? Why is he not speaking to me? Why is he not inspecting me? How long will I have to stand here? This is not how I imagined being a slave, a sex slave, a boy slave to a man. The stories were different, the men took their pleasure from the boys. The boys faked pain and suffering, well mostly, it was a game, it was exciting. This is not fun.

My belly has butterflies. I am on display, wearing my little brother's underpants. A boy in underpants, even small ones, is not an unusual sight on a Saturday morning at home, I guess. I should relax, but I cannot. Why does Mark not talk to me? I need to tell him that I had to go on a picnic with my family. He did say he was 11 once, and was so nice to me before, but he has changed and I am not sure I like this game anymore. It was not my fault I missed him last Saturday.

The silence is miserable, even the TV is not on, we should be watching cartoons together. Should I just tell him? I am sure that would make things better. I tried to do that when he shushed me in a mean tone, saying, "Slaves do not speak unless spoken to."

Maybe this slave thing is not for me, I tried it, like I tried cross country skiing, and after a few times, decided I did not like it, too much work and no thrills. Downhill skiing was so much better, racing down the hill, jumping from mogul to mogul, old people yelling at us after cutting them off. They should have stayed on the green circle slopes, at best the blue squares, not the double diamonds. What were they thinking, slowly edging their way around all the moguls? Going from one side of the slope to the other? Hey point your skis downhill! Stupid tourists. We skied twice a week in the winter, Tuesday night was dollar night at the smaller area and half price on Wednesday night at the bigger area, for locals only. We had to show our library cards sometimes.

Thinking of something else was helping the queasiness in my belly. I did not have a boner, another indication that this was not for me, at least not anymore. MB was a new excitement. I never knew what he was planning. He would just spring it on me, tell me what to do in a matter-of-fact manner. No hesitation on his part. The $100 was a real surprise, he said it was to ensure I returned. A down payment on the future he called it. Like a layaway at the store. He told me I was one-in-a-million. I already knew I was one of those one-in-ten boys, but that really made me feel great. With those thoughts I could feel my insides beaming. Thoughts of MB, not Mark.

Lost in my thoughts, time started to pass more quickly. Was this that psychological warfare I saw on the news months back, when it was too cold and raining outside after dinner? The North Vietnamese were using it, the news guy reminded people of that Japanese woman on the radio during WWII. I wondered why the United States did not use it too, maybe they did. A new game, the silent game, and I am determined to win, because competing and winning is what I like to do. A win in hockey was exciting, a loss sucked. Baseball the same. Basketball was not my sport, I played … well, I kept the bench warm as they say before I quit to focus on hockey. I tried out for the swim team at the Boys' Club, but that seemed like too much work, swimming laps at every practice and then at a swim meet, you waited and waited and waited, until your event came up, which lasted all of a few minutes, although all the boys in speedos was great.

Yes, I am very submissive in some circumstances, yet in others, I take the lead. I liked it when Mark told me what to do, I took the lead when it was time to go back to the state forest and retrieve those books and magazines. Taking the lead with Mark and telling him what he needed to do was necessary, it was me that told him to go over the state line to that adult store and what to buy. Hitchhiking to find the right man was my idea, and I decided who I would play with, saying no to that fat old man, but yes to the high school kid. I make mistakes, and then work to improve, that is what my coaches talk about, pointing out mistakes, working harder to improve. Was Mark a mistake? Is MB the right man for me? MB is so mysterious. Do I take the chance, burn the bridge with Mark, as they say?

***

It has been a long time, how long, I do not know. Mark finally gets up and closes the shades and draws the drapes. Did I win? Did I outsmart him? I stayed silent and standing. My drifting thoughts make time move faster, just like a school day: the end-of-day bell comes sooner when I daydream. I stand as directed, eyes forward, hands behind my head still, fingers interlocked, no boner.

Mark goes down to the basement and returns. I keep looking forward, not daring to look towards the basement door which is off the hallway leading to the bedrooms, it is the first door on the left.

Whack–whack–whack! It is that rubber paddle. It stings. The hits are hard and my underpants no protection. It is wide and long, the paddle hits across both cheeks at the same time.

Yanking down my underpants to just above the knees, I feel Mark's hand on my butt, yes, Mark's hand, I am not thinking about him as my master. I am sure it is red and warm. Mark places his hand between my legs, palm down as he tries to push my underpants down further. The stretched waistband is at its limit, I need to close my legs, but should I? No such command from Mark. I am playing the game to the max, I do as I am told, but maybe I should, as I should be anticipating my Master's desires. I should be docile. Did I not get onto the coffee table with hand gestures and no spoken words? I close my legs and my underpants go down to my ankles so fast that Master falls forward, his head hitting me in the small of my back.

As I step out of my underpants and spread my legs again, whack–whack–whack!

Maybe I deserve this. Maybe there was something I could have done. I could have called Master and let him know, if I had his phone number. I never asked. Calling me is out of the question. Who would he say he was when asked? My mother is the one who usually answers the phone.

Whack!

"Whose butt is this?"

"My butt."

"Wrong, try again."

Whack!

"Your butt Master."

"And why wasn't it here for my enjoyment last Saturday?"

"I had to go on a picnic to the state forest. I didn't know we were going until Saturday morning."

Whack!

"And you waited until this Saturday to tell me?"

"Sorry, Master, I don't have your phone number."

"And you couldn't ride your bike here and leave a message on my door?"

"Sorry, Master, I did not think."

"Did you play ball the past two weeks?"

"Yes, Master, we played stick ball."

"Did you think I might want to play with my balls?" as Master held my nuts tightly, pulling downward."

"Sorry, Master."

"I hope you did not play with my balls or my little prick. Did you?" as Master now had a firm grip on my dinky and was pulling it down harshly.

"Yes, Master, I did."

"Without my permission, without asking me, you decided to play with my toys. You deserve more punishment. Head down to the basement."

***

This was not good. Master seems genuinely mad at me, and something told me this was no longer a game. I held out my arms as ropes were attached to my cuffed wrists and then to the eye hooks screwed into the overhead beam. Next it was my ankle cuffs to the posts.

"Master, I'm afraid, you look really mad, and I'm afraid you will damage me."

"Do you know how much I worried about you? That something might have happened to you? Do you know how much I care about you?"

"I am so sorry; I should have gotten a message to you. Please, punish me, but don't damage me."

"Punish you I will, for my own satisfaction. Spanking you, paddling you, is something I think you enjoy. So, this is not your punishment, but my way of taking out my anger on you. You're supposed to belong to me. I own you. I always take care of the things I own. Like my car, my racing bike … you."

"Master, if I am to be yours, then why haven't you given me a collar yet?"

"It was going to be a birthday present, but now I'm not sure you deserve it."

It was a punishment paddling that came next, not a maintenance spanking, those are slow and soft, the stinging not coming until the end after your butt is red like a sunburn. Then it is over, quickly, sometimes with a couple of hard smacks at the end. Those I can take, and maybe I do enjoy them, or maybe it is the attention I enjoy, the rubbing of my butt between smacks. The nakedness, the naughtiness, the excitement.

My screaming brings out the ball gag, I do believe Master intends to damage my butt. I try to take my mind off it, I retreat into daydreaming, my preferred escape.

No one pays attention to me at home, well except Twerp. My mother is always busy with cooking, cleaning, shopping, and taking care of my little brothers. Maybe they should have stopped after me, that would have been better. My father does his own thing, goes to work, sits at the dinner table, and what else, I do not know. I have heard him say that taking care of children is women's work, and he does not get in their way. He does not attend my sports, does not bring me, or pick me up. We walk: rain, snow, or sleet, like the mailman.

The paddling stops and Mark goes upstairs. I am left standing, tied spread-eagled, my head slumps.

***

My chest is heaving as my head bobs up and down on it, my face soaked from crying. MB would not do anything like this, at least I do not think so, but he is still a mystery. Should I tell Mark about MB? This does not seem like the right time. I told MB, I do not tell anyone anything. I promised to keep our secret. I could tell Mark there is another man, and not provide any more information than that. That would be keeping our secret, after all, I can trust Mark with something like that, we have done far more this summer.

That will not work, Mark did say I was his property, my butt, my balls, my dink belong to Mark, that is what he told me. On Saturday, that is, like the paperboy in the story, who spent Saturdays with that man, but in that story, the boy did not fool around with any other men.

The street boys from New York City did stuff with whoever was paying them and pretended to be whoever the man wanted them to be, for the right amount of money that is.

Mark does not pay me anything, sure he buys me stuff, but not like the paperboy who received a generous tip every week, or the virgin boy in the New York City story. MB paid me more money than I have ever seen.

Time is passing slowly, I guess I deserved this. I made no attempt to let Mark know why I was not there last Saturday. I could have biked out and left a message. I could have waited for him at the five-point intersection, where the market is, I know that is the way he bikes home from work. I could have asked him for his phone number, but I never did. I still hold back from asking adults anything, and I certainly do not question what an adult says, that always brought an immediate slap across the face or at least a scolding.

A long time passes before Mark returns and unties me. He motions me upstairs where he sits on the couch, legs spread. He looks down between his legs and I know to kneel there and ask permission to suck his cock. He will need to speak now, I need an answer, but none comes. He simply undoes his belt, zips down his fly, and motions with his finger. I take care of the rest.

My hands wrap around the base of his rod and I pull the head towards me for a soft kiss. I make sure to look up at Master as my tongue runs along the length of the shaft before sucking the head into my mouth. I have become a good cocksucker. I lick just under the head, as taught, as the books instructed, as I have practiced with Master. I take it into my mouth and use my tongue to massage the underside. I still do not deep throat it, that I cannot do yet. I have gagged every time I have tried. I use my right hand to stroke what is not in my mouth. It does not take long before my mouth is flooded with Master's cum. He certainly saved up a big load for me.

Master lifts my head off his cock by gripping and holding my chin. I am looking into his eyes. He is looking down into mine. I show him his cum, I could not do otherwise, as his thumb and forefinger on each side of my face is squeezing my mouth open.

"My cock hitting your prostate is what makes you orgasm, stroking your little dick is just not the same. Is it?"

I can only look up, my mouth forced open still. I try to nod yes, and that is when cum drips down onto my chin.

"Swallow, and lick up what you spilled."

I do as I am told. I always do as I am told, well, when I am watched. I do as I please when I am not watched or no adult has told me what to do, which is most of the time.

"Downstairs was not your punishment, I told you that. Your punishment is no cock up your boy pussy, no dildo, not even beating off. I know that is what you most enjoy."

I say nothing, it is true, my body spasms and moaning while being fucked make that obvious. I know when my prostate is hit, it feels great. I know about that because we read about it, we talked about it on the back patio in the afternoon. Summer school for boy slaves and I am a good student.

The afternoon has passed by, I must have been in the basement a long time. My arms are sore from the way they were held up in the basement. Mark takes a short nap on the couch, leaving me on my knees.

***

It is getting late and I wonder if I should wake him, but I do not. That would be bad. I am already in enough hot water. I wait.

Master gradually wakens, gets up and goes to the bathroom. When he returns, he presents his cock to me again. I have to get up on my knees, like kneeling at church, as Master stands before his slave boy.

The first lick is gentle and I taste a bit of pee. He did not shake it that well. That happens to me sometimes, and a drop or two ends up in my underpants. I dare not say anything. I know it is harmless, in small amounts, at least the book said that. There are other things in those books that I do not fantasize about, things that are just too gross and I cannot believe some boys and men do stuff like that. I will not.

The precum is next, as I make as much spit as I can to lubricate my mouth. Slathering the entire shaft, with my wet tongue to be sure. Bobbing my head up and down on the shaft, I look up to see Master looking down. He likes it when I look up and I like it when we play these games, but today is not a game, it is about me being punished and Mark using his boy to drain his balls.

Mark's hands grab the sides of my head as he begins to fuck my mouth to his rhythm. Slow at first, then picking up speed. I feel his hard shaft pushing deeper, hitting my tonsils, gagging me. I try to push him back with my hands on his hips: he pushes deeper and I choke.

Pushing as hard as I can on his hips does not work. I start hitting him with the underside of my fists. He loosens up as I pull my head backwards and catch my breath, yelling out, "I'm going to throw up!"

Mark grabs my head and drags me on my knees to the kitchen.

"Not on the rug and if you throw up on the kitchen floor, you'll clean it up."

The face fucking resumes, the gagging resumes, it is like the time my older brother at the Boys' Club kept dunking my head underwater and holding me down. Letting me up for air before pushing me under again. I did not even have time to yell to the lifeguard. I thought I was going to drown, he thought it was funny. This is not funny.

I throw up as Master jumps backwards. I empty my stomach onto the kitchen floor.

"Gross. Clean it up and then clean yourself up. You've wrecked my mood."

***

It was time to go home. I was not sure what Mark would say and I waited for him to speak first.

"Do you need my phone number?"

"Yes, I do, and I'm sorry."

"It's 2-2714. Can you remember that or do you need to write it down?"

"I can remember," as I kept repeating it in my head, committing it to memory.

"Ok, your punishment is over."

Summer is nearing an end too; school is around the corner. Is this also the end for Mark?

Chapter Fourteen

The week starts out normal, church, grandma, stick ball, swimming at the lake, bike rides, it works well, no one had noticed the days I am not around. Weekends are scarce with friends anyway, because like me, they have those popup family things to do. Shopping for school clothes is this Friday, my father is paid on Thursday and my mother goes downtown to pay bills, so I have to tag along with Twerp. My older brother watches the younger ones.

Wednesday is the big day for me, the day the Phoenix is out. I rush downtown with my bike to the Veteran's Park and grab one. There it is, "Congratulations Erik, MB and Son." This Sunday; that works out well, after Sunday dinner and I can be there early, sitting on the bench. Mark on Saturday. This is working; I was worried for nothing.

Sitting on a bench, I read more of those personal ads, mostly cryptic, I wonder what all the initials stand for, when I find a small section that says glossary of acronyms. White, Black, Male/Female, Asian, Gay… the list goes on but not all are listed. The ads are super interesting and my imagination wonders what these people do. "WM Looking for younger teenage boy for friendship, travel, and fun. Must be open and willing to try new things." Yeah, I think I know what those things are. My head has been completely rearranged over the summer, and those urges for sex woken up inside me. There are a lot of them, including one for a "houseboy." I wonder what that is, I will have to find out, and I thought I knew everything now.

A man, behind me, places his hand on my shoulder and says, "Anything interesting in the personal section?"

Startled, I close the paper and turn my head. He looks ok, long brown hair hanging below his shoulders, tanned face, and wearing hippie clothing: a tie-dye tee shirt that loosely hangs on his skinny body, with torn jeans. I like hippie clothing and wish I could wear them, they always seem like nice people to me, but my parents say they are troublemakers and to stay away from them. I guess he is probably 20 something, maybe closer to 19. He has a small smile.

"Uhm, just looking, nothing interesting."

"You should be careful around this park and not hang out here," as he comes around the bench and sits next to me.

"Why?"

"People meet up here, it's a meeting place from the personals. Close to the bus station. Is that why you're here?"

"No, I'm not meeting anyone. I just stopped to take a break from riding my bike. What do they meet here for?"

"Different stuff; drugs and sex mostly, but they don't stay. When they see the person they are meeting up with, they leave and follow. They don't want to be seen together."

"Oh. How do they know who to follow?"

"They have a sign, like boy with bike reading paper. I noticed a number of men keep staring at you, like they are expecting you to follow them somewhere."

The man discretely points a couple of men out by telling me where to look, but not make it obvious. They do seem to be checking me out. He tells me a boy my age and good looks, wearing cutoff jeans and a tight tee shirt gets noticed here. Rhetorically, What boy hangs out at the park reading the Phoenix? … a boy hooking up for sex.

"Oh, I did not know that, and that is not why I am here."

"So, why are you really here then?"

"Just as I said, taking a break, and the paper is free."

"I live around the corner, are you thirsty?"

He looked nice, he was nice, I said yes, and we left. My bubble butt stretching my short cutoff jeans must have looked nice to the men who wanted it, but were not getting it.

***

Jim's place was an apartment on the second floor of an old building at the very end of a long hallway. There were three floors, with a lot of mailboxes as you came in the front door and then another door that Jim had to use his key for. He said everyone's key works on the front door, and then only your apartment door. I wondered how they made keys like that, but I did not ask.

Entering the apartment, which must be the end of the building, there was a small hallway that went left and right. In front of us was a narrow kitchen with a window at the end. Refrigerator and sink on the right, stove and cabinets on the left. A small table for two was in front of the window.

"Can I use the bathroom?"

"Sure, it's right there."

The bathroom was to the right of the kitchen and the bedroom next. The door was open and I could see two mattresses on the floor. Jim waited outside for me. Then we went to the living room, past the kitchen and through a doorway with beads hanging down on strings. Another small room with beanbag chairs, a TV, a bong on a low coffee table, and a lot of empty beer cans scattered around. I was amazed, there was a lava lamp, black light, and posters on the wall. I could see out through the one window with the torn shade, pulled down, but obviously we were in the back of the building.

Jim asked if I wanted a beer or soda pop. Soda pop. I had tried a beer at a backyard wedding reception after the adults were drunk and me and my cousin snuck one. It made me dizzy and I almost threw up. Next, Jim lit up a pipe, trying to get something out of it. He told me he was hoping to meet up with a guy that sells him weed, but he did not show. Sometimes you can get a bit more from the resin in the bowl he said. "Want to try?"

"Sure."

