Chapter 8

It was way after lunch time by the time we left the photo shoot. I was famished, and I think Pete was, too. We stopped at a Burger Chef and I chowed down on a cheeseburger, fries, soda, and a milkshake. Pete had an even bigger burger but skipped the milkshake – I may have mentioned that he was a little on the heavy side for 1978. We both ate like we hadn't had any food in days. I finished almost everything, including over half of the milkshake. By the end of the meal, I felt full and lethargic. I was also tired. It already had been a long day.

"You did great today, Davey," said Pete. I still loved it when he praised me like that, even if there had been that little flash of anger at the shoot.

"You think they'll use any of the pictures?"

"I'm sure they will. Why wouldn't they?"

I shrugged. "There were other kids there. One kid was wearing some of the same exact stuff."

"They just want to see which picture came out the best, Davey. Sears sends those catalogues all over the world and they use the same photos for newspaper inserts and in-store ads. I'm sure they'll use some of yours."

As it turned out, Pete was right, but just barely. The 1978 Fall Winter Sears catalogue contained exactly one photo of me, and that was the one where I was dressed in the tan suit. I'm still not sure what happened to the other 200-odd photos that were taken of me that day. I don't know if Pete checked any of the catalogues that came out after that one; I know I didn't. Maybe I'm in them, or maybe they used my photos for in-store flyers. I'm sure that the contract Pete signed for me was quite broad. Anyway, I never modeled for Sears again. I guess I wasn't cut out to be a catalogue model. Soon enough, I would be moving into other lines of work.

"How about that movie?" asked Pete. "Want to see Jaws 2?"

I hadn't seen too many movies in theaters, and I hadn't seen the original Jaws, but it sounded like fun and I agreed. There was a movie theater not far from our hotel, but when Pete swung by in the car, the next showing wasn't until 3:45 p.m. This gave us some time to kill, so we headed back to our room.

"Get yourself naked, little slave," said Pete casually as soon as the door closed behind us. I had already known that we would have sex, so I kicked off my sneakers and complied with his behest. A bit to my surprise, Pete didn't strip off, as well. Instead, he sprawled across the bed fully clothed and spread his legs.

"Come on up here, lie across my lap," he instructed.

I knew from this that I was in for a spanking, but I wasn't sure whether it was for what had happened earlier. I had been hoping he would forget, or let it slide. It was not to be. Pete rarely overlooked bad behavior like that anymore.

I complied once again, lying across his lap with my upper body hanging off Pete's left side, so his spanking hand could have easier access to my bottom. Pete was right-handed. He had a certain way he liked me to be positioned.

"We had a little incident at the photo shoot, didn't we slave?" Pete asked gently. His tone suggested that he was not particularly angry about it, which boded well for me.

"Yes," I replied.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, master."

"We talked about that, didn't we?"

"Yes, master."

"We can't keep having little episodes like that, can we now?"

From the questioning, I was starting to worry that this was going to be a true punishment spanking. Any goodwill I may have earned for being a good soldier and completing the photo shoot without incident seemed to be overshadowed by my momentary lapse.

"No, master," I responded glumly. I wanted to speak up and defend myself, but what could I say?

Pete's right hand came to rest on my bare bottom. He gently caressed me there.

"You did well, slave. I'm proud of you. But for a moment there, it looked like you were going to make a scene. What happened?"

My butt cheeks clenched involuntarily under Pete's hand a couple of times, as I knew he could start spanking at any moment. For now, however, his hand continued to rest gently on my buns as he caressed them with his fingers.

I shrugged. I felt embarrassed. I didn't want to talk about it.

Pete's hand rose from by butt and returned with a sharp smack. It wasn't as hard as he could hit, not by a long shot, but it hurt, nonetheless.

"You can do better than that, little slave. Tell me what went wrong so we can both work on making sure it doesn't happen again."

I gasped at the pain, then swallowed. I knew that more pain could be coming soon. My butt cheeks clenched.

"When she said I was nine," was all I could muster. It was embarrassing to talk about it.

"What about it? Who cares? Who cares what she or anyone else thinks?"

Maybe Pete was right. Why did I care? Why should I? But I did. I very much did.

"She said I was nine. That's just a little kid."

Like he was palming a basketball, Pete's hand squeezed my butt cheeks tightly together in one hand.

"I ask again: Who cares?"

"I do," I said, with a bit more emphasis and cheekiness than perhaps I intended. It wasn't sassy, but it was close.

I should have known better. Pete did not like any kind of talking back from me. His hand rose once again and came crashing down on my behind. The sound of the impact was a sharp report in the room. I gasped at the pain and clenched my cheeks together. Another hard smack quickly followed, and another one after that. These were not mild spanks. They hurt. A lot. Pete was a big man and he hit hard. Tears came silently to my eyes.

"Do not talk back to me boy," he warned. His voice was ominous. He had not yet reached the point of anger, but I knew I needed to tread very carefully, or this would be a punishment I would very much regret. His hand once again rested on my now-stinging backside.

"I'm sorry, master," I replied in a contrite voice. I was sorry. It did not pay to challenge Pete.

"Why do you care, slave?" Pete asked. "We've talked about this before."

Pete's questions weren't making this easy. Why did I care? Where should I start? Pete didn't care that I was the smallest kid in my grade. That I was likely to be the smallest kid in my new school. He didn't care about any of that. He would just tell me not to worry about it and that I was sure to have a growth spurt soon. But I had been waiting for my growth spurt for a long time, and it hadn't happened. I was worried. I didn't know why everyone else my age had grown, and I had not. What if I was missing some gene, hormone, or gland that I needed? What if I looked like a nine-year-old for the rest of my life? What if my body morphed into that of a dwarf? What would Pete say, then?

But I said none of that. I knew that Pete didn't want to hear it. He just wanted me to take my job assignments seriously and not throw a childish tantrum when I was working. I was almost 12, after all. The irony was that that I sometimes acted like the little boy that I very much didn't want to be.

"I know; I'm sorry," I replied in a meek voice

"I'm afraid 'sorry' isn't going to cut it," said Pete dismissively. "You're going to need to get over being so sensitive about things. You want to be sensitive when you're with me, fine. Be sensitive with your mother for all I care. Hell, you can even be sensitive in school with your teachers and all your little friends. But kid, I swear to god, if you pull any shit like that tomorrow at Malcolm's party, don't even bother to come back here to the hotel. You'll be safer going home with Aaron. Do I make myself clear?"

This was one of those times that it was hard to be a kid. I couldn't tell whether Pete was bluffing, or not. He was, after all, my ride. I couldn't get home to St. Clair without him. But his voice was ice cold and full of resolve. It was his "don't fuck with me voice" and I wasn't about to. I certainly wasn't going to make the mistake of saying "crystal" like I had done once when he had asked me if something was clear.