Jim leaned in close with the lit match, I could feel his breathing and if it was not for the pipe, we could be kissing. I coughed. Jim said it takes getting used to and I just need to keep trying, which I did, but I do not think it worked. He showed me how to take a deep breath and hold it. There was not much and Jim took some "roaches" as he called them from the ashtray, which were in there with the cigarette butts and put them in the bong that he added water to. Jim seemed to be getting some smoke, but even with the bong, I was not doing it right, and kept coughing.

"A sip of cold beer should cool your throat and the alcohol will help you."

We tried, with Jim sitting on the beanbag chair and me on his lap, but it was not long before we were out of pot. Getting up, Jim turned on the TV, grabbed himself another beer, came back, lit an incense stick, lifted me up, sat down, and put me back on his lap. We watched TV. I did feel a little weird, from the pot, or the sips of beer, or both, I was not sure. I felt comfortable sitting on Jim's lap with his arms around me. I leaned back into him.

It was not long before Jim had his hand on my right thigh and starting gently stroking the inside with his fingers. His hand slowly making his way up and his thumb going under my cutoffs. I did not mind, I rather enjoyed this, not saying anything. I felt his thumb on the lower edge of my underpants and wondered when he would make the move and slip his hand into my shorts. It was taking him a long time, so I turned and told him I was hot sitting here and wanted to take my shirt off. That is when I saw how red his eyes were.

He smiled and said "OK."

I took my shirt off and leaned back into him. He put his hand back, with all four fingers wrapped around my thigh and his thumb on my zipper stroking up and down. He was driving me crazy. I could feel his boner as I wedged my butt into it. I needed to take charge.

Grabbing Jim's left wrist, I placed his hand on my belly and stuffed the tips of his fingers inside my shorts, unsnapping the top as I did so. Turning again to face him, it was like he was in another place, a happy place for sure as his wide smile indicated.

"It would be easier if you unzip them," I said to Jim, with a sexy whisper.

"I thought that wasn't why you were at the park."

"It wasn't, but I think you were."

"No, I was there for weed, but this is good too."

Jim unzipped my shorts and soon had both hands inside my underpants as I relaxed and he played with my balls and dink, as I heard, "mmm."

My thoughts ran to the size of his cock, his cum, and whether he would fuck me or not. Jim was obviously just enjoying the moment and lost in his own thoughts. What is it with men? I thought. Do they lose their cravings for sex when they get older? Mark was slow too, and Jim seems to be in slow motion. Jump starting things, I slide my butt up and down his rod, which caused my shorts to slide up and down too.

"I'm going to take my shorts off."

"Nice, cool man."

Kicking my sneakers off, I decide to take off both my cutoffs and undies, sliding them down my legs, which forces my butt down harder on Jim's cock. Tossing them over to the other beanbag chair, I am now totally naked. Jim goes back to playing with my bits with his right hand, and uses his left hand on my chest and belly as I again lean back into him.

Jim is fully reclined in the beanbag chair making cooing sounds, like a cat does when it is really comfortable lying on top of you. It is the middle of the day, not nap time or camp rest period, and I can only lie here for so long.

"Jim, do you want to do something else?"

"Like what? Little man."

"Like sex stuff."

"I thought you didn't do that stuff?"

"I didn't say I didn't, just that wasn't why I was at the Veteran's Park."

"Far out, man, I'm cool."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Up to you, little guy."

Getting up, I turned to face Jim, straddling him, I put my dink in his face and both hands on his head, more to steady myself than control him.

"I thought you might like a closer look."

"Neato, man."

Jim played, pulling down on my boner and watching it slap back up against my belly, this seemed to amuse him, and he kept doing it. His other hand started playing with my balls and from the giggles, he reminded me of that plaything that hung over my little brother's crib when he was still a baby. After a while, it was obvious he could keep playing for a long time. Saying things like, "Wow, little guy, look at those purple veins, far out."

"Jim, let me see yours."

"Go for it, little man."

I unzipped Jim's shorts and struggled a bit to free his cock; he raised his hips, and had the biggest smile now as I wrapped my hand around it. It was nice and slick with precum. His underwear had wet spots. Damn, is it me that needs to take charge all the time as I put my lips onto his cockhead and use my tongue.

"Way out, dude, you're the boss."

Maybe this is bringing him back to reality. I continue to tease his cock with my mouth as I yank his shorts down to his knees so I can play with his balls. I do not want to go too far, because then he might not want to fuck me right away.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

"Man, this is heavy. How much bread this gonna cost me?"

"Twenty spot."

"Dude, I can get two dime bags for that much."

Suddenly someone came into the apartment and I froze, looking up towards the doorway. It was another guy, another hippie, about the same age and build as Jim.

"Jim, what the fuck man?"

"What?"

"You brought another boy to our pad!"

"It's not what it looks like."

"He's naked and your cock is out."

"It was his idea."

"Yeah, right. Kid, put your clothes on and split. Jim, did you score a bag?"

"No, the dude never showed."

"So you spent our money on a boy instead?"

I looked up and said, "He didn't pay me yet."

"Pay the chicken, but not with my bread, that was for the weed you didn't get."

"I didn't bang him, so I don't have to pay."

I felt bold, especially knowing this was not Jim's first time, and blurted out, "It's a ten spot for a blowjob, you owe me."

"Give him the money; you want the pigs snoopin' around here?"

"He won't tell."

"Yeah, he'll just say he smelled weed or that you offered him some. Street whores know how to work the man."

"Here's ten, kid, now split."

I left, with new knowledge on a pickup spot and how to get them to pay, but damn, I really wanted to be fucked, it has been like forever.

***

Shopping is my least favorite thing to do, especially as we spend time in the little boys' department, mom has their sizes and they do not care what they get. I want a belt, and it is a bit of a hassle to convince my mother that I am old enough, and I am not wearing those elastic waistband school trousers anymore. I really need it because MB said I needed one, but mom does not need to know that. Shoes are next, I want black dress shoes. Mom thinks brown would be better, would go with brown khakis or navy blue. The cool stuff is there too, bell bottoms, with neat colors, and wild striped shirts. Mom thinks the high school kids these days look dreadful, some look like girls with the long hair. She says I am going to look respectable, and a haircut next week before school starts.

***

Saturday will not come soon enough, I am aching for sex, any sex. Twerp is a constant asshole. He even came into the shower and pulled the curtain on me.

"Playing with yourself in the shower!"

"Get outta here!"

"I know what you're doing, and you'll go blind, ha-ha."

Catching him outside, I beat him up, and while sitting on his chest, tell him to leave me alone or the next time will be worse.

"I'm telling," as he sobbed away.

"Go ahead, I don't care anymore, and I'll beat you up again, only worse, for telling."

It was necessary to put Twerp in his place from time to time. They really should have stopped after me.

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday with Mark and I will finally scratch that itch as he will surely fuck me. I decide to shower in the morning, after taking a dump that I had to push out. Scrubbing my boy pussy has me excited as my dicky points straight up, a finger inside, wrapped with a washcloth, and I am breathless, after two fingers, I silently moan.

Bang-bang, "Coming in."

Damn, my older brother, and without waiting. Mornings are not a good time to shower… What was I thinking? Thankfully the shower curtain is closed as I quickly turn my back to him anyway.

"You should shower at night, it's too busy in the morning, unless you're desperate to squeeze one out."

"What do you mean?"

"Jack off, beat your meat. Got any pubes yet?"

"Shut up."

As the torrent of pee hits the water, he laughs.

"Gotta get to work; don't work it too hard." Another laugh and he runs out. At 16, we are expected to have a job. My 14-year-old brother is already looking, as my mother keeps pointing out dishwasher jobs to him. Never too early to start.

Sneaking back into my room, I grab a pair of Twerp's underpants before he wakes up and then head down for breakfast. My brother is on his way out with an egg sandwich in his hand.

"Hey, stupid, those underpants are too small, just like your little pee-pee." He chuckles and rushes out the front door.

"Erik, not again, those are your brothers. Why do you keep wearing them?"

"Why do you keep putting them in my drawer?"

"There's too many of you boys for me to keep track. I told you to check."

Just then, Twerp comes down to see me in my tighty-whities, well, his tighty-whities.

"Hey, those are mine. Why do keep taking them? You have your own."

"They were in my drawer again."

"No, they weren't, I saw you take them out of my drawer."

"Did not."

"Did to."

There I was, between my mother and Twerp, in just my underpants.

"Erik, I think we need to talk about this, you need to stop wearing your brother's underpants and I think you're getting too old to be running around with just underpants on."

Twerp was snickering at me as he said, "I think he wants to stay a little boy, mom, just look, his is smaller than mine."

"Boys, that's enough. Now Erik, march upstairs and change them right now. And I don't want to see you wearing them again."

I dressed, but left them on under my shorts, as Mark will want to see me in them, and hopefully out of them quickly. It seems all week I have come close to having an orgasm, only to have it yanked away at the last moment, including last weekend with Mark, who face-fucked me and never let me get off.

***

Eager, I head over to the flower shop early and wait outside. I do not want to see that lady again inside; she might get suspicious seeing me there every Saturday morning.

Mark is a little early too, a good sign, maybe he cannot wait to drain his balls, and hopefully in me, in my boy pussy as he calls it and the books too. It is my job to keep them drained as his boy slave, and I hope that means I will have my prostate pounded this time, and not just a rough blow job, which works for Mark but does not do as much for me.

"Good morning, Master." I wanted to start off on a good note, as I have my hopes up that today will be the day. Once out of the parking lot, I remove my shorts and drop them to the floor before sliding over to the middle.

"Good morning, slave. I see you're excited to see me today."

"Yes, sir, super excited."

"Good, I thought we would do something different today and go back up Unger Mountain."

I was not sure that is what I wanted, but I keep quiet, a slave does not question. I would be the obedient slave today and secretly hope. My thoughts ran to the book, How to Train Your Boy. The slave boy is obedient, disciplined, docile, and focused. Even knowing everything in the book, it is not easy. I did not wear my brother's underpants all week, putting them on today; I cheated with MB and Jim; I have not practiced all the positions in a while. I run through them in my head as we drive on, while Mark rubs the front of my underpants.

First position, standing, hands behind my head, fingers clasped, legs spread, feet below my elbows, looking straight ahead, ready for inspection. Just like the paperboy story, with Frank, a real man.

Kneeling is next, hands clasped behind my head, back straight, knees spread.

Sitting, the same as kneeling except I put my butt on the floor and rest my hands on my knees, palms up.

Bow, from the kneeling position, I lean forward until my chest is on the floor and my hands are to the side of my head, palms down.

All fours, or the doggy position. This is good for a real ass pounding, and my mind wanders… The feel of a man's cock buried deep within my belly, hitting my prostate, my body tingles, my butt muscles tighten as I anticipate the inevitable sensation of Master's cum filling me.

Mark slips his hand inside my underpants.

"You are really hard today, more than usual, I like that."

"Thank you, Master."

Slaves are supposed to focus totally on their Master's needs, but I struggle with that, I have needs too. Needs that are driving me crazy this summer. I think I can satisfy those needs on my own now, and I do not think I need Mark anymore. Jim from the Veteran's Park almost gave me what I wanted if it was not for his roommate coming home. MB is still a mystery, and an exciting one. I will see him tomorrow. Slaves are supposed to tell their Masters everything, but I do not. I like being a slave, but on my own terms, which is not really being a slave if you believe the books.

***

Just like the last time, we stop for snacks and to gas up the car. I do as I am told and remove my underpants, and then put on my shorts, no shirt, as I go into the store. It feels weird not having underpants on, I can feel the air move in my crotch as I walk.

We pass the many logging roads as we climb, some look passable for a car, others definitely need an off-road truck.

"Your 12^th birthday is around the corner, have you thought about what you might want? You can speak freely slave."

"You said you planned to give me a slave collar, marking me as yours."

"Yes, but I am not sure that is what you want, it's a big step, and I am not sure you are ready."

"I think I am ready; I've read everything, I know what I have to do, and I have done everything you asked me."

"But doing it and putting your whole heart into it are two different things. I'm not sure your heart is in it."

"It is."

"Tell me honestly, What did you think we should do today? And not the answer you think I want to hear."

"Well, I was hoping you'd fuck me today. You didn't do it last Saturday."

"And why do you want me to fuck you today?"

"Because it feels good, I liked it that first time. It was way better than those dildos, and I finally had an orgasm as they describe in those stories. I don't cum yet, just a couple of drops of the clear stuff, so I need it."

"Hmm, just as I thought, your focus is on you, not your Master."

Damn, he is right, and I was just thinking that was a weak spot for me as we drove to the gas station. How could I have messed up so quickly, a short stop for snacks and gas and my head is back to thinking about my needs.

"I guess it's ok, we can still play, it'll just be pretend."

"Does that mean you'll give me my collar for my birthday?"

"We need to talk about that, I want it to be a big deal, I have some things in mind, like an initiation, something I went through when I joined a fraternity in college."

I did not know what a fraternity was, but Mark explained it to me. I knew what an initiation was, something you put new members through, like dares, or something embarrassing. Mark said his fraternity initiation was hard, and the things they had to do as pledges were humiliating, some guys dropped out because they could not take it. I assured him I was tough and could take whatever he had in mind.

***

We came to the first lookout and pulled in, parking right up to the guardrail. I had to pee, and was getting out of the car to run into the woods when Mark said, "Stop."

"What? I have to pee real bad."

"You heard me, you need to ask me for permission, if this is going to work, you need to work at it."

"Yes, Master. May I have permission to pee?"

"No, I want you to hold it. It should be a good lesson for you."

I found myself dancing, hopping, and squeezing my dicky with more desperate grimaces on my face as Mark enjoyed the view. Should I ask again? I thought. Maybe not, he clearly can see I need to pee. Maybe that is what he wants, for me to pee my shorts. He was ignoring me. I do not have an extra pair. Will I have to wear just my underpants? He will not let me sit in his car with wet shorts, that I am sure of.

Another car pulls in and an older man gets out to see the view, he looks to be about the same age as my father. He says hello to Mark, and they talk about what a nice day it is for a ride up the mountain. I cannot take it any longer, as a dribble comes out by accident and creates a wet spot on the front of my shorts. As I stand behind the two of them, they continue to chat and look down to the valley below.

"Mark!"

Suddenly it just let go and ran down my leg, soaking the front of my shorts in front of Mark and this stranger.

"Seems your boy has a problem."

"Yes, he does, and I am going to have to take care of this."

"Erik, you're getting too old to be wetting your pants. Now take them off."

"What? Right here?"

"You heard me, now do as you're told."

"But–but…"

"No more buts. Do I need to spank you too?"

This was not expected, well, peeing my shorts, I guess I did see that coming, but another man here? Mark was firm, he had used an angry tone and was glaring at me.

"I'll take them off over there, in the woods."

"Here and now."

A direct order from my Master, I took my shorts off and covered up. The other man just looked.

"Turn around and put your hands on your head."

Mark grabbed my left shoulder and held me while spanking me with his right hand. This was real embarrassing, and I began to cry. Why was he doing this in front of a complete stranger? This is not what I imagined.

"Now, turn around and apologize to Mr. Smith for wetting yourself."

Turning around, I quickly covered up again, and with tears streaking down my face, I started to apologize. For what, I do not know, it was not my fault. Mark should have let me go pee.

"I told you to keep your hands on your head. You need to start obeying me."

I was now a complete wreck, sobbing uncontrollably, and could not speak. Another smack to my butt, and I mumbled, "Sorry, Mr. Smith."

Mark marched me over to the back of the car where I was more exposed to the road and any cars that might be coming up. I did not like this at all. He opened the trunk and pulled out a small towel and using a bottle filled with water, he wet the towel and told me to wipe myself down. I did.

Loud and stern enough for Mr. Smith to hear, Mark said, "It's a good thing I brought extra shorts, now put them on."

They looked new and were not mine; Mark planned this. I quickly put them on as I heard a car coming up the road. Thankfully, it passed by, a station wagon full of kids. I did not want a bunch of kids seeing me crying or naked.

Mark placed his hand on my shoulder and directed me back towards the guardrail where you could look out. That is when I noticed the plate on the other car was out of state, the state where Mark buys the books and magazines, the place where I want to know if you can buy 8mm films, the ones I saw advertised in the Phoenix.

We walked to where Mr. Smith was standing, and Mark spoke first, "Sorry about that Mr. Smith."

"No need to apologize, the boy needs to learn and you did the right thing."

***

We continued on, up the mountain, me sitting next to the door, looking down, away from Mark. I was now mad, he used me, he embarrassed me, he tricked me. I thought it was some kind of test, but I did not think he would go that far, especially when that man pulled in. I did not feel any of the excitement or thrill that I do when reading or fantasizing in my head. Mark did not seem to care that I was naked in front of a stranger, in fact, he demanded it, he displayed me to the man as he spanked my butt. It was not that hard really, not like when I am being punished, but in front of that man, that was the worse spanking I had ever had.

My emotions began to boil over as I blurted out, "Fuck you, Mark."

"My, my, someone is really mad, and speaking without permission."

"Why did you do that to me? That was mean."

"Are you my slave boy? Obeying me without hesitation? Or is this just a game to you, and you make the rules?"

Sitting in silence, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts, it was a fun game, I liked it, I liked the pursuit of getting what I wanted, and today, I want to be fucked. I planned to use Mark for that. Maybe I just blew it, though. Maybe he will just use me again to get himself off and not me. I liked the slave boy thing, I wish we would do more, like more of the bondage stuff. Tying me to the posts and beams in the basement for a paddling was exciting, but I wanted to do more. Mark never really hurt me, not physically, until today: I was boiling mad at him.

We pulled off into another lookout, and that family with the station wagon was there. Fortunately, I did not have to pee, I had not had anything to drink, I just sat in the car.

"Are you getting out to see the view?"

"No, I don't want to."

"Suit yourself."

The station wagon family left and Mark retrieved something from the trunk before getting back in the car.

"Here's a butt plug, I think it will help improve your mood, now drop the shorts and turn over."

I did not want to: I did not want to do anything he wanted me to do. Sitting in the car by myself had me thinking: if I wanted to be fucked today, then I needed to behave like a slave boy. It seems Mark has learned his role, and I knew I did not think like the boys in the books, at least I did not think so. It was all too confusing for me. I was no longer in control, like I had been from the beginning. It was me that had to lead Mark on, tell him what to do, what books to buy. Strip dancing for him. I remember being naked in his bed, and he was a blubbering mess when I told him to take his clothes off. Do I want to be fucked today or wait and hope MB takes care of me tomorrow? Something he has not done yet. A saying comes to mind, "A bird in hand is better than two in the bush." I drop my shorts, and roll over as Mark, Master, greases the butt plug and then my boy pussy.

"Argh, go slower, Master, please."

"Take your shorts off and spread your legs wider."

I do as I am told, and then hold my butt cheeks open. I think it has been a while, we have not done any stretching exercises lately, and it is painful. Then again, I know that a butt plug has that fat part, fatter than the dildos we had used, to keep it in. The things I now know, things I never imagined before this summer. This will be a new experience, a butt plug while riding in a car.

Reaching the top, I am hornier than ever. The ache in my belly has me sweating, my whole body is focused on one thing. I did not even need a shirt this time as the air cooled as we climbed in elevation. It was a quiet ride up, not even the radio was on. I am not sure how much longer I can take it before I just scream out and tell Mark to fuck me.

We do the usual, those binoculars that take money, only this time, one coin and I am done. Just moving around feels strange and odd, I have a boner that will not go down. I know I am walking funny and I become self-conscious that people will notice.

Waiting until there is no one around, that is no one too close, as this is a tourist area, I ask Mark for permission to speak. I am being real good; I do not want to do anything to wreck things this week, it has been too long and this butt plug has me on edge.

"Master, I need a shirt, I don't want to get a sunburn."

"You look like you have some tan, clearly you've been out here and there all summer."

"Yes, but I have been shirtless this whole ride up, longer than I usually go shirtless, like when swimming."

Master presses on my skin to see if I am burning and decides to let me put on a shirt.

"You should be minimally dressed as much as possible, especially in public, but I'll allow a shirt so you don't burn."

"Thank you, Master."

"I see that butt plug is working, your attitude has improved."

"Yes, Master."

I really wanted the shirt to help cover my hips, so it is less noticeable that I am walking funny. I keep looking around to see if anyone is staring or notices, but I do not see anyone staring.

"When you sit down, keep your knees spread wide so I can see your boy parts inside your shorts, actually, I want you to sit on that rock over there, the one next to the walkway that goes up to the snack bar. I am going to get my camera from the car and take some pictures. Wait there."

Mark turns around and walks a few paces away from me before turning around to look at me. He comes back.

Quietly, in my ear, Mark tells me to lift my knees and rest my heels on the side of the rock. He gets me in the right sitting position so that it is obvious to anyone walking up the walkway that I have no underpants on. This is getting bad, Mark wants me on display for everyone, I am sure that people walking up the walkway will be able to see that I do not have underpants on and I have a boner. I do as I am told, I am beyond questioning anything anymore. So what? I do not have underpants on. I have shorts and a tee shirt, it is not like I am naked; I am dressed.

Mark takes his time, I can see him at the car, fiddling with the camera and looking around, pretending to take pictures. People are looking, some look away quickly, some of the boys and girls stare but say nothing, I see them smile and giggle. They know. I ignore them as best as I can.

Finally, he walks this way, stopping to take a picture, probably zooming in, it is one of those expensive cameras with a telephoto lense.

"Ok, let's go inside and see what they have to eat, might be better than all the snacks we ate the last time."

Inside they have sandwiches, pastries, candy, soda, coffee and tea, potato chips, no grill, so no hot dogs or hamburgers. Looking around, I spotted Mr. Smith, sitting by himself drinking coffee. He is definitely staring at me. I look away.

Mark orders two sandwiches, and two cokes. He does not ask me what I want.

"Mr. Smith, we meet again, mind if we sit with you and share your table? It's a bit busy here today, not much time left to the summer season."

"Not at all, plenty of room."

The square table has four chairs and Mark sits opposite Mr. Smith, leaving me one of the other chairs between them. I sit down and Mark hands me my sandwich and coke and looks down to my lap, then with his hand under the table, pulls my knee towards him. Oh, yeah, knees apart, but I do not think anyone can see me here unless they look under the table. I feel Mr. Smith's knee touching mine.

"So, how was the rest of the trip up? Any more accidents?"

I want to crawl under the table, but I just look down and start eating my sandwich.

"No, and it's a good thing, I only brought one spare pair of shorts." Leaning over the table and in a hushed tone, Mark adds with a chuckle, "He'd have to go naked if that happened."

Mr. Smith puts his hand on my knee and leans over to me, "Well, good thing that didn't happen." He then taps my knee a few times and smiles at me. His hand stays on my knee.

Looking back at Mark, Mr. Smith says softly, "I noticed at the lookout that he doesn't wear underpants, it's good for a boy to have that freedom and not be constricted, healthier for a growing boy."

"Yes, I agree. They all wear those tight underpants these days."

They keep talking about me as if I am not here, and in a most embarrassing way. I have a strange feeling about Mr. Smith when he turns to ask me a question.

"You keep squirming in your chair. Do you need to pee again?"

Mortified, I know it is the butt plug, it was working me big time when I was sitting on the rock with my knees up, it pushed deeper into my butt and moved every time I moved. It keeps pushing in when I lean back in my chair, and then moves again when I lean forward to take a bite of my sandwich.

"No, sir."

Mark looks at me and leans into my face, "I really don't have another pair of shorts, so maybe you should go now and try anyway."

From the tone, I knew it was more an order than a request and I said, "Ok."

Mr. Smith says he might as well go too, he has had two cups of coffee and walks behind me into the restroom. There are two urinals and one stall. I go into the stall.

"Do you need to do number two?"

"No."

"Then you'd better use the urinal, leave that for someone that might come in and need it."

Again, it was an adult voice and tone, so I obeyed. Pulling out my dinky, I tried to go, but nothing, I wanted to sit down, as my dicky is pointing straight up. Mr. Smith spoke up again and asked me if my butt was still sore from the spanking. Not the thing I wanted to talk about with a stranger.

"No, it's fine."

I heard Mr. Smith go, as I tried in vain.

"Having trouble?"

"I just don't need to go."

"Nonsense, you just have to push on your bladder. Here, let me help."

Mr. Smith stood behind me and with his right hand, reached around me and placed it low on my belly. I jumped in shock, but he had me wrapped up.

"It's right here, just above your willy, see, as I push on it, just let it go, once it starts, you'll be fine."

It did start, he was pushing hard with his right hand and holding my butt with his left hand to keep me from moving backwards.

"You have to shake it real good, especially when you're not wearing underpants, you don't want a wet spot showing on your shorts."

As Mr. Smith watched, I shook it more than I usually did and then put it back in before zipping up. We washed our hands and went back out. I wanted to say something to Mark, because that was real strange, but I was not supposed to speak unless spoken to. This is hard, being a boy slave, harder than I ever imagined. I was still determined not to do anything that would keep Mark from fucking me. I had done too much already today and we only had the afternoon.

Back at the table, Mark had finished his sandwich and mine was about half gone, as he stood up.

"Well, we need to be going, thanks for letting us share your table."

"No problem, it was a pleasure. One thing," as he stepped closer to Mark, "the boy needs to be careful with his zipper, boys have gotten it stuck on their willy, and it is painful. He zipped up too fast."

What? They talk about my privates as if they were not private at all, and right in front of me.

"Mark, Can I finish my sandwich?"

Mr. Smith looked down at me and then spoke to Mark, "Boy needs to learn his manners too, interrupting adults when they are talking."

"That will certainly be taken care of shortly."

"Let me know if you need any help, I trained a few young boys in my day."

"Thank you, I might take you up on that offer some day."

With that, Mark grabbed my arm and pointed me out the door. In the car, we left the top in silence.

***

Halfway down the mountain, we turned onto one of those logging roads and drove a little way up until we could not be seen from the paved road. Mark turned off the car and told me to take my shirt and shorts off. I was hoping he would take the butt plug out and fuck me, but instead he told me to find a fresh birch branch, a nice flexible one. Naked, except for my sneakers, I made my way into the woods to find a fresh birch sapling and stripped off the leaves and budding branches to make what I knew was a whip.

Mark followed me into the woods and watched me.

"I hope today is a good lesson for you. You need to decide if you want to be a boy slave or end it now and forever. If you decide to continue, you must stop thinking about yourself and focus on what your Master wants and only what I want. You will have to obey me without question, and if your behavior improves there will be rewards, if you mess up, then there will be punishments. Right now, I think this is about you. You continue to question me and when I asked you this morning what you wanted to do today, you said you wanted me to fuck you. I did not hear, pleasure your Master, no, it was what you wanted. If we end this, then we go our separate ways and I won't see you again, ever."

My dink was shriveled up, tears started flowing again. What had I done, I was stupid, I disobeyed again and again. Mark was right, he was also a changed man, he was now a real man. I was not ready to end it with Mark, so I dropped to my knees and presented the birch sapling to him with outstretched arms. My head bowed, I simply said, "I'm sorry, Master, please punish your boy slave so that I may learn to focus on you and only you."

With outstretched arms, and bent at the waist, legs spread, I grabbed a tree as the sapling stung my butt like no other beating I had ever had. I started bawling and quickly jumped away. I did not need this. I looked at Mark, with tears running down my face, rubbing my butt.

"Back into position, and don't try that again."

Moving right away, but slowly, I resumed the position and again, before I was even ready, another blow to my butt as I screamed out and arching my back stood up.

"Silent!"

Another blow and another scream and my chest started to heave as I cried my heart out. On the next one, I dropped to my knees, this was more pain than I had ever experienced. I began rubbing my butt as the tears flowed. Mark did not say anything, and after a moment, I caught my breath and turned to see him heading towards the car. I did not know what to do, so I stayed there.

Mark returned with my underpants and the small towel I had used earlier today.

"Stand up."

Master, turned them inside out and then started stuffing them in my mouth until they were all the way in. Then he rolled up the towel and used it as a gag to keep them in.

"Back in position."

The next two were excruciating, I could feel the heat, my bum was on fire. I screamed through the gag. It was only two, six total. Mark stood looking at me, I did not move, it seemed like forever, and I did not know if I would receive more. I did not know if I could take any more.

Then he grabbed me and pointed me towards the car. We walked. Reaching the car, Mark opened a gym bag he had in the trunk and pulled out my cuffs.

"Put these on."

I did, ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs. I was still sobbing. He clipped my wrist cuffs together and told me to get in the trunk. I was now scared; I could not believe this was happening. I did not dare disobey and climbed in. Mark shut the trunk.

I felt the car backing down the road and then turning onto the paved road before driving off.

***

I do not know how long I was in the trunk, before we stopped and the engine was turned off. Mark opened the trunk and told me to get out. As my eyes adjusted, I could see we were on a dirt road, wide enough for one car and in good shape, not like the logging roads. There was a stone wall on either side with overgrown fields beyond. We were parked to the side.

"Stand for inspection."

I complied, as Mark grabbed my balls and squeezed. I bent over in pain.

Taking the gag off and the underpants out, Master squeezed again and shouting in my face, said, "Who do these belong to?"

"You, Master."

"Good, and who's job is it to keep my balls drained?"

"My job, Master."

"And do you think your behavior today satisfied your Master?"

"No, Master, I was disobedient and did not think about you, only myself."

"Follow me."

We climbed over the two-foot stone wall, into the tall grass, before stopping in the middle of the field.

"Do you think about my balls when you're not with me? Do you think about how they might be full and needing your attention?"

"I'm sorry, Master, I need to think about your needs first."

"Not first, all the time, and only my needs. Yours don't matter. Those measly little balls of yours are worthless. The only balls that matter are mine, and for you to worship, if I let you. Should I let you?"

"Yes, please, Master, may I worship your balls?"

"You may boy, because they are full and need attention, not because I want you to have any pleasure. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Master."

Greedily, I undo my Master's pants and kiss both balls through his underwear while telling them how much I adore them, before pulling his underwear down and gently licking and sucking each one with care, telling them they are beautiful and big and apologizing for letting them get full. I promise to keep them from getting full from now on. I gently stroke Master's cock as I lick up the underside before my lips take the head into my mouth. I suck for all I am worth.

Master has his hands firmly on my head as he begins to face fuck me. Quick short strokes that become longer, hitting the back of my throat as I gag. I still have a strong gag reflex and I am not able to deep throat my Master. I know I need more practice.

Master has a strong hold on my head, keeping me still.

"Open your mouth and don't swallow."

Keeping my mouth open wide and my tongue out, his balls deliver a large load, some in my mouth, some on my face and hair. Some dribbles down my chin onto my chest.

Master, inspects my mouth as his finger pushes his load from my face into my mouth. He scoops it off my chin and chest and deposits into my waiting mouth.

"Close and swallow," as he leaves two fingers in my mouth. I suck them clean, before cleaning the rest of his fingers.

He commands me to all fours, and I obey. This is the fucking position and the excitement in my belly intensifies. He pulls out the butt plug, slowly, with a pop sound it is out and I am empty. I can feel the air going in, it must be a gaping hole, big enough to easily accept Master's rod.

"What did you tell me you wanted this morning?"

"To be fucked by my Master."

"And did your behavior today deserve that reward?"

"No, Master, it did not."

***

It was getting late as we drove home, and I felt the raised welts on my butt. Walking up the hill from the market, I was still walking funny. I would make it in time for dinner. The last thing I needed now was to earn a belting at home revealing my earlier stripes.

Chapter Sixteen

Today is the big day, I will meet with MB in front of the hotel, and I am definitely excited. I wonder why he did not meet with me sooner. I did put the money in a passbook savings account and hid the book. He said it was a down payment, so there must be more money to be made. I keep thinking about the stories with the boys from New York who hustled for money and their pimp who collected the money and paid them. I think MB might be a pimp.

The talk around the neighborhood and grandma's is about back to school, and how excited we must be. I do not think I have been excited to go back to school since the second grade, and this year I will be in the sixth grade, the youngest in my class, because my birthday is days before the cutoff. It was ok at first, until the boys started to be competitive in everything, and they were all bigger than me, some almost a year older. I am one of the last to be picked for kickball during recess, just before the fat kids that cannot run, catch, or throw the ball. For basketball and hockey at the Boys' Club, I am in the younger group because their cutoff age is July 1^st, and that puts me with the kids a grade below me where I am one of the older ones. I am athletic, and I do excel in this group. I am more excited for hockey to start up.

For church, I wore my new school clothes, a nice shirt, pants, my new belt, and new shoes. I took a shower Saturday night, as we always do, so we look good and clean for church on Sunday. I did not change after church, saying I wanted to wear my new clothes. My mother was ok with that, saying less laundry.

After Sunday dinner, I did change into shorts, but they did not look good with my shoes and brown socks. It looked weird to me. I put my sneakers on after cleaning them up as best I could. I used white shoe polish because I had asked my older brother's girlfriend earlier this summer how she kept her sneakers so clean and white, and she told me she used shoe polish. I found some under the sink in the bathroom, I think my mother used it on my baby brother's shoes.

Walking downtown, a couple of hours early, I decided I would hang out at the Veteran's Park, the oval, and in front of the hotel. I would just watch, see what was going on and try to determine which people might be cops, chicken hawks, or just regular people. The boy I met after running into that detective said he did that. Maybe I might see him again.

***

Downtown is quiet, not a lot of people, a drunken bum at the Veteran's Park, with a bottle of something in a paper bag that he is drinking. He does not look my way. People pass by, on their way somewhere, but none give me any notice. Down the street, people are gathering at the bus station, so a bus must be due soon.

The downtown oval is empty, not a single person. I move over to the hotel, which has people going in and out. I am way early, and now starting to get bored. My mind drifts to yesterday with Mark: he has changed, and I wonder if that strange man, Mr. Smith, has anything to do with it. I tried to get into my role as a slave boy, but obviously I failed and my butt paid for it. It was not as bad as I thought, I looked at it this morning and the marks were barely visible, and no longer painful.

This whole summer has been about me, and why not? I like it when things go my way, when I get what I want. It is like your birthday: you expect to get what you want. Is that not why people say, "I hope it's what you wanted." Of course, I must tell my mother, and my godmother, who is also my aunt and favorite, what I want when they ask, otherwise how would they know.

Mark said it should not be about me, only him, and that is what the books and magazines say too. I do not know why I wanted to be the slave boy; I just did. It is like chocolate ice cream; I just like it. I want to be a slave boy, I want to do more stuff, that is what I want, and I want Mark to take charge of me … which he did … but then I was not sure I did like it … it is too difficult for me to understand.

Having an orgasm was a new experience for me, something I never knew about before this summer, well, I heard the boys at the corner talk, and other boys, but I really did not understand it until this summer. It is driving me to do things that are crazy. I keep doing them, because my body wants another orgasm, every day, if I could. A man's cock up my butt is the best way to experience it, and Mark has denied me because I did not do what he wanted.

I guess it is like favors, you do this for me and I will do that for you.