"Yes, Pete- master," I stammered. I wasn't exactly sure whether we were in our master-and-slave roles right now. The man had me confused and out of sorts. "I'll be good at the party, I promise," I added, and I meant it, too.

"Good boy. Good slave. Now, I'll give you something to help you remember your promise, capiche?"

"Capiche," I said resignedly. I was not looking forward to this.

I felt Pete's hand lift off my bottom and I tried to brace myself for what was coming. Pete wasn't as angry as I had seen him when he had used the belt and the flogger on me, but I knew he was going to teach me a lesson I wouldn't be able to forget any time soon. I hoped that he didn't want my bottom marked and welted for Malcolm's party. His hand would hurt, but it wouldn't mark, at least not beyond today.

The first smack hit my backside like a Mack truck and I winced and braced for the pain – which, as always, was delayed for a second or two, almost as if my nerves were trying to figure out what the hell was going on down in Buttocksville. I knew exactly what was going on. This was no maintenance spanking, and we weren't acting roles. This was a punishment spanking through and through, and it was going to hurt like one, lasting marks, or not.

I gasped as the pain washed over me, wetting my eyes. My legs shook as I groaned and curled my toes against the sting. I clasped my hands together in front of me so I would not be tempted to use them to block.

"You will not wimp out, talk back, misbehave, sass, or complain," thundered Pete, much too loudly for a hotel room. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, master," I gasped, as I tried to blink away the tears.

Pete's hand crashed down a second time, seeming to hit in the same spot as the last one. The pain knifed through me.

"You will do as you are told, when you are told, without a word of complaint. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, master."

I felt Pete's hand lift off my bottom, and a split second later it returned with force, splitting the air with a sharp retort signaling that pain was on the way. My buttocks reverberated as the stinging pain magnified yet again. I gasped at the intensity of it.

"You will be polite, friendly, and cheerful for the entire party, which means you will smile, and laugh, and not be a sourpuss. Do I make myself clear?"

Before I could answer, Pete's hand came crashing down in the same place again. I don't know if he forgot to wait for my reply, or if he was trying to mix things up, but the stinging pain in my butt cheeks drove the air from my lungs and I had to gulp in a fresh breath in order to respond.

"Uhh, y-yes, master," I gasped, as involuntary tears flooded my eyes.

"You will not be shy, withdrawn, or defensive, and you will mingle with the adults at the party and at least act like you are having a good time, a wonderful time. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, yes, master," I said quickly.

Pete's hand slammed down yet again, hitting the same spot, adding more sting to the burning inferno that was my bottom. My legs rose in tandem as the intensity of the sting brought yet more tears to my eyes and threatened to send me into hysterics. Although there was no implement involved, this felt as bad as the prior beatings that I had received from Pete. His hand kept hitting in the same place. I whimpered in pain.

"Pete- master, please, please," I begged. "It hurts so much. Please."

"It's supposed to hurt, slave. I'm giving you something to think about when you're at the party tomorrow. If it even crosses your mind to misbehave, I want you to remember what this feels like, because you won't be able to sit down for a week when I'm through with you. Capiche?"

"I know, I know," I gasped. "But I won't, Pete. Master. I promise. Please. I'll be a good boy. I'll make you proud of me." I was desperate to make the pain stop.

"You won't have me there tomorrow, slave," replied Pete. "What's going to happen if someone asks you how old you are, or says they think you look nine? Hmmm?"

"I won't . . . I won't care. Please, Pete. I promise. I'll remember. I swear."

"I don't believe you. You'll throw a tantrum right there at Malcolm's house and tell Aaron you want to leave. You'll embarrass Aaron and end your career before it's even started."

"No, Pete, I won't." Pete wasn't bothering with the master-slave stuff, and neither was I. My voice was desperate. My butt was on fire. I didn't want to get hit again. I could feel the fingers of Pete's spanking hand caressing my inflamed cheeks.

"What if one of Malcolm's guests wants you to sit on his lap?" I felt Pete's hand lift from my buttocks.

"I'll do it!" I said quickly. "I'll sit on his lap."

Pete's hand smacked down in the same place once again, but this time only with half force. It still stung, but it was an improvement.

"What if he wants to kiss?"

"I'll . . ." I started to say, before I hesitated for a moment. That was my mistake. I couldn't help it. The thought of kissing some random man at Malcolm's party did not appeal to me at all. Was that really going to happen? Was Pete making a prediction, or just throwing out scenarios?

I didn't have long to ponder the thought before his hand crashed down once again on my exposed bottom. His hand must have caught an air pocket on the way down because the impact made the loudest sound, yet. My butt exploded with fresh, stinging pain, and I gasped at the intensity of it.

"Pete, stop!" I sobbed. My legs bent at the knees as my feet rose in tandem against the pain. It was all I could do to keep my hands clasped together on the bed. It hurt so much. I couldn't take any more.

"Please, I'll kiss him! Please stop spanking m-me!" I sobbed.

"That's not the answer you wanted to give, is it boy? Answer me. Tell me the truth."

I felt miserable. Pete was right, of course. It wasn't the answer I wanted to give. I didn't want to kiss an old man I didn't know at some party I didn't want to go to.

"No," I whimpered in reply. "No, master. No, Pete. I'm sorry. Please stop spanking me," I sobbed. My brain wasn't working right. I just wanted the spanking to end. Pete was killing me with this one.

It didn't end. Pete's hand came crashing down on my butt three times in quick succession. Three sharp retorts cleaved the air. The pain that followed was unimaginable. It was off the charts. I wriggled and writhed. I sobbed. I hyperventilated. My eyes overflowed with tears. The pain was transcendent. My butt cheeks clenched and unclenched as I tried anything to deal with the pain.

"Pete," I gasped in desperation, still trying to catch my breath. "Please stop, please stop." I felt light-headed, but my cognition was intact. I wondered if I would pass out.

"What you need to understand, boy, is that tomorrow is one of the most important days of your life," said Pete. "In Chicago, at least, it doesn't get any bigger than Malcolm Stone, capiche?"

"Capiche," I gasped quickly, as the stinging pain continued to grow toward a crescendo. My eyes blinked back still more tears.

"Until your little episode at the photo shoot this morning, I was going to let you go to the party and trust that you wouldn't let your attitude get in the way. I had a choice to make between letting you be a kid and hoping for the best or giving you strict instructions and warning what would happen if you misbehaved. But you pretty much made that decision for me this morning, didn't you slave?"

Pete's spanking hand rose off my bottom once again, and I nearly died from fright. My butt cheeks clenched together as did my hands. My toes curled in anticipation. I didn't think I could take any more spanks without absolutely losing it, but Pete's hand didn't return. It remained somewhere, unseen, probably hovering in the air ready to strike. I moaned in fear.

"No, Pete- I mean, I'll be good at the party, Pete," I begged. I didn't think I could take even one more spank. My bottom was on fire.

"Oh, you'll be good, alright. You'll be more than good. You're going to knock that ball right out of the park, aren't you, kid?"