Time moves faster when you are daydreaming, which I perfected in the fourth grade, and I look up at the clock outside the bank, 5:30. I hope MB is early and maybe he will want to fuck me tonight. I can see myself on all fours, on his bed in the hotel, as he mounts me and drives his cock deep into my boy pussy. I imagine his thrusts hard and long as my prostate vibrates my whole body. My dicky is now hard as my hands cover it up. I do not want passersby to see my shorts tented out, that would be too embarrassing. I want to rub it badly, through my shorts, but not here in public. I need to think about something else, maybe if I get up and go for a walk, but I cannot do that either, I need it to go down first.

***

A cab pulls up and MB steps out, I look at him as my back straightens and my eyelids go up. I say nothing. He glances in my direction as the cab driver opens the trunk and pulls out a suitcase and one of those suit bags with the top of the hanger sticking out. A bell hop takes them and he follows him into the hotel. This is good, he is here and he knows I am too.

Not long after, MB appears out front again, and the bell hop asks him if he needs a cab.

"No, I'm going to walk, thank you."

MB starts to walk in the direction of Lower Main Street and I wait just enough to follow him. Lower Main does not have as many stores or tall buildings the way Upper Main does and within a couple of blocks the buildings turn into those old mansions, the ones the shopkeepers built in the 1800s, so they could be close to their businesses: walking distance. No longer single-family homes, most are now offices for doctors, lawyers, dentists, and one is a funeral home. MB keeps walking, so I just follow.

Stopping in front of a doctor's office, MB bends down and appears to be tying his shoe. I catch up and say, "Hello."

"Hello, Erik, good to see you."

"Good to see you."

No one is around, the street is empty, the businesses closed.

"I stopped here because this is the doctor you will see on Wednesday. It will be closed that day, because that is the day the doctor makes his hospital rounds. He will meet you after his rounds and before he goes to the country club for lunch and a round of golf."

"What do I have to see the doctor for?"

"A complete physical, to be sure you're healthy."

"I already had a physical."

"Yes, but I need to know, and I can't just ask your pediatrician."

"If it's closed, how will I get in?"

"You will wait around back, on the porch, sit on the floor below the porch wall. The doctor will be there after 10:30, but you will be there before 10:30. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

"How will I pay for it?"

"I will arrange the payment."

"What if someone sees me?"

"Tell them you're waiting to see the doctor, make something up, like you have a stomach ache. I think you're good at that, you did well with the man at the hotel, telling him you were on the wrong floor. I liked that about you. Now, I am in room 1107, I will meet you there shortly. Go in the side door again."

MB turned around and headed back. I walked down to the next intersection, crossed the street to the other side and headed back towards the hotel.

***

As I knock softly on the door of room 1107, I wonder if it is really his room, when the door quickly opens, I let MB know that no one saw me and I rush in.

"Good."

What follows is a long conversation about me. My schedule, my family, my friends, my relatives, my birthday, that I am Catholic. My parents are strict, but do not really pay much attention to me. My father says raising children is women's work, his job is discipline. My father goes to work every day, he works construction. My mother stays home, there are seven boys, we are all about 2 years apart, the oldest is 16, the youngest 4.

MB is writing down everything, names, addresses, phone numbers, what church we go to. I tell him everything, I am a very trusting person, too trusting, other kids have taken advantage of me because I trusted them. I should be more skeptical, especially with strangers, but that is not me, I trusted Mark, I trusted the people who picked me up hitch-hiking, including that teenager who tied my shoes together. I do not tell him about Mark.

The drapes and shades for the window are open, and I can look out. Something I wanted to do the last time, but did not.

"MB, can I look out the window? I've never been this high up before."

"Yes, go ahead, I need to get my camera ready."

As I look out over the city, I can see the tops of all the other downtown buildings, the next tallest building is five stories, so we really do tower over them. The people and cars look small, but not like when you go up Unger Mountain, where they look so small, they look like those tiny sugar ants, that is if you can see them at all. I start to feel a little scared, I am not afraid of heights, like being on top of the roof of a shed, but this is different. I step back.

MB is sitting at the table next to the window, he has a roll of black and white 35mm film that he is loading into a camera. It is one of those fancy cameras like Mark has, only a different brand. Next, he pulls the top sheet off the bed and drapes it over a couple of pictures on the wall, so it hangs down about arms width across, his arms. The bottom half of the sheet is on the floor, and MB spreads that out.

"Ok, stand in front of the sheet."

"I'll get the part on the floor dirty."

"That's ok."

MB took his time, adjusting his camera and the lights in the room, he even took the shades off the lamps before he finally clicked a picture. I posed for him as instructed, serious, smiling, hands on my hips, behind my head, turned to my side, with my back to him and my head turned as far as I could to look backwards at the camera. Shirtless was next before he ran out of film.

"Good, those were the pictures I wanted with this roll. Now take off your shorts, socks, and shoes, for the next set while I put a new roll of 36 in, but leave your underpants on."

The pictures of me in my underpants went quickly and then the good stuff, me teasing several shots with my thumbs hooked inside my waistband, pushing them down but not enough to see my willy. I liked these shots, they reminded me of the sexy dances I did for Mark. I had a real smile; I did not have to fake it.

"You're good at this. Have you modeled before and forgot to tell me?"

"You mean like those kids in the advertisements in their underwear?"

"Yeah. Did you do any of that for the local stores?"

"No, but it does feel sexy, and I like being sexy."

"You are definitely sexy, you have the right body and more importantly, the right attitude. A rare combination in a boy your age."

MB continued to compliment me as I began to blush and giggle. I showed him some good moves as I stripped off my underpants. In one pose, I stood sideways with slightly bent knees, bent at the waist, with the palm of my hand on my butt. In another move, I went into the slave kneeling position, hands behind my head, knees spread, mouth agape. This continued … I was having loads of fun. I was the center of attention and I loved it.

"Usually, I have to direct every pose, but you're doing great, just keep going."

As I was doing Michelangelo's David pose, I asked MB if this was my job, posing, and how many other boys did this.

"No, this is not your job, but part of my documenting everything. Now that I have finished another roll of film, you don't have to pose anymore."

"Should I get dressed?"

"No, I need to take some measurements."

With that, MB pulled out a cloth tape measure and began measuring everything, my waist, my inseam, my chest, shoulders, arms, around my butt, and my height. My dicky was at full mast, and when MB's hand, holding the end of the tape, brushed up against my balls, it felt funny and I laughed.

"Hold still. We still need to measure your penis soft; we weren't able to do that last time. Maybe a bucket of ice will help."

"What? Ice on my dink? How will that help?"

"It should help you get soft, like when you go in cold water and things shrivel up."

MB took the ice bucket and left the room. It was not a nice experience, but it did work, eventually.

***

"We need to talk more, I need to know how much you know about sex, how much experience you have, but first I need you to take care of me."

MB pulled out his man-sized cock that was rock solid hard. I knew what to do as I dropped to my knees and began licking the head as my hand wrapped around the shaft. He lowered his pants more, down to his ankles, spreading his knees, and then sat down on the bed as I went to work. This was certainly the job I would be paid for and I wanted MB to know how good I could do it. With my right hand pulling his dick towards me, I licked up and down the underside, flicking my tongue quickly back and forth just below the head. I then moved on to sucking his balls, one at a time, all the way into my mouth. I made it a point to look up into his eyes and smile the best I could smile while sticking my tongue out and running it over his hairy balls. I then rode up the shaft again with my lips slightly apart, so that the tip of my tongue could tickle the underside as I went up and then back down. Turning my head sideways, I steadied myself by holding onto his thighs before picking up the pace, with my lips doing the stroking as my head swung back and forth, as if saying "no." MB started to moan softly and I could tell from his breathing he was enjoying this, so I moved up and wrapped my lips around the head and slowly went down as far as I could, until the head of his cock touched the back of my mouth. I knew that was as far as I could go with my strong gag reflex. I worked his dick with my tongue, sucking, sliding up and down his shaft and with my tongue out, long strokes from the base to the tip, keeping eye contact as I swallowed him again.

It was quick, I felt the contractions as MB exploded into my mouth, catching me by surprise as my head jerked upwards and cum dripped out of my mouth running down my chin. I squeezed his cock with my right hand as my left hand wrapped around his balls. I wanted this to be perfect, as I put the head of his cock back into my mouth, pumping and sucking out the last drops.

Sitting back on my legs, I just looked up at MB as he gazed down, catching his breath. Nothing was said. My mouth was open, I was showing my Master his cum, I then swallowed. MB smiled and took a deep breath before lying down on the bed.

"Come up here and lie down beside me."

I did as I was told, and as MB wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into his chest, my thoughts ran over the job I just did, I knew I did a good job and I was feeling proud. I think it was one of my best. MB certainly had me worked up with all that sexy posing, so I could not wait to jump right into it, and even though I was not fucked, a nice feeling suddenly came over me.

MB spoke softly, "You obviously have a lot of experience, that was one of the best blowjobs I have had. At your age, I have to provide instructions and warnings about teeth. It takes practice and knowledge to do what you did. The little things you did with your tongue, and knowing when to suck my balls, and when to lick the head, that was amazing."

"Thank you."

"Who have you done this with?"

"I don't want to say, I promised I would never tell."

"Another thing I like about you, but I need to know if you're being careful, that you haven't caught any STDs."

"What are those?"

"Not good, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, they are bad and you could end up dying."

"From sex?"

"Yes, you catch them when you have sex with someone who is infected."

"We just had sex."

"I know, and I should not have taken that chance. I misjudged you, I did not think you might have had sex with other men, only the usual experimenting with other boys your age. You have had sex with other men, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"How many and how well do you know them."

"Two. One I know and one I just met." I was nervous and scared now, I did not know about this stuff. I think they told us in "Health Science," but I am not sure. I daydream during that class, because they do not make anything clear. They always talk around stuff.

"The doctor will let us know, and if you want this job, you must not have sex with anyone I do not know about. Is that clear?"

I started to feel sick, this was not going the way I wanted. What was I going to do now? My world has just been shattered.

I was lost in thought when MB repeated himself, "Is that clear?"

With my head down, I replied, "Yes … it is." I was about to burst out crying, tears were welling up in my eyes as I rubbed them dry.

"Good, I need to ask you more questions, but I think I already have most of the answers I was looking for."

As MB asked me questions, I answered them simply, my thoughts were in turmoil, I wanted this job, the money, but also, I wanted to be Mark's slave boy and I wanted him to give me a collar on my birthday, which was only two weeks away. I did not want to choose between them, I wanted both.

Yes, I had had anal sex. Yes, I knew what a dildo was. No, I had not played being a puppy or cat. No, I do not have much experience kissing, or making out. Yes, I have been tied up and gagged. Yes, it was fine.

Finally, the faint marks on my butt, where did I get them, and by whom?

"I don't want to answer that." I was crying, softly. I kept my head down the whole time, I did not want MB to see.

"Was it your father?"

"I don't want to answer."

"Ok, for now."

MB told me that if the doctor declared me clean, then we would have to work out how I would be able to work in this business. The more flexible I was, the more money I could make. Sleeping over at a friend's house was one way, joining the Boy Scouts was another, as they go on many camping trips, usually once a month for some troops. He explained that I would not go on the camping trips, but would leave and come home when they do. My mind thought about my friend Dave who was in the Boy Scouts, Troop 262 at the Methodist Church. I do not know if my mother would let me join a troop in the Methodist Church. I did not know how I would work this out with Mark. My life was suddenly more complicated and I could not think about what to do. This was not like me, I am always able to come up with a plan, like when I wanted to retrieve those books and magazines from the state forest.

I need a plan. I am sick to my stomach.

Chapter Seventeen

This coming weekend is Labor Day and the last weekend before school starts–the last week of summer vacation! Wednesday is my doctor's appointment, Saturday is Mark, Sunday is grandma, and I am sure we will have a family picnic too. My life has become complicated, and I do not have a plan. I go to bed worried about how I will juggle MB and Mark, what to do if they find out about each other, and which one I should choose. The money that I could make has my head swimming in new stuff, a bike, baseball glove, the best hockey equipment, and then what I am innately drawn to, being a slave boy. It is no better when I get up in the morning, nothing is resolved.

My birthday is next week and Mark said he planned to present me with my collar, marking me as his, I hope he still plans that, as he has told me I have not earned it yet, which he is right, I did mess up last weekend. What will I do if my mother plans a birthday party for me on Saturday, which is not my actual birthday, but sometimes the party is on the closest weekend. I have not always had a birthday party with friends from the neighborhood, sometimes it is just cake after dinner with a present from my mother, grandmother, and the best present is always from my godmother.

Dave and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, and I will have to ask him about the Boy Scouts. He does not hang out as much with the rest of us, he is always busy it seems. He swims year-round. His mother is a swimming instructor at the YMCA, and she coaches the girls at the high school. I have been to the Y, as a guest of Dave, and he has tried to get me to join so I could be on the swim team with him, but I do not know where I would get the money, the Y is expensive, 15 dollars a year, the Boys' Club is 50 cents a year, and most kids forget to pay, including me. Besides, I tried the swim team at the Boys' Club and it was not for me.

Thinking back, I never really cared what was planned, and just did what I was supposed to do on any given day, like go to school, and then decide after that what I wanted to do that day. Now, it seems I have to plan things ahead of time and hopefully avoid conflicts. This is not easy.

***

Wednesday is here and I make my way downtown, past the oval and on to the doctor's place. It is not like last Sunday: there are cars and people everywhere, going in and out. I do not want to be seen and decide I would walk past the doctor's down to the next intersection and walk back up the other side of the street, the same as I did after meeting MB, but this time I would try to be observant and notice things like that boy I met who told me about the detectives.

Next to the doctor's there is a lawyers' office, and I can see people in there, through the large windows. Sometimes they close the blinds, sometimes they do not. When the blinds are open, I only see a lawyer at a desk and sometimes a woman comes in, must be his secretary. If I walk up the double wide driveway between the buildings, they might see me and I am sure they must know the doctor's office is closed on Wednesday.

The other side is grass, and there is a hedge between the two old mansions, but people might see me sneaking behind and be suspicious. I could sneak in through the back, maybe. There are houses behind these mansions that are on the street that runs parallel to Lower Main. I decide to see if that would work and make my way around the corner and down the street. Now I must guess which house is behind the doctor's and hope no one is home. These houses are smaller, and not spaced the same, but I do not see many people around.

Cutting through a yard that looks like no one is home and about where I think the doctor's office is, I make my way through the thick bushes and run into a chain link fence that is in the bushes. The bushes must have grown through it over the years. I climb over and look out to discover I am off by one building. Fortunately, it is the funeral parlor and not the lawyers' building, and I do not see anyone around.

From there, I sneak quickly to the back porch and as instructed, I sit down below the porch wall and wait. I do not have a watch, but I know I am early. Time passes slowly. I have scratches on my legs and arms from those bushes. There are a few spots of blood on some of them, but I am not bleeding.

I hear a car and peek above the porch wall to see it parking behind the lawyers' building. The backyards of these big houses are now parking lots. There is a grass strip separating the doctor's from the lawyers', and that hedge separating the doctor's from the funeral parlor.

Passing the time as I usually do, daydreaming, I wonder what this doctor is like, and does he know what MB does. I wonder if he likes boys too? Maybe he does not know what MB does.

***

Hearing a car, I peek above the porch wall. It pulls into one of the parking spaces. It must be the doctor, as I see a man getting out. I duck back down.

My heart starts to beat faster as my mind races. What if it is not the doctor? What would I say? I am waiting for the doctor … hiding? I do not have long to wait as I hear footsteps coming up the steps. He looks down at me, turns and puts his key in the door. Whew, it must be the doctor, he looks older than Mark or MB, more like my father's age. He has an average build, maybe on the slimmer side, short black hair, glasses, and very clean shaven. I start to get up.

"Stay down until I say you can get up."

Looking around, particularly at the lawyers' office next door, I imagine he sees someone inside those large windows like I did, or someone in their parking lot. He steps in and tells me to crawl in. I do as I am told. Standing up, we are in what must have been the kitchen and is now a break/lunch room. To the right is a mud room and pantry. I follow him through a door into a hallway that is as wide as a room. The double wide doorway on the left has been enclosed with two modern doors. I imagine it was the dining room and has been split into two rooms. Further down on the left, towards the front of the house is a massive oak staircase that goes up in a U-shape. I see a sign at the bottom of the stairs pointing up that says, "Examination Rooms." Immediately on the right is a door that has a sign saying it is a restroom, it is an old door, so it must be original. This house is huge, and must have more than one bathroom, not like our house with only one. Past that on the right, are two rooms, both with large sliding pocket doors.

Pointing at the first room on the right, the doctor says, "Go in there and take your clothes off."

Opening the sliding door, the room is large and more like a hospital operating room than an examination room with an operating table in the middle and a large light over it. There are cabinets along the walls with glass doors, filled with stuff. There is another sliding door to the room in the front that is closed. The windows have been blocked off and no light is coming in. I find the light switch and close the door as the doctor goes into what must be his office on the other side.

I strip down to my underpants, and stand at the foot of the table, I do not know if I should sit on it or not. A thought crosses my mind, Should I take my underpants off? When I go to the pediatrician, they tell me to leave my underpants on, which is nice, because the nurse always comes in and weighs me–out in the hallway–and then measures how tall I am before we go back into the examination room where she takes my blood pressure. It would be embarrassing to have a women see me naked. I heard the older boys on the corner say the doctor reaches into their underpants and squeezes their balls while they cough. That has not happened to me yet; the last time, he just pulled out the front and looked in.

Waiting for a long time it seems, the sliding door to that front room opens wide and the doctor looks in. The front room looks like the waiting room and there is a long reception desk in front of the sliders between the rooms. There is a bay window that has floor to ceiling heavy drapes that block any light. The sliders to the hallway are closed.

"I told you to take your clothes off."

"I did."

"Your underpants too. I want you naked for the examination."