"Yes," I replied instantly. Was this an opening? Would he stop spanking, now? "Yes. I will. I promise, Pete. I promise." My voice was desperate.

"I'm warning you, Davey. If you embarrass yourself tomorrow, it'll be the last time. I don't know how else to say it."

"I won't," I promised.

My response was the correct one and I gave it instantly, but I couldn't help but ponder Pete's words. What did he mean that it would be the last time? That it would be my last audition? That it would be the last time Aaron helped me? Or was he saying that it would spell the end of our friendship if I messed up at Malcolm's party? I didn't know the answers to those questions, but whatever he meant by it, the ominous finality of Pete's statement resonated with me. I knew that I simply could not mess up tomorrow. I would not do anything to jeopardize my friendship with Pete. The man was my entire life, and I simply couldn't imagine losing him, not then. Not at 11. I could not and would not mess up.

"Good," replied Pete. "These last few are to make sure you remember your promise. If at some point tomorrow you start to feel like you're going to have an episode, I want you to think about this, okay?"

Pete's tone was neutral and almost pleasant, but I was terrified at what I had just heard. These last few? My spanking wasn't over?

"Pete, pleeeeease," I begged. "Please. No more."

"That's not your decision to make, is it slave?"

"No, no Pete- no, m-master." I was back to being a slave once again, but my head was spinning so much that I couldn't tell whether I was better off that way, or not.

"That's right. No, it's not your decision to make. I make the decisions, and you're getting five more. I want you to think about them, slave. And count. Capiche?"

Five more? I couldn't take five more. I would die.

"Capiche," I moaned in reply.

I didn't think I could bear it, but somehow I managed to take five more spanks. Five more times Pete's hand came crashing down on my tortured bottom, followed each time with a squeal of pain from me and then a number as I counted the blows. The pain spiraled up and up, growing, cascading, and pulsing in my butt cheeks. I didn't think it could hurt any more than it already did, but I was wrong. It could and it did. It very much did. I was sobbing uncontrollably by the end of it. Afterwards, I felt Pete's hand caressing my cheeks, which must have been hot to the touch. It felt to me that they had been lit on fire.

Pete really let me have it in that hotel room, but as I look back on it now, I think he probably played it exactly right to achieve what he wanted. I was still an immature, 11-year-old kid and I thought the world revolved around me. Before my spanking, Malcolm's party had been a selfish abstraction to me. Would I like it? Would I have a good time? Would I be too shy or nervous to have fun? Would I be able to take advantage of the opportunity or would my immaturity and propensity for petulance get in the way of Pete's and Aaron's plans?

This was very much a wake-up call for me. Now, I knew that Malcolm's party wasn't only about me, or even about me at all. It was about Aaron, Pete, and my Mom. It was about me becoming a successful actor and model. It was work. It was acting, and I had a role to play. I wasn't going to the party to have fun. Until my spanking, I hadn't understood that. Now, I did, but it had taken a severe spanking from Pete to get me to that point. As it turned out, however, it may not have been quite enough.

Pete slid me off his lap face first, then grasped my ankle and tipped me off the bed, lowering me gently to the floor. He maneuvered himself to the side of the bed and stood up, then walked to the upholstered chair next to the window.

"Come here, slave," he said as he sat down. "Crawl to me and climb up in my lap."

Pete's instructions were terrifying. Was he going to continue my spanking on the chair? My butt was killing me, and I was gripped with fear, but I crawled to him on hands and knees. When I arrived between his legs, I grasped his right thigh and started to position myself across his lap.

"No, this way," said Pete as he grasped me under my arms and placed me on his lap as though he was going to read me a bedtime story. A wave of relief washed over me as I realized I wasn't going to be spanked again, or certainly not immediately. I positioned my sore butt on Pete's right thigh despite the pain and leaned into him as his arms encircled my body.

"You're shaking," he observed. I hadn't realized that until he said it.

"I'm sorry, master."

"There's no need to be scared. Your spanking's over."

"Yes, master."

"This isn't a punishment. We're going to practice for tomorrow, capiche?"

I wasn't sure what he meant by that. Practice for tomorrow? But I nodded.

"I want you to pretend you're at the party. Aaron's gone off somewhere, and it's just you. A man you don't know has just pulled you onto his lap, just like this."

"Yes, master," I said.

"Actually," said Pete, as he slid me to my feet on the floor, "go get your swimsuit on. Let's do this properly."

I found myself standing up, and with a nod, I ran to my bag and retrieved my red Speedo. I pulled the skimpy garment up my legs and went to my hands and knees to crawl back to Pete, but he waved me off.

"No, stand up," he instructed. "Forget the master-slave stuff. Just come over here and stand by me."

Not knowing what Pete had in mind, I complied. The Speedo was already working itself into my butt crack as I walked to the chair, and I reached around with my right hand to pull it free, but Pete grabbed my wrist.

"No. Leave it be. Let it do whatever it's going to do. It looks sexy on you."

"Yes, m- Pete," I replied.

"We're in role, now," said Pete. "You're at the party. Chatting. You've just met me. I'm Mr. Smith." Pete smiled and reached his hand out, stroking my upper arm. "What's your name, little fellow?" he asked, in his Mr. Smith voice.

"I'm Davey, sir," I replied, in as genuine and eager a voice as I could conjure up. The "little fellow" line wasn't lost on me. I knew that Pete would be testing my reactions.

"Well, Mr. Davey," said Pete, "you're a very handsome little guy. Why don't you climb up here so we can chat for a moment?" he said as he patted his lap.

I dutifully climbed onto Mr. Smith's lap, positioning myself as I had done a minute ago with Pete. This time, I was dressed in my Speedo instead of being naked. I felt Mr. Smith's right hand caressing my back as his left hand rested on my thigh just above my knee.

"You're new here, aren't you? Is this your first time at one of Malcolm's little get-togethers?"

"Yes, sir," I replied as the hand on my thigh began to caress me, as well.

"Oh, they're so much fun, don't you think? Malcolm is a great host, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, with a nod and a smile.

"What a polite little boy you are!" gushed Mr. Smith in a sing-song voice. "How old are you, sweetheart? I'll bet you're nine years old, aren't you?"

I knew he was trying to rankle me and get me to react, but even with that knowledge, the question stung. I knew we were playing roles, but I wasn't exactly sure what I was supposed to say, and I made the mistake of thinking about my answer and hesitating for a moment before I gave it.

That was the wrong move. Pete waited about three seconds before he went absolutely nuts on me. He dumped me to the floor and stood up, towering over me like an avenging angel. He looked furious and his eyes were like daggers. I watched the sides of Pete's mouth quiver with rage as he stared down at me, his fists clenched and white-knuckled. Even as I contemplated my own demise, I couldn't speak. I wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn't come. I remember feeling remarkably calm. I remember thinking that if I had to be killed, if my time on earth was going to end, at least it would be Pete who ended it. He was my best friend and I loved him. If he had to kill me, I was certain it was my fault.

I didn't dare to move and simply lay on my back where I had fallen, looking up at him, with a stricken expression on my face. I knew I was dead. Pete loomed over me with a look of murder in his eyes. The shame of it was, I had been just about to respond. The words had been on the tip of my tongue. But I had hesitated, and now I was dead. It was just that simple.

Suddenly, Pete turned away from me and strode to the rectangular table next to the television where he had deposited his keys and wallet. He gathered them up, stepped into his shoes, and was out the door before I could react. In an instant, he was gone. I sat up quickly, but remained on the floor in my Speedo, stunned. I didn't know what had just happened. I couldn't get my head around it. Pete had simply left. He was gone.

I was alone.

Scrambling to my feet, I rushed to the window and pulled the curtain to the side. With my heart racing in my chest, I looked down at the parking lot, scanning for Pete's car. It was still there, and I exhaled my held breath of relief. Then, to my horror, I watched as Pete came into view almost directly below me and strode purposefully across the parking lot toward his car. I was looking down at the top of his head.

"No, no, come back!" I sobbed to the window. I watched helplessly as Pete unlocked the driver's side door and climbed inside, his large frame rocking the car as he sat. "No, Pete!" I yelled to him. There was no way he could hear me through the glass, but I tried, anyway. "Pete! Pete!" I cried for him. "Come back!"

It was no use. The car door slammed shut, and I could swear that I heard the Marquis's motor roar to life even through the window. I watched as the vehicle backed out from its parking space, stop, then lurched forward with a squeal of tires that I absolutely did hear from the second-story window. I continued to watch in horror as the car moved quickly through the parking lot and exited onto the hotel's driveway, which led to the road we had driven in on not all that long ago.

I was alone. I felt cold. The curtain swooshed back into place as I let go of it and wrapped my arms around my chest for warmth. My body felt tingly with worry as jumbled thoughts crashed my brain. I walked slowly to the luggage stand to verify that Pete's suitcase remained where he had left it. It did. Pete wouldn't leave his suitcase with all his stuff in it for long, would he? I didn't think so. But I also didn't know for sure.

I returned to the window and for the next half hour or so, I held a vigil for Pete's return. Anyone bothering to look up to the second floor could have seen me there, standing in the window, still in just my too-small Speedo, waiting for Pete to return. I didn't dare step away to change. He didn't come, and my anxiety grew and grew. Where had he gone? And most importantly, when was he coming back?

As I waited for Pete to return, my mind started to play tricks on me. What if he were on his way back to St. Clair? What if he had left me stranded here in Chicago? The longer he was gone, the more I became convinced that he had left for good. I started to panic. What should I do? What could I do?

I left the window and began to pace the room as I pondered my options. I could call my mother, but then what? She would have to drive to Chicago to get me, but I knew her car would never make it. I didn't have any money for a bus, and that was if I knew where the bus station was or how to buy a ticket. It wasn't like I knew anyone who could give me a ride.

I had never felt so alone in my entire life. If Pete didn't return, I had been abandoned in a hotel room in one of the largest cities in the world, all by myself. I was several hours and hundreds of miles from home. I knew only one person in the city, and that was Aaron, and I didn't even have his telephone number so I could call him.

I wanted to cry, but I was too old for that, and I knew it would do no good. I couldn't believe that Pete had simply left me here. He couldn't leave me here! He was my ride home. He had promised my mother that he would take care of me. He had to be bluffing. He was mad that I didn't answer his question the right way and was teaching me a lesson. That had to be it. I had it all figured out in my mind.

But I wasn't sure. I was 11 years old. All I could think about was the possibility that Pete really had abandoned me. The more I thought about it, the less rational I became, and the more likely it became in my mind that it was true. I paced the room. I looked out the window. I flopped on the bed and then got up to pace again. I looked out the window constantly. My tummy was tied in knots. I simply did not know what do to.

Pete didn't come back. He had been gone for an hour and there was no sign of him. An hour was a long time for a kid my age. With every passing minute, it seemed more and more likely that I had been left in Chicago alone. I didn't have a dollar to my name. I could feel a sense of panic rising in me. Part of me knew that Pete was bluffing, that he had to return for his suitcase and that he could not simply leave me here alone, but the other part insisted that he could and had done exactly that. I had seen him angry before. I had experienced his anger before. He was capable of almost anything when he was like that.

I felt sick to my stomach as I paced the room. I had no idea what to do, so all I could do was wait, and hope, and pray for Pete's return. I remained dressed in the little Speedo. I felt that if I changed into my clothes, it would be an admission that Pete wasn't ever going to return. I wanted him to come back. I wanted to try again. Whatever lesson Pete was trying to impart, I had learned it. He had warned me that if I screwed up at the party, it would be the last time. Perhaps he had already decided to give up on me.

I flounced down on the bed once again. I was a wreck and close to tears, but I knew that crying would do me no good. I had to think. Suddenly, I had an idea. I scrambled off the bed and went directly to Pete's suitcase. It was a plastic, Samsonite model with metal clasps. It wasn't locked; the clasps weren't even closed. I lifted the lid, and there, poking part of the way out of a cloth pocket, I saw what I thought I had seen before: paperwork.

I removed the papers from the suitcase and took them to the bed to read. Kneeling on the floor, I shuffled through them one at a time. The stack contained the signed copies of the agent agreement and Limited Power of Attorney signed by my mother, some paperwork with the Sears logo all over it, and an envelope with the Richter Agency logo that I had seen in Aaron's office. The envelope was unsealed and stuffed with several pieces of paper. I took them out and unfolded them one at a time on the bed.

There were three letters on Richter Agency letterhead, all of them signed by Aaron Richter. One letter was handwritten, and two were typed. The handwritten one had the earliest date – June 5, 1978 – so I read that one, first. Thankfully, Aaron's handwriting was somewhere between printing and cursive, and it was clear enough for me to read.

I didn't understand a lot of what I read, but enough to get the gist of it. Pete had reached out to Aaron about me, just as he had said. I had to be the "young friend" Aaron mentioned in the letter – the one he wanted to see photos of, "the more skin the better."

The second letter was dated June 26, 1978. It was one page, typewritten, and signed by Aaron at the bottom. I spread it out on the bed to read.

This letter made perfect sense to me except for the reference to photos. What photos? I had never seen Pete with a camera, and I didn't remember him asking my mother for any photos of me. He didn't have my school photo. I supposed it was possible that somebody had taken my picture during a performance of Parasols, but I wasn't aware of that happening. The phrase "the more skin the better" kept repeating itself in my head. Had Pete taken photos of me in my Speedo without me knowing? No, I hadn't been given them until after this letter. Had he taken them with me in the nude?