The tone of his voice told me to obey immediately and that he was not a nice doctor, not like my pediatrician.

The doctor then sat down on the receptionist's chair and opened a notebook. Swinging around he told me to put my hands to my side and keep facing him. He was taking notes as I stood there, mostly just staring at me in silence before telling me to turn around. I stood that way for what seemed like an eternity, before I heard the doctor get up and I saw him grab a round stool, one of those ones on wheels that they use.

"Keep facing the table unless I tell you otherwise, look straight ahead, don't turn your head. You don't do anything unless I tell you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." It was definitely clear that he was not a nice doctor or a nice man.

The lights went out as I heard the switch and then the doctor on his wheeled stool moving closer to me. His hands were suddenly on me, and I jumped.

"Stand still; don't move; you need to behave better."

I felt the stethoscope on my back, and was told to breathe. It now seemed like a normal physical, except in the dark.

"Turn around, hands behind your head, look straight ahead."

The doctor had a small flashlight in his hand and had me follow the light with my eyes. Turning it off, and putting it in his pocket, he looked straight into my eyes, and that light on his headband was blinding me as his hands started to roam all over my body.

"Stay still, and keep looking straight ahead. Do I need to keep telling you to do as you're told?"

"Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, you're wasting my time. Do I need to smack your butt or are you going to behave?"

"I'll behave."

"Look up at the ceiling."

Grabbing my balls, he told me to cough, which I did. He then began kneading them and I continued to cough. It seemed like a long time, but I did not know how long it was supposed to take, this was my first time. The boys at the corner never said how long the doctor did that. I stopped coughing when my throat became hoarse and the doctor told me to keep coughing. As he pulled down on my balls, he squeezed so hard they hurt and I bent down and forward from the pain.

"Turn around and bend over the table, I need to check your prostate. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes."

"Do you know I have to go inside you to check?"

"No, what do you mean."

"I have to probe inside your butt to feel if your prostate is ok."

"Oh."

The doctor wheeled his stool over to one of the cabinets and I could hear him putting gloves on and taking out metal instruments that he put on a small table on wheels, before sliding them both back over.

"Did you clean yourself back there? I don't want a mess."

"Yes." I had become used to cleaning my boy pussy whenever I showered, and I did shower last night knowing I was going to the doctor's, along with making sure I had clean underpants on, something my mother always insisted on before going to the doctor's.

Again, nothing seemed to be happening as I could sense the doctor behind me. Was he taking notes again? I do not know, it is quiet and dark, except for that small light on his headband that at least told me where he was looking, which was at me.

Suddenly, I was smacked hard with what I knew was a rubber paddle. I jumped and stood up straight.

"OW! What was that for?"

"For moving earlier, I didn't forget and I told you I would smack your butt. Now bend over again and stay down."

Another one, as I yelled OW again.

"Do I have to put a gag on you?"

"No, sir." I made grunting noises that I could not help as I tried to stay quiet while the doctor smacked me three more times.

Then the doctor greased my boy pussy, telling me it was lube for his examination, but I knew better. It was cold as he worked his finger in, massaging me and then pumping his finger in and out. I stayed still, bent over the table with my legs spread. He explained he needed it well lubed for the instrument he needed to use and even showed it to me. It was metal and had a mechanism on the end that spread it wider. He even demonstrated it for me.

This part of the examination was enjoyable and I hoped my pediatrician would start doing the same thing, although I never heard the boys at the corner mention this part. Maybe they were too embarrassed to talk about it.

When the metal tube was inserted, it went in easily, all that stretching the doctor did with his fingers must have helped. As he opened it up, I could feel it stretching. Mark should have used this instrument; I wonder if you could buy one if you were not a doctor. I felt myself getting hard, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get it to go down. I tried counting in my head, something that worked in the boys' showers at school. I hoped the doctor did not notice, when suddenly, he reached around and grabbed it.

"Don't worry, it happens to all boys, it's normal and natural."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to."

"No need to apologize. Does it feel good at this width?"

"Feels ok."

"But does it feel good? Your penis says you like this. Don't lie to me, or I may need to punish you again. Does it feel good? It is only natural for a boy your age."

"Yes, it feels good."

"Ok, I need to note the width of the opening."

This went on for several more minutes, the doctor would open that instrument another click and ask me again before writing down the measurement. After many clicks, it became painful and I let out a long ahhh, before the pain subsided, breathing deeply. After a pause, for me to catch my breath, another click and another bout of pain, until I said, "Please, no more, it hurts too much."

Then it was over, the doctor said I did well, as he removed the instrument.

"Stay bent over the table, look straight ahead, keep your hands on the table and your legs spread. I have to get a wipe to clean the lube, and in the meantime, rest, I don't want you to stand up right away, you might be dizzy if you do."

The doctor turned off the light on his headband and there was quiet darkness. I heard what sounded like a zipper and could sense that he was still behind me. Then sounds that I did not immediately recognize, as I tried to guess what he was doing. I thought he would get up and go to a cabinet for a wipe, if he did not already have one on that little table, but he did not. Several minutes passed in silence, well, except the doctor's breathing becoming more rapid. Several more minutes, and I suspected he was jacking off, but I dared not turn around. I felt a hand on my butt, and the doctor obviously standing up, to get a wipe? Then it happened, my butt felt it, he came on me! I was sure of it.

"Don't move, some lube spilled on you and I don't want it to drip onto the floor."

I heard his zipper again, before he went to a cabinet, returning with the wipes. Strangely, I enjoyed having someone else wipe my butt, like I was a baby having his diaper changed.

"Ok, I need to draw blood and ask you some health questions over in my office, but give me a few minutes and I'll call you over."

"Should I get dressed?"

"No, just wait as you are."

When the doctor did call me over to his office, he was behind his desk with the shades down. The room had been divided into two rooms, and did look like it was a big dining room before with plenty of wood paneling and wooden moldings, on the ceiling too. There was a wall that went up about two-thirds of the way to the ceiling, maybe seven feet, that divided it into two rooms with a chandelier above that center wall. I felt self-conscious, naked, covering myself up. The room was well lit from the chandelier.

"Come closer and stand next to my desk."'

The doctor said it was important to know and for me to understand my sexual development. He told me that I was on the cusp of puberty, and probably already started from what he could tell from my examination. Emphasizing that such a discussion needed to stay private between me and him, as his doctor, including any examinations or discussions. I said I would keep everything private as I stood there. He moved my hands away and told me to relax, in fact stand at ease like they do in the army, legs spread, hands behind by back.

He asked if I was making any cum yet, or more likely clear liquid, like a wet dream, as he fondled my balls, as if speaking to them and not directly to me. He wanted to know what I was thinking when he examined my prostrate. Did I like it?

Telling me about doctor-patient confidentiality, he told me it was like confession, that he was bound by oath, just like the priest, to never tell anyone, and how important it was for my health to be honest. The questions continued like MB's questions. He said from the measurements that he knew that I had been experimenting by putting things inside my butt, reassuring me it was perfectly normal at my age and the sign of a healthy sexual development. He asked if another boy, older boy, teen had intercourse with me, another normal part of growing up and nothing to be ashamed of … maybe a man, as he told me the measurements before I felt the discomfort of the measuring tool. Discomfort! I was in pain.

The doctor needed to know my mental health too, an important part of growing up. How did I feel about a man satisfying himself inside me? That being able to do that for a man takes a special boy, not all boys can make others feel good like I can, and I should be proud of my ability to please and help others. I was a good boy, and I should keep helping others…

The doctor drew some blood and told me he would have the results back in a week and to come back next week. Unfortunately, I would be back in school, so we agreed to meet after school, after his golf and before dinner.

***

The Phoenix must be out by now, and I race to Veteran's Park to check the personals, quickly scanning, I find, "Congratulations Erik, MB and T." Tuesday makes sense, with the holiday weekend. I check out the rest of the personals, and become more adept at understanding what they mean with all the acronyms and pseudo messages. Most are men or women looking for other men or women, but there must be a lot of men out there who like boys more than anything. I overheard an adult some time ago say, "Those men can't get a girl, so they have to settle for a boy." I bet I am better than any girl, I hear most do not swallow from the boys at the corner … like none.

Chapter Eighteen

Saturday will be another bust, I am told that we are going on a family picnic at Wachee Lake, it has the nicer picnic areas and a sandy beach, but no docks or diving boards like the other lake. It will be the last picnic of the summer and grandma is joining us along with my cousins, aunts, and uncles. We must head up to the lake early to reserve picnic tables together. The beach house opens at 9, and that is where you reserve tables. They charge $2 per table per day. It is Friday, I have time to call Mark, but I need to do it in private. My parents have a phone in their bedroom, the only other phone besides the one in the kitchen.

I wait until everyone is awake and either downstairs or gone out for the day before I call using the upstairs phone. There is no answer, I let it ring. Oh, he is probably at work. I will have to try again later, but that will be around dinner time when everyone is home.

"Who are you calling?"

My mother is in the doorway, and looking straight at me. Damn, that was close.

"Dave."

"He lives next door; are you that lazy, that you can't walk next door?"

"I just wanted to know what he was doing today."

"Why didn't you use the downstairs phone?"

"Because I was upstairs when I thought about it."

"It's time to go out anyway, you're not hanging around the house all day."

Heading out, I run into Jeff, Pauly, Larry, Bobby, Kevin, and Fred.

"Hey, we were just coming to get you for stickball. Is your brother home? We need more players."

I was thinking about riding my bike up and back to Mark's house and leaving him a note, but a sudden change of plans sounds more fun. I will try calling him tonight. It is the last weekend of summer freedom, the unofficial end of summer, but for me, Labor Day spells the last day before school and we always have something planned for that day. This year, I was told we have been invited to a backyard barbeque at Cliff's house. I do not know Cliff; he works with my father.

The day goes by carefree and I am a sweaty mess at dinnertime. After dinner, I try to make that phone call from upstairs, but there is no privacy. People are outside the open door that I dare not close and be accused of doing something I should not be doing in my parents' bedroom. They are running up and down the stairs, in and out of bedrooms, in and out of the bathroom, which is next to my parents' room. There is never a moment of peace in this house. The phone rings several times and is answered downstairs. I tried to call when I thought I had a chance, only to have someone downstairs pick up the phone to make a call. Too much going on this weekend, and everyone calling everyone it seems. I give up and head outside, the last days of summer freedom that I do not want to miss.

Later, after dark, it was not any better, even worse. My mother was upstairs giving my little brothers a bath with the door open, as she always does, that way she can keep an ear and eye on everything else in the house. I remember those days, two or three of us in the bathtub together, to save on hot water. Standing naked outside the bathtub as we were dried off, one by one, using the same towel. Eight years old is when I finally revolted and insisted on taking my own bath, by myself. It was not pleasant, as I was told to use the water in the tub after it had already been used … saving hot water, which it was not by then, it was cold. At least during the summer, it stayed warmer longer. By ten, I was allowed to use the shower. I do not understand adults sometimes, like why it was such a big deal to use the shower and not have to take a bath. Children take baths, another stupid rule, like no swimming for an hour after eating or no eating an hour before church. Who makes this stuff up?

I never did call Mark; I never saw a chance to do so.

***

Saturday morning and I am up early, I plan to meet Mark at the flower shop and let him know I have to go on a family picnic, the last one of the summer. I put on Twerp's underpants, and then shorts and a tee shirt, we may have time for some fun and I do not want to have another run-in with my mother or Twerp. I am downstairs at 7:30.

"Oh, good, you're up, and dressed, I was about to call you. You have to go up to the lake with your father and help him reserve a table."

"What? Why does he need help?"

I know that on a holiday weekend, the tables go fast, and people line up at the beach house before it opens at 9. I have been there with my father in previous years. We scout out a few good tables, they are all numbered, and then get in line with our first/second/third choices. The tables on the peninsula are the best, it is a small hill overlooking the lake on one side and the swimming area with lifeguards on the other side. Those tables always go first.

"We need to reserve at least four tables next to each other, we have a big group this time and your father is reserving two tables and your Uncle Ray the other two. They have a limit of two tables per family."

After you reserve your table, that is, pay the $2, they put your name on it, and it is yours for the day. It is first come, first serve, on the day, no advance reservations. People who reserve early get the best tables and then come back later with their picnic stuff, that is if they live close like we do.

"I don't want to."

"You don't have a choice."

"Tell Matt or Todd they have to go."

"Todd has to work today, you know he works every Saturday, and Matt will be washing pots and pans this weekend at the same restaurant, they need the extra help, and it may lead to him getting a regular job there."

"This isn't fair, I don't want to stand around waiting, send Twerp."

"You need to stop calling him that, I hear you calling him that all the time."

"Well, he is; he's always telling on me, mostly lies to get me in trouble."

"Enough, you're going whether you like it or not."

"What's all the commotion down here?"

Hearing the gruff voice of my father, I turn around, "I don't want to go to the lake to reserve a table."

"We're leaving in 10 minutes, I told Uncle Ray that I would meet him there at 8."

"I haven't eaten breakfast," said as my mother hands me an egg sandwich with ketchup on it.

"I don't want to go; you don't need me."

"I think we'll leave now, as we're ready, and it doesn't hurt to get there early."

It was hurting me–as he pulled on my ear and dragged me out the back door to the car.

I ate my sandwich in the car as we drove up. I did not talk, just ate. I know when we get there, I will have to run around and get the table numbers, four together.

When we arrive, there are people already there and I race to the peninsula and scout out tables there. My father goes to the other side of the swimming area. As we meet back at the beach house, a line is already forming and Uncle Ray is just arriving. Tom is with Uncle Ray, maybe we can sneak off into the woods later. I still like Tom.

My father and Uncle Ray get in line and Tom and I scout some more possibilities. I was told the peninsula was a waste of time, those go first and we are not first in line, there are at least four other people ahead of us.

The beachmaster arrives around 8:30 and goes in the back door of the beach house. Maybe he will open the front door early and we can get out of here and I can race to the flower shop, late, but not too late.

It does not happen. Lifeguards start arriving, all going in the back, the front opens at nine.

We do get tables on the peninsula, for the first time, then again, this is the earliest we have come up here. My father and Uncle Ray want to check the tables out, the tables I picked out, so they know where they are going when we come back with all the picnic stuff. I want to get back home.

That gruff voice again, "We'll have to carry all the stuff up the hill from the parking lot, won't be as easy as the other side."

"Nice spot though, we'll have to help mom up the path," said Uncle Ray.

"There's steps going down to the swimming area from here; maybe she'll have to go the long way around, down the path to the beach from the parking lot and then across the beach area and up those steps. The dirt path up the hill from the parking lot might be too much for her, it is steep and narrow."

Uncle Ray was in no hurry to go, "Maybe we should see if those tables on the other side are still available?"

***

We finally head back home, keeping the tables on the peninsula. It is a mad house as my brothers are all up and getting ready, except Todd and Matt, they have left for work. Coolers are packed; charcoal and lighter fluid; folding chairs for adults, towels in a big bag; change of clothes; sweatshirt… I want to call Mark, but it is too busy–again. My father is monopolizing the one bathroom. I do not know what he does in there for so long, so I pee behind the bushes in the backyard. I dare not use the upstairs phone and risk him catching me: the bathroom is next to my parent's room, and the phone is next to the wall to the bathroom. If he heard me, or caught me in his room, it would not be a short encounter like yesterday with my mother.

With the station wagon loaded, and my father out of the bathroom, it is my mother's turn to use it and get herself ready. My father has a cup of coffee ready for him at the head of the table, where he sits and no one else dares sit. Maybe I can make a quick phone call.

"Sit."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to. You better be on your best behavior today. We have a lot of stuff to carry up to those tables that you wanted, and your grandmother will need help climbing those steps. I don't want any fighting with your cousins either. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but I always behave myself. Can I go now?"

"No, you don't, which is why I have to smack you, and we're about to leave and I don't want you wandering off somewhere."

Finally, we head up to the lake, stopping for ice and beer on the way.

***

After making many trips to bring everything up to the picnic area along the shorter dirt path, and grandma along the paved path and cement steps, my father lights the charcoal so it is ready for lunch before settling in one of the folding chairs with a beer next to Uncle Ray. My mother and Uncle Ray's wife are busy setting the picnic tables and taking out other stuff, like ketchup and mustard, chips and snacks. Uncle Tom is always late, he does not live here in town and has about a 45-minute drive. Aunt Peg, my godmother and favorite should be here shortly. She is the youngest, single, and going to school to become a nurse. She works at the hospital as a student nurse and has odd hours.

Taking advantage of this lull, I head down to the bathhouse, which is big compared to the small one at the state forest. This one has individual changing areas, and as I did not change into my bathing suit before we left, I need to.

"Where are you going?"

"To change into my bathing suit."

"Ok, but come back, lunch will be ready shortly."

The ten dollars that Jim paid me is in my pocket and I need change for the pay phone on the side of the bathhouse. The guy in the bathhouse does not have change and suggests the snack bar that is on the path to/from the parking lot. It is not open, and the sign says, "Open 12-8PM." Damn, nothing seems to go my way, ever, but it must be close to 12 by now, so I decide to change first and come back.

Entering the bathhouse, men to the left, women to the right, there are a few people in the bathhouse, mostly adults, and one guy with a little kid. They have doors on the changing booths, which are about the size of a stall in a restroom except no toilet, and with the same kind of door, the ones where you can see under and through the gaps on the sides of the door. I still have Twerp's underpants on, so I will need to make sure no one sees them, especially Twerp after I change. At the very end, there is a big open area, where you can change if you want. It is mostly used by kids who do not care about privacy like the adults. I go there.

As I leave the bathhouse, I see a clock on the wall behind the man at the counter, it is 11:50, so I head over to the snack bar for change.