I was racking my brain about it when, suddenly, it came to me. I remembered the time Pete had tied me to the bed at his house and tortured me with clothespins. While lying blindfolded and incapacitated, I had heard several clicks, followed by clunks and a high-pitched mechanical whirring sound. I hadn't known what it was at the time, but now I was sure I did: Pete had taken naked pictures of me! The clicks and whirs I had heard were the sounds of a Polaroid camera doing its thing. I was sure of it! Pete had taken naked pictures of me and sent them to Aaron. Naked, tied, slave pictures documenting something that was supposed to be private.

I felt numb. The letters proved my theory. Pete had done something behind my back, and I was angry, but did I have a right to be? Pete hadn't lied about what was expected of me. I hadn't understood what he wanted me to do for Aaron during our first meeting, but he eventually made that very clear. He had been clear about the party at Malcolm's, too.

The third letter was dated from just last week, July 26, 1978. It also was typewritten. I spread it out on the bed and knelt up a bit to read it.

I read the letter twice. I thought I understood most of it, even if I had a lot of questions. I didn't know what made Aaron think I had so much income potential. What skill set did I have? What did "vanilla pays vanilla "mean? What other stuff paid more? Pete had already explained why looking younger than my actual age was an advantage to me, and Aaron's letter seemed to confirm it. But who were the private clients who wanted to take me to Cubs games? What ice were they breaking?

I may have been 11, but I wasn't stupid. The letters made it clear that I was being marketed for more than my acting and modeling skills, but it wasn't like I hadn't already been aware of that from Pete. The man had been honest with me. He had told me exactly what would happen at Malcom's party – "no undies," indeed. The only thing that was a bit surprising from the letters was the emphasis on my earnings potential. It was obvious that Aaron and Pete were going to share in what I made, but was that so bad? I wanted Pete to get paid, and it made sense that Aaron would get a cut of my earnings, too. Pete may have soft-peddled some of what he told me, but there was nothing in the letters that made me question the truth of anything he had said.

I knew I had a choice to make. I could either put a stop to everything now and permanently end my friendship with Pete, or I could get with the program and do what was expected of me. As far as I was concerned, it was a no-brainer. I wanted – no, needed – to remain friends with Pete, which pretty much resolved the issue as far as I was concerned. I worshipped the man. He was my best friend. He was like a father figure to me. I liked spending time with him. I liked what we did together. I didn't care if it was "bad," or gay. I didn't know if I was gay and I didn't care. I knew that I liked Pete's hairy, manly body, so maybe I was. I liked having sex with him, too, even if it sometimes hurt. I liked playing roles with him. I even liked being his slave most of the time. I might have been only 11, but I was mature enough to realize that you had to take the rough with the smooth.

I also needed money. My mother had been on the edge of a cliff since she lost her job, and I feared for her sanity if I didn't pitch in to help make ends meet. It was clear from Aaron's letter that I could make a lot of money, especially with his private clients. I already had gone to the well with my mother, begging her for permission to model and act. She already had signed all the paperwork. I knew she had to know that there was more going on between Pete and me than just acting lessons, but she had decided to look the other way. She seemed to be okay with the idea of me going off to Chicago with him and sharing a hotel room. She had to know what we did together, or at least suspect it. My best friend was a man in his fifties. How could she not know? She wasn't stupid, either.

Reading Aaron's letters was just what I needed to gain clarity on these issues. Pete's approach of lecturing, yelling, and spanking hadn't been all that effective, but Aaron's letters did the trick. I got it, now. I understood. If I wanted to remain friends with Pete and realize my full earnings potential, I had to grow up and stop acting like a little kid. All I needed to do now was get Pete back and tell him that I understood. But how?

I still didn't think he would leave me here and drive back to St. Clair alone, but I didn't know where he had gone, and I had no way to contact him. I wasn't sure what to do. As many times as I tried to tell myself that Pete would come back, my fears and anxieties told me something else. I was in a strange city hundreds of miles from home. I didn't have any money. I didn't have any friends here. I didn't know anyone. Part of me knew that Pete was teaching me a lesson and trying to scare me, but the other part of me already was scared. What if he really had left me here? What if he was already 100 miles down the highway toward St. Clair? He wouldn't just leave his suitcase here, would he? He wouldn't just leave me here, right?

I was racking my brain for a solution when it finally dawned on me: I did know someone in Chicago. I knew Aaron Richter. Aaron was supposed to pick me up and take me to Malcolm's house for the party, or the photo shoot, or whatever the heck it was. I had his office number and his home number from the letters. He had to be at one place or the other. It was Friday. A workday. I could call him at his office. He would help me. He would help me to find Pete.

The number for the Richter Agency was listed on the letterhead. I sat on the side of the bed and turned the hotel phone toward me. Holding the letter on my knees, I dialed the number for Aaron's office. Nothing happened. The telephone was silent and didn't appear to be working at all, so I hung it up. It was then that I noticed the printing on the faceplate of the phone that said to "Dial 9 for Outside Line," and when I did that, I heard the familiar tone. I dialed the number once again and listened as it began to ring.

"Richter Agency, please hold," came the voice from the other end of the line. The line went silent as I waited for the receptionist.

"Richter Agency, how may I help you?"

"Um, I'd like to talk to Aaron Richter?"

"Who may I say is calling?"

"David Pierce."

"And are you a client of Mr. Richter's?"

I paused before answering, as I wasn't certain about that.

"I think so . . . wait . . . I- I'm not sure."

"Mr. Richter is in with somebody now. Would you like to leave a message for him?"

"Um . . . yes." That was disappointing news.

"Your name is David Pierce?"

"Yes."

"And what's your phone number, Mr. Pierce."

"It's not Mr. Pierce, it's just Davey, or, I mean, David."

"I'll tell him. What's the phone number where he can reach you?"

"Um, I'm not sure?"

Now it was the receptionist's turn to pause.

"Where are you calling from right now, David?"

"The hotel?"

"You're in a hotel?"

"Yes."

"Is your Mom or Dad there with you?"

"No," I replied, with a hitch in my voice.

"Is anyone with you?"

"Not- not right now."

"Are you in one of the rooms?"

"Yes."

"Look at the center of the dial on your telephone. Is there a number printed there?"

I looked down at the telephone. The center of the rotary dial was a white circle with a protective plastic over it. Sure enough, there was a number there in typed, black letters.

"Yes," I answered.

"Can you read that number to me?"

"Three-one-two, four-two-eight, eight-two-two-two," I replied. "Then on the next line it says X-322."

"And you're in room 322?"

"I'm not sure."

"Did you come there by yourself?"

"No, I was with my friend."

"And your friend's not there right now?"

"No."

The receptionist paused again, as if collecting her thoughts.

"I'll be sure to give your message to Mr. Richter. Are you going to stay in the room?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for calling the Richter Agency," she said, as the phone went dead.

I placed the receiver back on the cradle and sat there contemplating my next move. I quickly realized that I didn't have one. If Aaron didn't call or Pete didn't return, I was in real trouble. My anxiety grew as I waited and waited. Based on the letters, Aaron should have been expecting someone to call and tell him where he could pick me up to take me to Malcolm's party. I was pretty sure that Pete hadn't called him from our room; if he had, it was while I was using the bathroom this morning.

I brought my legs up and laid back on the bed. I still had my Speedo on, and while part of me wanted to change, I was concerned that if Pete returned and found me dressed, he would be unhappy about that. He already was unhappy with me enough as it was. I didn't want to make things even worse. The Speedo remained on.

As I lay there on the bed, my anxiety was increasing by the moment. Just having Pete angry at me was enough to leave me completely out of sorts but being abandoned by him in a strange city was threatening to push me right over the edge. If it hadn't been for the message I had just left with Arron, I would have been a complete basket case. As it was, I worried that the receptionist hadn't given him the message or that Aaron would be too busy to call. Maybe he already knew what had happened. Maybe Pete had stopped to call him and tell him that I wouldn't be going Malcolm's, after all.

That's when the tears came. I thought I had ruined everything with my stupid attitude. I could tell from Aaron's letters that a lot of planning and hard work had gone into this trip. Pete had driven me all the way here from St. Clair, but I had repaid him by being a spoiled little brat, all over nothing. It didn't matter how old I looked. Judging from what Pete had told me and what I had read in Aaron's letters, things would be easier and better for me because I looked younger than I was. They were treating it like it was a good thing, while I was being a complete baby about the fact that I hadn't hit my growth spurt.

I was done with that attitude. Finished. It didn't matter. From now on, if somebody thought I looked like I was nine, that was fine with me. If Pete wanted me to be nine, I would be nine, and I wouldn't be resentful about it at all. Nine was good. I could be nine. I would be nine for Pete, Aaron, or anyone else I had to. It wasn't like Pete was making me lie about my age. It was just that some people might think I was younger than I was. Who cared? I didn't care. I resolved not to care. What I wanted was for everything to be alright again between Pete and me.

The phone rang and I literally fell off the bed trying to get to it. I reached and leaned at the same time, and the result wasn't good. I fell to the floor but immediately scrambled to my knees. I grabbed the receiver and cradled it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"David?" came the voice form the other end.

"Yes," I answered, my voice small, but hopeful and eager.

"This is Aaron Richter."

A wave of relief washed over me. I had never been so happy to receive a telephone call in my life.

"Um, hi, Mr. Richter."

"Ethyl told me you called and left a message for me."

"Um, yes. That was me. Earlier. I got your number. It was on your stuff."

"My stuff," he repeated. "What can I do for you, David?"

"Um, Mr. Richter, um, are we- did you- do you know where Pete- um, Mr. Volcker is?"

"Yes, David," came Aaron's reply. He said nothing else, but again I felt relieved.

"Do you know where he is right now?"

"Yes, he's on his way home."

His answer stunned me. The blood drained from my face as I knelt on the floor. My body felt cold. I started to tremble. I was shivering. I didn't know what to do or say. I just knelt there, clutching the receiver to the side of my face.

"David?"

I couldn't speak. I was devastated. The entire time I had thought that Pete wouldn't abandon me. I didn't think he could be that mad or that mean, but he was.

"David?"

I realized that I was sobbing into the receiver and had been since Aaron had told me where Pete was.

"Did he tell you?" I sobbed. "Did he call you?"

"Yes, David. He called me about an hour ago from a gas station."

"What did he say?" I asked, sobbing.

"He told me that tomorrow was canceled, and he was on his way home."

I couldn't stop crying. The conversation was confirming my worst nightmare. Pete had abandoned me. I was despondent and terrified.

"David, are you alright?"

"N-no," I managed to say, through my sobs and sniffles. I was so scared I was hyperventilating.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. A long pause. An interminable pause.

"Where are you, David? Where are you right now?"

"I-i-in the ho-ho-hotel."

"This is the number for the hotel?"

"Y-yes," I sobbed.

"Stay there," said Aaron. "Don't leave. I'll come right over. Can you do that for me?"

"Y-yes."

"David, Pete was very angry when I spoke to him earlier. I could tell he was upset, and he didn't want to talk to me. I asked him to call me the next time he stopped, and he said he would. I'm going to wait here until he calls. You hang tight right where you are, and I'll be there in 30 minutes – 45 tops, depending on the traffic. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, M-Mr. Richter." It didn't occur to me to ask him whether he knew which hotel to come to. I was too upset.

"David, I don't know what happened, but Pete seemed very angry and upset when I spoke to him. Is there anything you want me to say to him?"

I started bawling even harder than before. I wanted to talk to Pete myself, to tell him how sorry I was, and how it would never happen again. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell him that he could punish me any way he wanted – I didn't care how hard. I wanted to tell him all that, and more, but all I had was the opportunity to convey a short message through Mr. Richter.

My voice was high-pitched and tight as I sobbed my response.

"C-can you t-t-tell him, I-I'm really sorry. Really r-really sorry."

"I'll do that, David. I will. I think it might help for him to hear that because he was really angry. I've hardly ever heard him so angry. I think you really upset him, and I feel bad about that, because Pete is one of my best friends. But I'll try to talk to him, okay? Maybe we can fix this."

My eyes were red, and my cheeks were wet with tears as I sobbed my thanks to Mr. Richter and hung up the telephone. I was a wreck, and I had a knot in my tummy the size of a grapefruit. The last time I had been this upset was at Pete's house when he had told me to leave and then gone into the bathroom to take a shower. I had been despondent then, but I was far beyond that, now.

Given my anxiety, terror, and tender years, it never even occurred to me to question any part of what had just happened. Looking back on it now, I think I can easily call bullshit on the entire episode. Pete wouldn't have left me in Chicago and driven home. From the perspective of an 11-year-old boy it seemed possible, but how could it have been? My mother would have been livid. She likely would have called the police when she learned where I was. Pete would have been questioned about his relationship with me. Would his role as my agent have given him cover? Maybe. But why would he risk it? Not to mention he would be giving up my earnings potential, which he and Aaron had discussed in detail in their letters.

It's even harder to believe that he had called Aaron once and then agreed to call him back from a rest stop farther down the road. Why? So Aaron could persuade him to turn around? I don't doubt for a minute that Pete had called Aaron and told him about my behavior, but I doubt Pete had strayed too far from the hotel. For all I knew he was with Aaron when I had called the Richter Agency or was by the time Aaron called me back. The two of them may have been sharing a hearty laugh together at my misfortune. Of course, at 11, and as scared as I was, none of these red flags came to my attention. Whether it was true or not, I bought the entire abandonment story hook, line, and sinker.