"You will have to buy something, I do not have a lot of change yet, or you can come back later when I do."

Buying a candy bar works, I need to make that phone call.

***

"Hello, Mark?"

"Hello. Where are you?"

"At the lake, Wachee Lake."

Mark was mad, I could tell from his voice, "Why didn't you meet me this morning?"

"Another family picnic and I never had a chance to use the phone, my house is too busy all the time."

"Are you at a pay phone?"

"Yes, on the side of the bathhouse."

"And you couldn't use the one in front of the flower shop or the one outside the market?"

"I didn't think about that."

"Yes, you don't think, and left me waiting there."

"Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, you have earned a punishment."

"When will you be home?"

"Probably late, we usually eat supper here too and then sit around until the bugs start eating us alive."

"You've disappointed me, again. I think you only care about yourself, and not your master. I am not sure being a slave boy is what you want. It will take something big to convince me otherwise."

"I am really sorry, and I did try to call, a bunch of times, and I do want to be…"

Looking around, there are too many people nearby, and someone else is on the other pay phone next to this one, so I stop there.

After a brief silence, Mark says, "Goodbye," and hangs up.

***

An hour after lunch we are allowed to go swimming. Everyone is there, including Uncle Tom's wife and kids. We are told we can go swimming in the public beach area only, even though there are people swimming on the other side of the peninsula and further down the lake, past the parking area with the boat ramp. That side is rocky, and kids are diving off the rocks; then further down, past the fishing pier there is a rope swing that kids are using to swing out over the water and into the lake. No lifeguards there, or anywhere else but the public beach area. It would be more fun to jump off the rope or dive off the rocks.

The men are sitting around with their beers, alcohol is allowed in the picnic areas only, as the moms settle in on the sandy beach in front of the kiddie area. That is where my little brothers are, along with Uncle Tom's kids, Aunt Jane, Ray's wife, and Aunt Anne, Tom's wife. Aunt Peg, is not married and does not have any kids, but joins the women anyway, she is going out on a date later today. A barber she met.

Outside the kiddie area, the water gets deep and is over my head as you approach the lifeline with all its buoys. Tom and I race out and back; he does beat me, but then again, at 14, he has a slim muscular tone that I do not have yet. His sister is off with the girls. I do want in his pants, and cannot take my eyes off his teenage chest. I decide to do something about it and in chest-deep water, I remove my bathing suit, a bit daring, but the water is murky with all the people stirring up the sand and we are a good distance from shore. I know the water on the other side, the rocky side, stays clear. I decide to be bold and take charge. It has worked before, and I think I am desperate.

"Tom, come see something," as I look down, as if something is in the water.

"What?" as he swims towards me and looks down too. "Hey, you took your bathing suit off. What did you do that for?"

Tom starts looking around, as if he was the guilty one.

"I wanted to; no one can see out here, try it."

"There are people around."

"So, they can't see anything unless they get close to us." And people do, just as I said it, swimming or walking by, but they do not stop. "It feels cool."

"No, put your bathing suit back on."

"If you take yours off and let me see it again, I can jerk you off here in the water, no one will know, they will just think we're talking, like we are now."

"I told you, I like girls, not boys, like you do."

"Maybe we can sneak off into the woods and I can try to give you a blowjob."

"No, you're a boy."

"So, a mouth is a mouth. Have you ever had a blowjob?"

"No."

"Well, no one will know but us, and I certainly would never tell."

"No."

Reaching for Tom's crotch, I grab his cock, as he pulls away. It felt semi-hard, so I know he is at least thinking about it. Maybe later, as he thinks about it more. My bathing suit goes back on.

Tom stays away from me, swimming away every time I try to catch him.

***

Twerp says grandma is buying everyone ice cream at the snack bar; Aunt Peg has the money, and we need to go now. Good, out of the water, I will be able to check Tom out better, like the boys at the other lake, when I hung onto the dock from the water and looked up at those teenage bulges. I do not have a bulge yet, at least not like they do.

Gathering in front of the snack bar, I smile at Tom, and even scratch my crotch, like I have an itch, which I do, an itch for Tom. He does notice, and shakes his head slowly. No one else notices, a boy scratching is not unusual. We are told it is time to take a break from the water and the youngest are going down for a nap as the women head back to the picnic area.

This is my chance. I catch Tom away from the others, including Twerp.

"Tom, want to take the trail that goes over to the tree rope?"

"Only to use the rope."

"Yeah, only to use the rope. We're not supposed to go over there, so we'll have to sneak off."

"You're not supposed to, my father didn't say anything to me."

The two of us sneak off, and make it over to the rope, and wait in line behind the others for our turn. It is fun and I take every opportunity to bug Tom. If I have learned anything, it is that persistence sometimes pays off.

Whispering, "Tom, don't you want to know what it feels like to have lips wrapped around your cock?"

Tom ignores me, mostly, but I notice he stays semi-hard and uses the palm of his hand to push down on the front of his bathing suit from time to time.

After several jumps, we decide to go back before we are missed, that, and the waiting in line between jumps takes forever. Along the way, we see teenagers making out, just off the trail, some far off and barely still in sight, others closer.

I ask Tom, "Why are there so many people making out on this trail?"

"They do all summer; it's just been that way forever. Not many adults, if any, come down here."

"Sooo… we could sneak into the woods, far enough off the trail so no one sees us."

"No, I wouldn't take that chance, someone might see us, there are plenty of people doing the same thing … aaand they are boys with girls."

"What if we found some place where no one would see us?"

"There isn't any place around here."

"So, if there was, would you?"

"No."

***

Tom takes the dirt path from the parking area up to the picnic area. I tell him I am taking the long way around so they would think I was down at the public beach. As I pass the snack bar, I stop cold, and suck in a big breath–Mark is on the path heading towards me.

As he approaches, I say, "Hi."

"Hi," comes his reply and then nothing as we both look at each other.

Silence reigns for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a moment, before he finally says, "Follow me."

Follow him I do, to his car, where he opens the driver's door and tells me to get in and slide over. We drive off.

"Where are we going?"

"Slaves do not speak unless told to." More silence and then, "What is your mouth good for?"

I hesitate for a few seconds, collecting my thoughts, I know the answer he is looking for, I am sure of it, and I want my answer to be perfect. I need to get back on his good side, I have not been fucked in a long time, at least I think so, and Mark, my Master is the best at it, he knows me; knows what I want and gives it to me.

Mark breaks me out of my thoughts when he says in a demanding tone, "I asked you a question slave, you have permission to speak, now answer me, and next time I ask you a question, I expect an answer."

"My mouth is good for giving my Master a blowjob and keeping his balls drained, my humble duty."

"Good answer. Maybe you can be redeemed after all. Why are you waiting? You should be anticipating my needs. Seems you need a lot more training before I give you a collar."

I lean over onto Mark's lap as he drives and undo his shorts, pulling out his man-sized cock that grows bigger as I struggle to free it from his underwear. Taking his now hard and erect cock in my hand, I turn my head and rest it on his lap in front of the steering wheel.

"Master, may I have permission to suck your cock?"

"Yes, and make sure nothing gets on my shorts, or the seat of the car. I do not want any spots, so you better make sure everything stays in your mouth, no spit, no precum, no cum better drip down. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Master."

As I work Master's cock, my mind drifts to what I want, and as my tongue works hard to make sure I lick up every bit of saliva or precum, I cannot stop thinking about being fucked.

~~~

I imagine myself on Master's bed, I am naked, on all fours, looking back at Master as he strips his clothes off, showing me his hard and erect manhood. I am the one that causes his excitement, I am the one he lusts after. He will reward me with a good fucking and my body will react with groans and shivers as he pounds harder and faster. I cannot wait.

Master grabs the lube from the nightstand drawer and standing on the side of the bed, pushes gently with his left hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. I push my chest down into the mattress, and turn my head towards Master so he can see my face. Using his right hand, he lubes my boy pussy, as I moan softly, more like a kitten as I arch my back to raise my butt high and expose my pink rose bud. He works one finger in as I let out a soft "aaah." With two fingers, I am in ecstasy and my boy-sized dick starts to throb.

I am looking at the object of my desire, as Master's hard cock bounces in anticipation. I see a few drops of precum that I would gladly lick off but I dare not move.

Smack. A sudden slap hits my butt hard and I jerk forward. "Don't get too excited, you need to wait until I am in you. I want to feel your dry orgasm from inside and outside."

Taking a deep beath, I reply, "Yes, Master." Gritting my teeth, Master pumps two fingers in and out. I wonder if he is lubing me up or getting me so hot that I disobey him and start to orgasm after he told me not to. It is hard to keep my body from reacting.

Finally, he puts the head of his cock on my hole and rubs it up and down. Smack. With his right hand he smacks my left butt cheek, "Open up," before smacking my right cheek with his left hand.

Raising my butt as high as I can while keeping my chest firmly planted into the mattress, I feel the head of his cock pop in as I let out a gasp. Slowly he pushes in as I push out, as Master has taught me to do.

It is not long before the real pounding begins, the slapping sound of Master's hips on my butt cheeks. He slows occasionally, pausing momentarily, I know he wants this to last, he does not want to blow his load too soon. He takes this opportunity to again slap my butt, right hand onto my left check followed by this left hand onto my right cheek. My asshole squeezes tightly around his cock with each smack. It is an involuntary reaction, and I know my Master likes the feel, as he does it again.

~~~

"What the fuck!" I am startled out of my fantasy and look up at Master with a face that says I do not know what is wrong. "You're humping my seat and not paying attention to my cock."

True. I realize that my left leg is on the seat and my right leg is hanging over the front of the seat and with my knees bent. I was able to hump to the max the front edge of the seat that way. I quickly lick up saliva that is dripping down the underside of Master's cock.

"Too late for that, look at my shorts, they're wet, and now I won't be able to go back to the beach and enjoy the cute boys running around."

Mark has just admitted that he does what I have done: enjoyed looking at the boys at the lake in their swimsuits. I never gave it much thought that someone else would do what I have done at the lake. Does he look at their bulges too? Or maybe their bare chests and faces. I wonder. Could it be their firm and rounded butts too? What do Master's look at? Is it the same or different from slave boys? What do they think when boy watching?

Mark pushes my head down onto his cock and rams it into the back of my mouth. I start sucking and gasping for air. He lets up a little and I raise my head, only to be pushed back down again. I get the message and start bobbing up and down as fast as I could before Mark explodes into my mouth. I make sure to swallow all of it and clean his cock for him before sitting back up.

"Shit. Did you leak some precum on my seat?"

Looking down, I see a small spot on the front of my nylon swimsuit. It was dry before I got in the car, they dry quickly, especially after walking back from the rope swing.

Checking the seat, I do not see anything. Only a drop or two of clear stuff ever comes out, so I tell Master that I do not see any. It must have happened when I was imagining him fucking me. I think I blew it again, he is now mad at me, so any chance of really being fucked is gone.

Mark drops me back at the parking lot.

***

Making my way back up to the picnic area, I am greeted with, "Where have you been?"

"In the water, swimming."

"Aunt Peg couldn't find you and neither could Tom, we're about to eat."

"I didn't see them."

The men are around the grill drinking beer, and cooking hot dogs and hamburgers. My father turns and tells me I was gone too long and he will deal with me when we get home. I know what that means, a belt across my butt.

Chapter Nineteen

Church today, no break from that, even on holiday weekends. Last night was a repeat of my father drinking so much that my mother insisted on driving home. It seems when he and his brother Ray get together that is the main activity. Uncle Tom barely drinks and stops long before leaving, saying he has a long drive, which he does. Aunt Peg brought a bottle of wine with a straw basket wrapped around it that she told me was a fiasco. My mother and aunts shared the one bottle. I have one of those bottles on a shelf in my room, empty of course, because I think they look cool, like Aunt Peg, who is so hip.

The fight began as soon as the car was loaded and we were ready to go. It was the usual shouting and yelling, with my father calling my mother names. If I said things like that, I would be beat to a pulp. After he smacks her around a few times, she gives up and we drive home. My father does drive slowly all the time, too slow compared to everyone else I have ridden with, but this is excruciating. My mother thinks that is fine, as we go off the side of the road a few times onto the shoulder where it is dirt and rocks before weaving back. My mother is silent, in fact there is not a sound in the car the whole way. Arriving home, my father misses the driveway and we park on the neighbor's front lawn. He gets out, like nothing is amiss and heads into the house. This morning, he is still in bed. I did hear him throwing up in the bathroom last night just after I went to bed.

There is a knock on the back door, it is Mr. Roberts from next door asking that we move the car off his front lawn. My mother gets the keys and asks my brother Todd to move the car. He does not have a license yet, just his learner's permit, but is happy to move the car.

Church and grandma's are next, except my mother is unable to get my father up. She tells us he is going to a later Mass.

***

After donuts at grandma's, I head up the street to my cousin Tom's house; they have their family cabin tent set up in the backyard. Tom says they must clean it thoroughly and then let it air dry before putting it away until next summer. It is a big tent, with a large section in the middle and then two rooms off to each side. Our family does not go camping, and I want to explore it.

Tom describes that the middle is big enough for some chairs and a table with the zippered doors to the side rooms for sleeping. He and his sister use one side and his parents the other. When his older brothers and sisters went camping too, they used the middle room for sleeping and had two tarps, one to put over the picnic table and the other over some folding chairs.

Unzipping the door, we go into one of the bedrooms and that is when I spring it on Tom that this would be a good place to get naked and have some fun.

"You're crazy, you know."

"No, just horny, like all the time. Aren't you?"

"No, I take care of it, so I'm not."

"You mean you beat off like you did before?"

"Yeah, all boys do, you should try it."

"I have, but nothing comes out. Well… a couple of tiny drops if I keep at it for a long time, but I don't have my own room like you do."

"I didn't have my own room until my brother moved out."

"Did you catch him doing it?"

"Yeah, like every morning and sometimes at night."

"Did you say anything?"

"Not really, he told me how to do it and that I would have to do it when I got older, just like you should."

"Lucky. Twerp just won't leave me alone. He even barges into the bathroom on me."

"School starts this week, try the stalls at school, there are a few boys that do it there."

"I'll have to try, but I don't think I'll have enough time, it takes me too long. And wouldn't someone see through the gaps in the door?"

"Probably."

"Do you want to do it now? Here?"

"No, but you can if you want. Let me close the flaps on the doors and windows first."

Dropping my pants and underpants in one swift motion, I am already hard, Tom does that to me. Standing there, I start stroking as he zips up the doors and window flaps before looking back at me.

"Don't get any on the tent, I have to clean it today or tomorrow before putting it away until next summer. Catch it in your hand."

"I don't know if anything will come out. Usually nothing. If you show me yours, that might help … Pleeease."

Tom unzips the tent window that looks towards the house, just enough to peek out, as he tells me, "No, and hurry up." More begging and pleading and telling him he can just stand by the window and keep watching and if anyone comes, he will see them, and they would have to unzip the door to the big room and then the door to the sleeping room. We have plenty of time… And I have seen it already.

The promise of a blowjob does not change his position, but it does change the bulge in his pants, as he reminds me, he is not a homo like me. We talk about girls and whether they "put out" as the boys at the corner say, and our conversation goes to whether he has made it to first base, and oh, what is first base and second base, and third base? I know a home run is fucking, but what are the others?

As Tom explains it, first base is kissing and stuff, second base is feeling her tits, third base is getting your hand in her pants and feeling her clit, and yes, a home run is fucking her.

"So, if a girl gets into your pants, then she has gotten to third base."

"I guess so."

"Well, have you gotten to third?"

"No, only first, maybe second, but not under her blouse."

"Well, second must be nothing for a girl, boys go around shirtless all the time. Have you let a girl get to third?"

"I pulled my pants down for a girl once, so she could see, but nothing else."

"Let me see it again."

"That was a girl. You need to start thinking about girls, not boys, especially before high school, you'll get beat up all the time."

"Tom, if you think about girls right now, can you cum?"

"I don't need to."

"But if you tried, can you?"

"I might."

Tom was hard to convince, I told him I would not touch him, only look. The talk about girls helped, his face was turning red and his bulge was straining his pants. More yukky girl talk and he finally agrees to join me in beating off, but turns his back to me as he pulls it out through his zipper, leaving his pants up. If he only knew about the fantasy I had of him at his sister's apartment, the sister that is a waitress. How I fantasized being naked and he was fully dressed. I was willing to do anything he wanted, and the part where I imagined him spanking me for moving when he was trying to rub one out on my leg.

I would gladly give Tom a blowjob and let him fuck me, and I am sure I could do it better than any girl. He just does not have it right, girls do not know how to make boys feel good, they do not have the right plumbing to know and definitely not the right attitude that sex is fun. They are stuck up.

Sunday is a bust, and I am left frustrated, again. Even girls at Tom's age do not put out, so what is the point in trying to change and like girls, there are men who like me and are willing to fuck me, like Mark, but only if I am good, which has not been the case lately.

***

Monday is another picnic, this time at Cliff's house. It is not far from our house and my father is bringing beer and my mother has made two big bowls of salad: potato and macaroni. We bring potato chips too, and soda. Cliff is supplying the hot dogs and hamburgers, and his wife made salads too, so we have plenty to eat. They have a private yard surrounded by bushes, with a patio off a sliding glass door that separates the yard into two areas. Standing on the patio, there are chairs with small tables to the left and a swing set and plenty of grass to the right. There are four girls here. They only have girls, no boys. My mother introduces each of us, and says that the two oldest, Todd and Matt, are home. They have other plans with friends today, and she thought bringing five boys was enough.