I was so upset that I thought I might be physically sick my stomach felt so bad. I wished that I had insisted that Aaron call me back if he heard from Pete, but I hadn't thought to do so. I was terribly worried that Pete hadn't called from the rest stop as he had promised. What if he did call and Aaron couldn't talk him out of abandoning me? I knew that Aaron would help me, but would he drive me all the way home, or would he put me on a bus? I'd never ridden a bus by myself before. How would I get to my house from the bus station in St. Clair, which was all the way across town? My mind was spinning with one horrifying scenario after another. I was a basket case.

It didn't take Aaron 30 minutes to arrive. It didn't take him 45. It was almost two hours from the time I hung up the telephone until I heard a sharp knock on the hotel door. I scrambled up from the chair by the window where I had been holding a vigil for Pete's return, then ran to the door and flung it open. I was still dressed only in my red Speedo, and I think my eyes must have been the same color from crying.

It was Aaron. I flung my arms around him in a hug and sobbed as he gently backed me into the room.

"It's okay, Davey," he said as one hand pulled me against him by the back of my head and the other caressed my bare shoulder. The door clicked shut behind him. "Shhh," Aaron said as I sobbed. "It's alright. You're fine."

I wasn't fine. I was terribly upset. I was more upset than I had ever been before in my entire life. I was hiccuping I was so scared. I didn't want to let Aaron go, but he pried my arms from around him and picked me up under the arms. He placed me on the bed and sat down next to me.

"I spoke to Pete," he announced.

My eyes turned to him. I had a boo-boo face a mile wide.

"What d-did he say?" I asked. I was too terrified to cry.

"Well, he's very angry, Davey," he said with a shake of his head. "Very angry. I don't know if you've ever seen him really, really mad – and I'm talking smoke-coming-out-of-his-ears mad – but it can be a little scary, even for me. Have you ever seen him that angry?"

I nodded, because I thought I had, but maybe Aaron was describing a level of anger that went beyond even what I had seen.

"Well, he was that mad," Aaron continued, "but, I was able to calm him down some."

"You w-were?"

"Yes. And I was able to convince him not to drive home."

I felt my spine go weak with relief. I wanted to slide to the floor and not get up. My face flushed with hope.

"Is he coming b-back to the hotel?"

"No," replied Aaron. "Not right away, anyway. He said he would think about it. He was going to get another hotel room and sleep on it. He said he was tired of dealing with the situation, whatever that means."

Once again, I was stunned. What did it mean? Was Pete still thinking about leaving me here in Chicago? It was like I was in a living nightmare that would never end.

"He asked me to get his suitcase for him," continued Aaron. He pointed to it. "Is that his?"

"Are you going t-to leave me here?" I asked with fresh tears in my eyes.

Aaron shrugged and rose to his feet.

"I told you I'd come and give you and update on Pete," he said matter-of-factly, "and I told Pete I'd get his suitcase. At least he's not driving all the way home without you. We'll sort out the rest in the morning. He'll be calmer, then. How does that sound?"

It sounded like a slow-motion disaster to me. I was about to be left alone overnight in a hotel room in a strange city, hundreds of miles from my home in St. Clair. I had never spent a night alone in my entire life. What I said and did next could have been taken right from a bad movie script, but all I can say is that it really happened.

"Don't leave m-me," I sobbed as I slipped from the bed to my knees and wrapped my arms around Aaron's legs just as tight as I could. "I'm s-scared."

Aaron said nothing, but his arms did go under my arms and he lifted me up. He held me close with one hand at the back of my head, and the other caressing my back.

"Please don't leave me," I begged as I sobbed into the man's chest.

I heard Aaron chuckle.

"Pete said you really didn't like other people, Davey, but that doesn't seem to be the case."

I looked up at him quizzically.

"I like other people," I said defensively.

"He told me that you weren't looking forward to the party tomorrow. That you didn't want to go. That's why he canceled it."

I hadn't said that. It wasn't true.

"I never said that. I wanted to go. I told him I'd go."

Aaron smiled down at me indulgently.

"Davey, that first time in my office – I could tell. You're just not a people person. You didn't want to do what you did. I knew that. I tried to tell Pete it wouldn't work, but he insisted. You know how he can be sometimes."

"I -wanted to," I replied with a hitch in my voice.

"Davey, you wanted to after Pete disciplined you. I almost told him no and sent you on your way, but you were so upset, and I didn't want to rock the boat between the two of you."

"I w-wanted to," I repeated. "I didn't mind."

"Well, I don't need to tell you that I think you were very good at it, Davey. I enjoyed it. It felt good. But the thing is, in this business, you just can't do what you did. You can't hesitate and go into a shell like that. That's what I tried to tell Pete. I never thought tomorrow was a good idea. I only agreed to take you to Malcolm's party because it was such an amazing opportunity. But it's better that he canceled it."

"I wanted to go," I whimpered as Aaron stroked my hair.

"No, Davey. You don't. You're just not a people person. Some people just aren't, and that's okay." Aaron paused for moment before he continued.

"You see, if you go to a party like that, a man like Malcolm Stone or one of his friends might take a real interest in you. They might want to test you and see if you're a people person – see how outgoing you are, how friendly. They want to see whether you're willing to try new things and do things with them that you already know how to do. I just don't think you'd be good at that. Not all boys are."

"I am, though," I insisted. "I would have."

Aaron chuckled again.

"You think so?" he asked.

I nodded vigorously in the affirmative.

"Let's test that theory, shall we?"

The next thing I knew, Aaron had scooped me up and had my butt perched on his forearm and wrist. His right hand clutched my right butt cheek as his left hand reached behind my head and steered my face to his. A moment later, we were kissing, mouth against mouth.

I wasn't a huge fan of kissing. Not even with Pete, and certainly not with someone else, but you would not have been able to tell that from the way that kiss went. My mouth was open wide in seconds and my tongue was in play with Aaron's before I had time even to think about it. I didn't care how slippery or saliva-y the kiss became, I was determined to show Aaron that I was a people person. I wanted him to know that I could be depended on. I wanted him to tell Pete that, too. Most of all, I wanted him to stay. I was terrified of being left alone in that hotel room.

The kiss continued, wet and sloppy, as Aaron reached his fingers up the leg of my Speedo. I remained in his arms with my own wrapped around his neck. His left hand kept my head and face plastered to his as the wet, smacking sounds of our kissing filled the room.

Aaron moved a step or two toward the bed as we attacked each other's mouths. Without breaking our kiss, he laid me down on my back on the bed and climbed on beside me. With our heads tilted toward each other, we continued doing what we had been doing, as his right hand slid down the waistband of my Speedos and cupped my ass.

I didn't time it, but I'm sure we kept it up for a solid 10 minutes. I gave as good as I got, kissing Aaron unabashedly, and using lots of tongue. It was as wet and sloppy a kiss as I had ever had with Pete, and longer, too. With his hand still squeezing my butt and a smile on his face, Aaron broke the kiss.