How Matt and Todd avoid this stuff is beyond me, although I did want to come to this picnic, as I had never met Cliff, who works in construction with my father, and I wanted to know if all construction workers were the same: muscular and mean.

Playing on the swing set for a bit was fine, although I am getting too old for a swing set. The oldest girl suggested we play games, and she would organize them. She looked and acted older than me, maybe 13 or 14, and her sister seemed to be a year younger than me. The other two were even younger.

The hot dogs were ready quickly, and we abandoned playing a game before we even started. I would have to wait for a hamburger, but I was told the kids were having hot dogs, not hamburgers. I protested a bit, as I had my fill of hot dogs on Saturday and I was willing to wait, but it did not change anything. My mother said I needed to eat salad too and suggested I try the salad that Cliff's wife made. It looked strange to me, it had all kinds of stuff in it that I did not recognize, not the plain potato and macaroni salads that my mother made. I said I did not like it, which was followed by the usual how do I know, I have not tried it, followed by, it does not look good…

Eating my hot dogs and my mother's salad, along with soda, we eventually got back to playing games, organized by the older girl. First throwing a big plastic ball around, but once it hit the tables holding the food a couple of times, we played badminton, then croquet, but those games did not allow everyone to play, and eventually the younger ones, other than my youngest brother who was napping, wanted to join in, having tired of the swing set.

It was hot as the afternoon sun beat down and I took off my tee shirt. The older girl suggested we could all play Ring Around the Rosie, a game I was not familiar with and did not know how to play or what the rules were. We boys played stickball, baseball, football, and street hockey. Hide and Go Seek when I was a little kid, but not this. It was a simple game, someone stood in the middle, and the rest of us formed a circle around them. We sang this song while moving around clockwise while the person in the middle moved counterclockwise with their eyes closed and covered with one hand while pointing with their finger with the other.

Ring around the rosy,

A pocketful of posies.

Ashes, ashes.

We all fall down!

At that, we all fell down and whoever the person in the middle was pointing at was next in the middle. The singing was fun and I waited my turn to be in the middle, but it never came. After everyone else had been in the middle, some more than once, I blurted out, "When do I get to be in the middle?"

The older girl said I could be next, as I had not had a turn, so after one more time, it would be my turn, and her sister, in the middle now, did not have to point.

Starting the singing and moving in a circle, my father called me over. I waited until we all fell down.

"When I tell you to come here, you do it immediately. Is that understood."

"Yes, and I did."

"You did not, you waited and then fell down with everyone else. Now sit here next to me," as he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down to the ground next to his chair. His speech was slurred and he continued to drink his beer and talk to Cliff about baseball and the playoffs … who would make it to the World Series. He continued his tight grip on my wrist.

Everyone else stopped playing Ring Around the Rosie and moved off to other things. I asked why I had to sit there, only to have him squeeze and turn his hand around my wrist in a twisting motion, making it hurt. I waited another five or ten minutes before asking again, only to receive more pain directly at my wrist by twisting and then a backhand across my face. My mother had me put a shirt back on, and said we should be going shortly. We did not. I sat there for a very long time, how long, I do not know. Asking how long I had to sit there, or what I did wrong, was met with more pain. I overheard Cliff say that he did not hold back with the girls, and if he had a boy, he would be able to straighten him out in no time. He mentioned the "proper" way to discipline: naked for all to see, sets an example for the others, like they did in the olden days, at the town square. Parents these days are too soft, he said. Not my father, I thought, although he did not say much to Cliff.

***

The sun was setting when we finally went home. I was told to go upstairs, take my clothes off, and stand facing the wall for my punishment. I knew the position, stand facing the wall, arms outstretched so that just your fingertips touch the wall. Then take a step backwards, followed by leaning forward until the palms of your hands were flat against the wall, legs spread wide. My butt would then be in position for a thrashing.

Keeping my underpants on, I stood next to the wall, just outside my parent's bedroom and next to the bathroom, waiting. I figured I could drop my underpants and get into position as soon as I heard him coming up the stairs. What I heard was the distinct sound of a beer can opening. Then the TV. Shortly, my mother came up with my little brothers to give them a bath. She did not say anything. After that, Todd came up to use the bathroom and only said, "I'm glad it's you and not me anymore."

I remember when Todd was in this position, and the times he was belted while in bed. You could hear the screams throughout the house. I do not remember Matt getting it…

Twerp was next, and stopped to say, "You're supposed to be naked and up against the wall."

"Shut up."

"I'm telling … Daaad," not too loud, as he smirked.

"I'll kill you."

Then louder, "Daaad."

From downstairs, "What's going on up there?"

"Erik is bothering me again."

With a voice that told me he was drunk, "Erik, you better be up against that wall like I told you. You just earned yourself more."

With that, Twerp grinned and said, "You better get up against the wall," to which I did, before he spoke again, "Without your underpants."

Up against the wall, I turned my head to sneer back at him, while dropping my underpants. Satisfied, he went in to take a shower. My mother came back up to put my brothers to bed, and again said nothing. My little brothers did look at me, turning their heads around as they went down the hall. Matt came up and asked who was in the bathroom.

"Twerp, he's taking a shower."

"I have to go," and he went in while banging on the door, saying, "Coming in."

Matt did not say anything else to me.

When Twerp came out, he stopped to laugh at me while spinning his towel into a whip and then snapping it against my butt, saying "This is nothing compared to what dad is going to do to that butt."

I turned and grabbed the towel, he had another one around his waist, which I pulled off so I could whip him. He yelled, and grabbed the towel back. He did not like anyone seeing him naked. He said he was going to tell.

"You started it."

"Who is dad going to believe? Me or you?"

I was beat, as he demanded the towel back and hit me a couple of times, saying, that was for taking his towel.

Before leaving, he made fun of me, by pointing out that I was still a little boy, and his was bigger. His was not bigger, but probably the same size.

"It just hasn't started to grow yet."

"Yeah, and never will."

With that, he ran off to our bedroom to get dressed before returning to tell me how I should be up against the wall, legs spread. He took his time checking me out, and when I told him to go downstairs, he just warned me with a soft, "Daaad."

***

My father was brutal, I screamed and fell to the floor, only to be told to get back in position. His hits were wild, sometimes missing me, other times hitting my back. He told me to spread my legs wider and began hitting me between my legs. He worked that belt from just above my knees to just below my shoulders. My crying and screaming seemed to only make him angrier. My balls got hit as the belt hit my butt and then wrapped around my right hip before I felt the tip of the belt hit me there. Pain shot through me. Falling over, he continued to hit me while telling me to get back in position. He intentionally struck between my legs so that the belt hit the underside of my balls. I was a blubbering mess when my mother finally came up the stairs.

"Look what he did to me!" I screamed.

"My mother just said, "Put your pajamas on and go to bed."

At that, my father went into their bedroom and I went to my bedroom.

***

The next morning, I went downstairs in my underpants to show my mother the bruises. I pulled the back of my underpants down as I twisted my body to show her the welts on my butt.

"What did I do wrong?"

"You need to learn your lesson."

"What lesson? No one told me what I did wrong."

"You need to learn your lesson."

"You said that. What lesson? How can I learn if I don't know what l did wrong?"

My mother ignored me and kept making breakfast and lunches. Today was the first day of school. Todd was already out the door being in high school. Matt and I were next, my first year in junior high, and no more Twerp, as he was still down in grammar school.

***

The first day was busy, homeroom assignments, teachers telling us what to expect, finding all my classes. This was a big school, not like grammar school, where we stayed in the same room and a different teacher sometimes came in occasionally, like for science. Here, the teachers stayed in the same room and we had to move to our next class. I was lost a couple of times, like others, but there were hall monitors that helped after we showed them our class schedule. Sitting on those hard wooden chairs was something else, and a constant reminder about last night.

There was so much going on and so much new stuff to learn that I hardly thought about meeting MB tonight. The days were getting shorter and with school having started, there would not be as much freedom in the evening.

After school, I rode my bike over to my grandmother's house. I had this idea that if I showed my bruises and welts to his mother, then maybe she will punish him, and I did just that, pulling the back of my pants down, just enough to expose my right butt cheek and telling grandma that I was black and blue all over, and then I started to cry, and lifted my shirt up.

Grandma told me to pull my pants up and gave me hugs. Pulling a tissue out, she wiped my tears. I asked if I could eat over her house tonight and she said, "Yes, dear."

Letting my mother know, grandma and I made a nice meal. She always makes everything from scratch, and never uses canned or boxed stuff. She grinds her own meat for hamburg, chops fresh vegetables, and usually potatoes, and even has a thing to make pasta. At Thanksgiving, I have helped her make pumpkin pies, starting by scooping all the seeds out of the pumpkin, drying them in the oven, and with salt, we had a snack. The rest of the pumpkin is scooped out and mashed up with cinnamon and other stuff. She tells me about the ice man who used to deliver a block of ice every day for the icebox, even in winter, using a horse and sleigh, and how they used to have a wood burning stove in front of the chimney. The chimney is still there with a hole in it covered up with what looks like a plate that you eat off, but it is metal. The stove and refrigerator are electric, but I enjoy listening to grandma tell me how it was when she was younger and the things that grandpa did. I remember him, I remember asking why he yelled all the time, and grandma told me it was because he was deaf and thought everybody else was too. One day, he was not there anymore, gone to heaven. I remember asking when he would be back, and told, "He won't," followed by, "Can we visit him?"

After dinner, I went home on my bike, as grandma told me to. I was not home long before the phone rang and it was grandma. I could hear her yelling at my father and he just listened. Good, I thought, he deserves it. As soon as he hung up, I was out the front door, I had to meet MB tonight.

Chapter Twenty

Waiting for MB on the bench, I wonder where he lives and why he comes here during the week. We do live in a tourist destination, with most people staying for a weekend, usually stretching it by a day, staying Friday and Saturday and leaving on Sunday. Last weekend was busy and crowded with the Monday holiday; there was traffic everywhere, but MB left before the weekend.

This time MB heads up East Street before turning onto Central Street, where the police station is and where I met that boy who told me a lot about how to spot the cops. Turning left and left again, we are back on Upper Main Street headed back towards the hotel when MB stops to peer into a store window at the new men's suits on display. As I approach, he looks at me and quietly tells me the room number and to keep walking past him.

***

Meeting MB in his room, he is smiling as I close the door.

"Reliable. That's a good trait, unusual in a boy your age."

"Thank you." I did not know what else to say.

"The doctor's test results are in and you're clean with a good bill of health."

"Yes, I made sure I was clean before I went there, including my bum."

"That's not what I meant, no STDs."

"Oh. That doctor was weird. I think he likes boys too, and I am sure he masturbated on me, and tried to say it was the lube from when he checked my prostate."

"He is different from other doctors, which is why we use him. So, you know about your prostate?"

"Yes, it makes me horny, well, it feels good when I am horny, maybe it helps me to not be horny, because I feel better afterwards. I'm not sure … I just like it when it gets poked. And who is we?"

"Oh, you're not the first boy or the only boy, but you are in a very select group. You know boys grow and it won't be long before you're an adult."

"That's a long time away, like almost forever. I can't wait to be old enough to be on my own. When I'm 18, I'm moving out and getting my own place."

"Might seem like a long time for you, but before you know it, you'll be a big teenager, almost a man, and that's when men who like boys won't be as interested anymore."

"Oh, like that boy I met who said he was 'aging out.'"

"What boy? I need to know everything, remember?"

"I don't know his name and I only met him once."

"Did you do anything? Like have sex?"

"No, we just talked. And I told you that I don't tell everything, that when I promise to keep something secret, I don't tell anyone."

"Ah, yes, another quality I appreciate in you."

"Who are these other boys?"

"Well, like you, I have my secrets too, that I need to keep, but I do need to be sure you're staying safe, and in this business, it is super important that you do. We can't allow any chances."

"There's we again. Who are the people in this business?"

"You're full of questions today. What happened to the boy that did not ask questions? Another quality that I liked about you?"

"I don't know. I am tired of not knowing. There's just a lot of things that have happened this summer and a lot of things that I still don't know, like why was I beat so badly last night." I started to tear up, my emotions were getting to me, I was not being the tough boy I should be. My father would always tell me, "Toughen up." I tried not to blink, because my eyes were full of water and I knew the tears would flow down my face.

MB sat on the edge of the bed as I stood in front of him, and it happened: the tears flowed.

"Tell me about it, tell me what happened."

Crying like a little boy, and between sobs and sniffles, I told MB how my father beat me and I was not sure why. I thought it may have been because I was down at the swimming area too long on Saturday, but that did not deserve the beating I received, and besides, that had been two days before. I was never told why he called me over from playing when we were at Cliff's house for a barbeque. Forcing me to sit on the ground next to his chair as he twisted my wrist and arm to make it hurt … I do not know why he did that … kept doing that until we left. I left out the details of being naked in front of everyone and having a towel fight with Twerp, but did mention that even my mother would not tell me what I did wrong.

Showing MB my back, and then eventually stripping down to show the bruises on my butt, I finished my story and began to toughen up. MB just listened, taking my hand from time to time in his hand.

"I'm glad you told me. If I had seen that without you telling me, I would have thought it was the doctor."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the doctor has a fetish for spanking and torturing boys. He's into bondage and having slave boys. Only special boys go to him for anything other than a checkup. We would not allow what happened to you and there would be consequences for him. He pays well, very well, and conducts the physicals."

"Oh, he did paddle me with a rubber paddle, but it wasn't that bad. What does he do to the boys?"

"I do not know, it's his secret, but the boys are not damaged or hurt like you have been. It's more pretend. What do you know about bondage? Do you know what S&M is? Have you ever heard of slave boys? Sex slaves, not real ones."

That was a lot of questions. I told MB that I did know about that stuff from all my summer reading. He was quite surprised. I did not tell him about Mark, or my secret fantasy of being a sex slave. Why I open up so much to MB, I do not know. He is a good listener and I never feel threatened by him. I feel like I could walk away any time I wanted, not like my father, who I fear and whom I would never be allowed to walk–or run–away from. In the past, he has chased me when I have tried getting away and when he catches me, I pay the price.

MB pulled out my profile, as he called it, and told me he needed to do a lot of updating, that he did not ask questions about the rougher side of things, as he thought that would scare me away.

As MB asked more questions and wrote in the notebook, my thoughts ran towards the monster that lives with me, scares me, not the one that little kids think live under their bed–I never thought there was one there, but I knew one lived in our house, the one that likes to beat me. Hiding under my bed sometimes worked, other times it was in the closet. Memories of my older brother Todd being woken up with a loud crack of the belt scared me. He was beaten awake and beaten while he lay in bed. The screams through the house scared me. I always thought under the bed was the safe place and that is where I would hide until the monster was done: hoping he would not come for me next. Listening to Todd cry himself back to sleep kept me alert.

By now, I was sitting on MB's lap as he gently held me. I leaned into his chest; I felt comfortable and safe with MB, like when I was littler and my grandmother would hold me. I used to sit on Grandpa's lap as he told me what was happening with the baseball game on the radio. It was a big old-fashioned radio that he kept next to his chair, it was taller than me and rounded at the top. Grandpa went to heaven years ago and I do not know what happened to that radio. With MB, though, it felt different, more like Grandma.

Tomorrow I was supposed to go see the doctor, he said to come back on Wednesday for my results, but MB already had the results, so I asked if that meant I did not need to go see him.

"It would be nice if you did anyway. I'm sure the doctor would like to probe your prostate again, and as you told me you liked that, then I would suggest going. I did mention that he pays well."

"How well?"

"Depends, if you play his games, then a lot, if it's just a quick prostate check, then not as much."

That adult thing, they never seem to directly answer questions, but if I do not directly answer their questions, then it is hell to pay.

"Sooo, does this mean he is going to fuck me?"

"Probably, if you're ok with that, and I assume from what I have learned so far about you that you are."

"I am. I haven't been fucked in a long while, and I want to be, like I said, it makes me feel good."

"Ok, I will let him know. What about the other stuff? Would you be ok with that? Remember, it is only pretend, he would not hurt you, after all, he did take the Hippocratic oath to 'Do no harm.'"

"Yeah, I think it would be fun, especially the bondage stuff. I'll probably still be too sore for a spanking though."

***

Placing the palm of my hand on MB's crotch, I gently groped it, feeling his erection. It was a good one and I wanted it. Slipping down between his knees, I used both hands to rub the sides and feel his balls through the fabric of his trousers. MB just looked down at me with a warm smile as I looked up and smiled back. Undoing his belt, then zipping down his fly, I reached in and began gently rubbing his cock through his underwear. I kept looking up to be sure he was ok with what I was doing: I was looking for permission, approval, as I went further. I wanted to make MB feel good.

Warm fuzzies enveloped my belly as I opened the flap of his boxers and gently pulled his cock out, feeling it become harder in my hands. Looking up, I saw MB beaming down on me, and that is when the butterflies in my stomach hit, a good kind of butterflies.

With my right hand wrapped around his cock, I gently stroked the underside with my thumb while I leaned in to closely examine the head. Giving his rod a few up and down strokes, I then gently licked the head. MB jumped slightly; his cock must be super sensitive right now. A tender kiss with my lips slightly agape to cover his entire head helped to soothe things.

Sliding my lips down gradually, I breathed softly through my nose. I think this was helping the jitters in my belly as much as it was calming to MB. I do not know why, but I wanted to impress MB, to bow down before him, and let him know that I am but a humble slave to this important and powerful man. MB's superiority was not like Mark's or my father's. Mark had to work at being the master, it did not come natural to him. My father's was through sheer force, the threat and implementation of physical violence, he ruled through fear. MB did not work at it at all, nor had he ever threatened. His preeminence was different.

Feeling the head of MB's cock reaching the back of my throat, I stopped, as saliva dripped down and over my fingers and thumb. Lifting my head, I sucked and swallowed my spit down my throat and then wiped my hand on my thigh. Using my tongue, I slid up and down MB's shaft, gently kissing and sucking the head as I reached the top before going back down towards his balls, that were still locked inside his boxers. I wanted to please MB, I wanted more.

Reaching up to MBs waist with both hands, I tugged down on his trousers as he gently lifted himself up. I untied his shoes and removed his socks before kissing the top of his feet. I do not know why I did that. As I removed his trousers, one leg at a time, I noticed MB was unbuttoning and removing his dress shirt. He always dressed nicely, like a business man, like a man of importance.

We were now both completely naked as I kissed both of his balls before running my tongue up the underside of his cock and sucking the head back into my mouth. MB placed both hands on the sides of my head and started to direct me. I followed his lead as he had me work his balls more and then he stood up, still holding both sides of my head. This is where I belonged, kneeling before this powerful man as he held my head in place and fucked my mouth, slowly and gently. I could taste the precum, more so than before, as my focus shifted from me thinking about how to work his cock in different ways to just keeping still with my lips wrapped around his rod thinking only about his pleasure and knowing that it will soon spill the contents of his balls into my waiting and willing mouth.

The tempo picked up and I struggled a bit, his head was hitting the back of my throat. I could not take him in my throat, it would make me throw up. I concentrated on my breathing, through my nose. I prayed that I would not throw up and make a mess like I did in Mark's kitchen. That would be the end I thought. I would ruin everything.

As MB hit the back of my throat a few times, I gagged and had to push him off. I quickly sucked in a big breath and went right back down on his cock, hoping that I did not ruin it for him or me. This happened a few more times, and MB started to pump my mouth with shorter strokes, faster, but shorter when suddenly my mouth was flooded with his cum. So much so that it leaked out. I did not mind the salty taste of cum and the creamy texture … I liked salty snacks.

MB tilted my head back as he looked down on me and I looked up at him. I showed him the cum in my mouth before swallowing. Instinctively, I then wiped my hand across the front of my mouth before wiping my hand on my thigh.

It was getting late, so I cleaned up quickly in the bathroom and MB drove me home in his rental car, well, close to home.

"Happy Birthday, Erik" he said as he handed me a fifty-dollar bill. I had never seen one of those before, and now I have seen both a hundred and a fifty–Wow!

It had just turned dark as I entered my front door and quietly went up to my bedroom to read a book, a book I was supposed to read over the summer. I did spend the summer reading, just not one of the books I was supposed to read. I think the teachers know that most kids probably did not read one of the books from the list, because we had three weeks after school started before we had to turn in our book report.

My mind kept drifting from The Call of the Wild by Jack London to again, not being fucked. It was a good book, I liked it, Buck did not seem like a real dog to me, more like a boy on a wild adventure. I would love to go off on a wild adventure.

It was late when my mother came into my room.

"There you are. Where have you been?"

"Reading my book, I have to write a book report for school."

"How long have you been up here?"

"I don't know. What time is it now?"

"Almost time to turn the lights out and go to sleep, your brother will be up shortly. Are you close to the end of a chapter?"

***

Wednesday at school was a little easier, I was starting to know my way around, which was good, because starting next week there would be no more passes for being late to a class.

I had agreed to meet the doctor after school, but I had to be home for dinner. It was my birthday and it would be the usual, my mother would make whatever I said was my favorite and then we would have cake for dessert. No party with other kids from the neighborhood or relatives, we did not do that in our family, my mother said there were too many of us for that, and it would be too much work for her.

As for my father, I had not seen him since I quickly left when he was on the phone with grandma, his mother. He is usually up and out the door before we get up. He meets his construction friends at the bakery for coffee and a pastry before they go to whatever construction site they are working at the time. My mother wakes everyone in order, makes lunches, and serves breakfast in an assembly line fashion. She will yell up the stairs to whoever's turn it is for the bathroom, and who should be down for breakfast, and who should be out the door. We go in order, oldest to youngest, as that is the way school starts. High school starts the earliest, followed by junior high, then grammar school.

***

Riding my bike to the doctor's office, as it is on Lower Main Street, and we live off Upper Main Street, I ride around in the lawyers' parking lot first, just a kid riding his bike and then head across the grass to the doctor's place. Looking around as I rode, like that boy told me, people watching, so I know who is who and where everyone is, especially at the lawyers' building. Behind the doctor's office, there is a two-car detached garage, more like a barn, and I am sure it is like the ones in our neighborhood, one side was for the horse and the other side for the buggy. Nowadays, people put their car in there. Maybe I should hide my bike behind it, or on the side facing the funeral home, but then I would have to make my way across the lot to the back porch. I decide to quickly ditch my bike next to the cellar bulkhead at the right moment, as it is hidden from the lawyers' office by the back porch. From there, I make my way onto the porch.

Crouched down behind the porch wall, I have time to think, and my imagination takes over as I do what I do well, daydream. That is when the jitters hit me. Not bad jitters, good ones. I want the doctor to fuck me, and I want to know about the things he does to boys, the games they play. He is older than Mark, and must be more experienced.

~~~

I imagine I am one of his slave boys, I am naked, except for a collar around my neck with wrist and ankle cuffs. He has me on a leash as we walk up his front walkway to his big house. I imagine he lives in a big house like this one, because he is a doctor. He waves to his neighbor and says, "Good afternoon."

"Is that a new boy? Doctor." It is a woman; she has a hose in her hand with a large spray head that she is directing onto the flowers that surround the front porch that spans the entire front of the house and then wraps around the side where there is another door into her house.

"Yes, I just bought him today, he's not broken in yet to my liking."

"Do you still have that other boy? He was getting big."

"Yes, he will help me train this one."

My new home, and I was impressed. I wondered what training the doctor had in mind. I already knew how to give great blowjobs and always keep myself clean inside and out. I knew, because I was told, that this Master liked to torture his boys, and I imagined a basement like the torture dungeons in medieval castles. Slave boys were usually stripped naked on the auction block, so the buyers would know what kind of physical shape they were in. The bidders would inspect them beforehand, like they would a horse, checking their teeth, an indication of their health. Then the rest of their body, and if they were going to breed them, then that part was important. It was well known that the women looked for young men that were "hung like a horse."

Imagining myself on one of those auction blocks where slaves were sold before the civil war, with men and women in fancy outfits sticking their fingers in your mouth, and even up your butt as they grabbed your penis and nuts, while sliding their hand across your chest and stomach, with the occasional slap to the butt as you tried to stay still.

A naked slave boy being taken home would be normal, clothes would be provided later, and only if the Master deemed them necessary.

~~~

A different world, indeed, than reality. A world that I could create and build any way I wanted, it was my imagination, but I really wanted to know about the doctor's world that he created for real. I wondered if he did have one of those dungeons, like the pictures I had seen in the magazines. I wanted to be in his world, in his imagination, I wanted to know what world he had created.

Mark was working on creating a dungeon in his basement, and we had done some stuff, but he was just starting, I just knew that this doctor had to be an expert Master by now. I wanted him to bring me home, but I knew that tonight would not be the night. In my imagination, I thought it would be the best birthday present of my life.

***

A car, a car door, footsteps, it had to be the doctor, and it was. Unlocking the backdoor, he stepped inside, not even acknowledging my presence. Once inside, he turned, looked out, and then motioned me to come in. I crawled in, not chancing standing up and being seen above the porch wall.

"Strip."

Right there, in what used to be the kitchen, I quickly undressed, dropping my clothes on the floor.

"Pick up your clothes."

With my clothes in hand, I followed the doctor into the same examination room that I was in before, the big one that seemed to be more than just the usual examination room, as it had that big light over the table in the middle with plenty of cabinets against the walls with glass doors.

"Put your clothes on that small table and stand at attention."

Taking the slave examination position, with my hands clasped behind my head, feet spread so they were below my extended elbows, I looked straight ahead as the doctor stood there in front of me.

"I told you to stand at attention, not pose for me. You need to follow directions."

Putting my hands to my side, I assumed the military attention position.

"Better, but you're not as good as I was led to believe. It looks like you received a beating recently, maybe a couple of days ago the way it looks."

I started to speak, "Yes, my…"

"I did not tell you to speak; you need to learn your place; it is clear you have not. Turn around."

Turning around, the doctor's hands were on me, feeling, probing, gently, like a doctor checking my wounds. I spread my legs when told. I bent over and grabbed my ankles when told. Will I finally be fucked? I hoped so. I wanted the doctor to lube me up like he did last week. I wanted him to not only lube me, but check my prostate … I wanted to be fucked. I was hard. I was proud that I had a boner, not embarrassed, like a normal boy would be; no, I wanted the doctor to see my arousal, I wanted him to know.

"The skin was broken in a couple of spots, but otherwise you'll be fine. No lasting scars, except those two marks," as his finger traced them on my body. "Boys grow up collecting a few marks along the way. They'll fade and become less noticeable with time."

The examination was more like a regular doctor's visit and not what I had been fantasizing about, especially as I waited on the porch. The doctor put his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him.

"You've had a man's cock up your butt, I knew that from last week's examination. Did someone force you?"

"No, sir."

"Did you like it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I like that you say sir, something Southerners say all the time. Unusual and out of place for a Northerner."

I did not know how to respond, or if I should respond, it was not a question. Anyway, the doctor continued.

"You're on the cusp of puberty, the earliest stage. Your hormones have become active and with external stimuli, your brain is probably in sexual overdrive, but your body has not caught up yet. A good fucking can provide temporary relief, but like a lot of things in life, it can become addictive."

My boner was retreating, this was more information than I wanted, in fact, I was not really looking for anything from the doctor except a good fucking. I stood there.

"Today is a big day for you, 12 years old. What do you think you'll get for your birthday?"

"The best present will be from my Aunt Peg, a Flexible Flyer sled. They're the best, but expensive; she's also my godmother. From my mother, it will be dinner of my choice, spaghetti with meat sauce, because that's the only thing she can really cook well, and a cake from the bakery. She's not a good cook and doesn't know how to bake. My grandmother will give me two dollars, she gives everyone two dollars on their birthday."

"Well, with all those hormones in high gear, you're probably having cravings, new thoughts, strange thoughts, about things that you keep to yourself, things you think no one else is possibly thinking. Is that true?"

"Did MB tell you things?"

"Yes, he went over your profile, that is why I know it is your birthday, and what you really want, but you will need to ask me for it. Nicely. Begging."

The first thought that crossed my mind was the fact that MB shared what I thought was super-secret and personal. He betrayed me. I thought I could trust him, why, I do not know. As the anger swept across me, my face betrayed my thoughts. I just stood there, naked, staring back at the doctor. My head was a jumble of emotions, certainly the doctor knew stuff, obviously, but everything! I wanted out of there and now–but my feet did not move. My lips did not move. It was if I was frozen in fear, but it was not fear, it was fury. Silence reigned until the doctor spoke again.

"I see you're mad. Is it because I want you to beg for what I know you want?"

I did not know how to answer. That was not it, I would have gladly played the role of a slave boy. I knew this doctor liked that stuff, in fact, that was my fantasy while waiting on the porch, but I did not expect it to be so blunt and sudden. I did not think it would really happen at all. I expected the doctor to "check my prostate." I wanted him to fuck me, and at best he would do so under the guise of examining my insides, poking that spot that would send quivers through my body. I stared off into space, a blank spot on the wall beyond the doctor. It was a standoff.

"Ok, then maybe it is time for you to get dressed; we're all done here."

This is not how I wanted it to end. I have been craving a man-sized cock pounding my butt for too long. Men are cruel, they only care about themselves, they do not care what I want–need. And not just men, all adults. They expect us kids to always do what pleases them. It is not right. I did not move or speak.

"Well, are you going to obey me or do I need to get the paddle? I think you've had enough of a whipping already from what I can see and until it clears up, I don't think you want more, but I could be wrong."

More silence, but the initial burst of anger was starting to subside. It was not only my face, but my heaving chest that gave it away. I tried to control my breathing; taking shallow breaths; I needed to calm down. I had learned a long time ago that keeping silent was the best strategy. Keeping things to yourself was the only way to stay out of trouble.

The doctor left the room, leaving me standing there. I had time to think about what I really wanted and I knew I had to do something about it. MB's betrayal was a different matter, already done, I needed to seize this moment, play the game, get my head into the game as my coaches would yell at me. For now, that is what I will do. Get off the bench and into the game.

Down on my knees, back straight, hands clasped behind my head, I spread my knees more, past my shoulders. I waited, and it did not take long. The doctor returned with that rubber paddle.

"Oh, have you reconsidered?"

"Yes, sir. May I suck your cock and get it wet and ready for my boy pussy?"

"Better, but I think you can do better."

"Please sir, please may I suck your cock and get it wet and ready for my boy pussy?"

"Were you a good boy before I left the room to get the paddle?"

"No sir, I was a bad boy and deserve to be paddled."

Our back and forth continued, my begging for the doctor's cock and balls, deep in my boy pussy, as the doctor told me he did not think I deserved to have that pleasure after my rude behavior. Again, I thought all was lost and I needed to do whatever it took this time for that not to happen.

The doctor finally unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock … for a taste. I sucked the head, gently, looking up as I was taught. The doctor dropped his pants. Gradually, I took more in, swirling my tongue on the underside to massage my Master's manhood. Feverishly I worked his balls. My boner was back and I could feel it yearning for my attention. My right hand instinctively went there as I started to stroke it with my thumb and forefinger.

"Take your hand off your willey. You're here to take care of me, not you."

I did my best, a repeat performance from last night with MB, but the doctor's rod felt different, he had more control than Mark or MB. I had this sense that he was the ruler over his cock–his cock did not control him, he was the master over it. That sudden change, when a man loses control and starts fucking faster and mindlessly. The point where nothing else matters but cumming. I was not able to reach that point. Was I not good enough for this man?

"As it is your birthday, I will grant you your wish and fuck that ass of yours, but remember, I am only doing it as a gift to you. Don't ever behave that way with me again, or the consequences will be severe."

The doctor had me bend over the end of the table as he checked the legs of the table to be sure the wheels were locked in place. With my chest and stomach flat to the table the doctor took each of my arms and placed them over the sides where he strapped them down. Next, he placed my ankles to the outside of the table legs, and strapped them in place. A long strap over the small of my back and under the table was pulled snug but not as tight as my wrist and leg straps.

The lube was next, it was forced in without any effort at gentleness or allowing me to get used to the doctor's fingers. Grunts of aaargh as my anal ring was penetrated, followed by painful aahs as his finger pushed deeper. First one finger, then two fingers, rammed in. Is this what I have been craving?

A slap to my left butt cheek and the doctor left the room without a word. Time moved slowly, I went from an all-out blowjob, working my mouth and jaw, using my hands and fingers to massage his balls, his butt, his thighs, and reaching up to run my fingers and the palms of my hands across his stomach and chest, to lying here, strapped to this table, in quiet solitude. Yes, my hands were restrained, to keep them from reaching down and working my own little dinky, that was now throbbing for attention, pressed against the table, unreachable.

What was the doctor doing? I wondered. What did he intend to do to me? Was this his dungeon? Was I going to be tortured? What kind of torture? As my thoughts raced to recall the images I had seen, the stories I had read, the doctor returned.

He had a ball gag in his hand as he came to the side of the table. He put his cock to my face and told me to get it wet. I stretched my neck to reach the side of the table and did the best I could.

The ball gag was next, as I lifted my head and opened my mouth, the ball was placed in and the leather straps pulled tight.

"Good, I see you're familiar with a ball gag, seems you've had some experience then, or have seen it used."

It was not a question, so I did not, could not reply, knowing my place now. I just watched the doctor put a rubber on.

The doctor spread my cheeks with his fingers and with my head turned to the side and flat to the table, I strained my eyes to look back at him. He kept looking, with nothing said.

This time, he slowly pushed the head of his cock into my boy pussy. The pain was sudden as I groaned through the ball gag before he pulled out again–to let me get used to it? It had been a while. Again, he slowly pushed in as a sharp pain hit me. I felt his left hand on my head, as he turned it to the side and pressed down on my ear, holding it in that position before pulling out again.

"Seems you are not as used to being fucked as you may have thought. Your moans tell me otherwise, and the expression on your face is nice, the way you squint your eyes, drawing up your cheeks in pain. I thought that about you. Boys your age always think they can take more than they can."

The doctor pulled out his cock again, and after I caught my breath and the pain subsided, he pushed in again: he was making this as painful as he could and prolonging it as long as he could. He was not focused on his own pleasure, but my pain. Then again, maybe that is what gave him pleasure. MB did say he was different. I was now longing for Mark, once he entered me, he stayed in, pumping slowly at first and then when he lost control, it was all about cumming in my ass.

When my ass ring was stretched to the fullest and no longer painful, the doctor started pounding my ass, the slapping of his groin against my whipped butt hurt. I could feel the heat increasing with each thrust. This went on for longer than Mark had ever lasted, and the pain on my butt was the same as when someone slapped my sunburn. I tried to concentrate on my prostate; I tried to ignore the pain, as my breathing became heavy and my moans were not those of sexual pleasure. The doctor grabbed the strap around my lower back and was now riding me like a horse. The tempo was quick and he kept going. I felt he was going to ride this "horse" until it dropped.

I was about to scream through the ball gag when numbness swept across my butt and those feelings I had longed for started to win. It was intense, incredibly intense. My whole body shook. The doctor gently slapped my butt as if he were saying, Hi Ho, Silver! Away! That is what the Lone Ranger always said after he mounted his horse Silver, one of my favorite Western shows. I felt proud and happy, like I was his trusty steed.

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