"Okay, wow, Davey," he gushed as he gave me another little squeeze. "Maybe you could be a people person after all."

I was pleased with his praise, and it shone on my face.

"I am a people person," I insisted.

"Hmmm," replied Aaron, who didn't seem fully convinced. "I think there's potential there. Maybe. But you already know me, at least a little bit. We haven't kissed before, but we've met. Can you do it with a complete stranger?"

I nodded my head vigorously up and down. I was sure I could. I could be a people person.

"Suppose you were at Malcolm's party and someone wanted to give you a kiss. What would you do?"

"Kiss whoever it is."

"Say it's a man. A strange man you've never met before and you don't know."

"I'd still kiss him."

"Hmmm," said Aaron, in that same skeptical tone. "Suppose you kiss him? Afterwards, he seems all happy and content and he goes like this?" said Aaron, as he gestured casually to his groin. His gesture was unmistakable. I knew what it meant. I knew what he meant.

"I'd do that, too."

"Show me," was Aaron's only reply.

I knelt up on the bed as he leaned back and laced his arms behind his head. I reached for his belt and yanked it free, then unclasped his pants. His fly was next. I scooted off the end of the bed and liberated his shoes from each foot. Then I grabbed the legs of his pants and started to tug them down.

"Can you lift up?" I asked earnestly. Aaron lifted his hips and I proceeded to slide his pants down. His boxers came halfway down with them. I could already see that he had an erection.

I scrambled back onto the bed and immediately grasped the waistband of his boxers, intending to pull them the rest of the way down, when Aaron grabbed me by my wrist.

"Okay, Davey," he said. "It's not a race. Slow down. Make it nice."

I forced myself to slow down, but I soon had Aaron's boxers pulled down to his knees. His stiff cock lay exposed on his abdomen, jutting from his groin. I knelt beside him, grasped his penis in my right hand, and immediately took it in my mouth. I heard Aaron exhale and when I looked up, his eyes were closed, and his mouth was contorted with pleasure. I bent to my task, eager to show Aaron that I was, indeed, a people person.

For the next several minutes, I did everything I could to earn that title, licking, sucking, and tonguing his penis like it was the tastiest treat in the history of treats. Aaron moaned as I bobbed on it. His right hand fiddled with my groin through the Speedo, and when his fingers alighted on my stuff, I was surprised to find that I had a boner. No matter. I had a job to do. A people person, that's what I was.

I sucked that man's penis for all I was worth, almost as if my life depended on it. I had given nice blowjobs to Pete before – scores of them actually – but none of them had been this important to me. I don't think I had ever pulled out all the stops before like I did with Aaron. Maybe I hadn't really been a people person all along, but that didn't matter to me now. I was a newly-minted people person, and I sucked Aaron's cock like I meant it.

It was only after about seven or eight minutes of sucking that Aaron moaned, exhaled, and his cock exploded in my mouth. I stayed latched on as his cum coated my tongue and taste buds. When the volume of it got to be too much for me to hold in my mouth, I began to swallow in a series of audible – at least to me, anyway – little gulps. Aaron's cum tasted different from Pete's but not in a way that I could describe. It was cum. It was a little thinner than I was used to, but it was the same stuff. I drank every drop of it into my tummy.

"That was fantastic!" said Aaron as I un-mouthed him and looked up at his visage. "Do you do that for Pete? Just like that?"

I nodded sheepishly and couldn't help but smile. It was nice to be good at something, and I was good at that. Pete had said so.

Aaron sat up on the bed and kicked his pants off as he started to unbutton his shirt.

"Be a gem and drape those over the chair for me so they don't get all wrinkled, Davey," he instructed.

I immediately scrambled off the bed to comply as Aaron sighed contentedly and leaned back against one of the pillows. Gathering his shirt and pants, I took them to the desk chair and hung them in what I hoped was a non-wrinkly way.

"Lose the swimsuit and come on back over here, Mr. People Person," said Aaron with a broad smile. "And grab my socks for me, will you?"

Things seemed to be going better for me, now, and I was only too happy to comply. I skinned the Speedo down my legs in seconds, leaving me naked and still semi erect. Striding to the end of the bed, I tugged the socks off his feet one at a time.

"Mmmm, feet need love, too," said Pete as he flexed and wiggled his toes. "How 'bout you give them a kiss?"

I had never done anything like that with Pete, but I climbed back on the bed nevertheless and bent to the task of kissing Aaron's feet. They were fresh from his socks but didn't smell like much of anything as I pressed my lips to the top of them.

Aaron wiggled his toes again.

"The good kind of kissing, Davey. Go on."

The good kind of kissing? I wasn't sure what that meant, except I was sure. The man wanted me to lick his feet. It wasn't something I was keen on doing, but I did it anyway, dragging my tongue across the smoother, cleaner-looking, white part of the top of his foot. I did both feet that way, then looked up at Aaron for further instructions.

"Davey, you can do better than that," he chided. "Have fun with it. Suck my toes."

Ewww. I didn't want to suck Aaron's toes. They looked like – toes. They were attached to feet. The feet had been in socks, which in turn had been in shoes. But I was done with my bad attitude. Done. If I wanted to get out of the hole I had dug for myself, it would be by doing what I was supposed to do without hesitating. Without thinking about it.

So, I sucked Aaron's toes. One at a time, I put each of his little piggies into my mouth one at a time and bobbed on them a little bit.

"Use your tongue between them, Davey," Aaron instructed, and I did that, too. I gave each of the larger, longer toes a little blowjob, and Aaron seemed to like that. Every time I looked up, he was smiling, and his cock was hard again. He wiggled the toes in my mouth and moaned.

"That feels really nice, Davey," Aaron sighed. "You're doing a good job. Get your tongue in between them. It tickles a little when you do that," he said with a little chuckle. "Has Pete done that for you?"

Pete had licked and sucked on my toes, so I nodded my head up and down with one of Aaron's toes still in my mouth. What I hadn't done was this. Pete had never asked me to.

"Feels nice, doesn't it? Usually when something feels good when it's done for you, it feels just as good when you do it for someone else."

I continued sucking Aaron's toes and working my tongue between them as I contemplated what the man had said. A lot of the things Pete and I did together were one-way. Kissing and sucking we did together, but he did all the fucking. I'm not sure I even could have fucked him – even erect, my cock really wasn't all that big – but even if I could have, I don't think he would have allowed it. I also did almost all the rimming, while he did all the spanking and tying up. For the most part, I did what Pete asked me to do, or told me to do, depending on his mood and whether we were playing roles. When I was his slave, I did everything he commanded.

I wasn't sure that Aaron knew any of that and I wasn't about to tell him. I still considered what Pete and I did together to be private. I could be a people person and do it with others if that's what it took to remain friends with Pete and be a successful model and actor, but with Pete, it was different. I loved the man. It may be hard to believe that an 11-year-old boy could love anyone outside of his family as intensely as I did, but it was true. I thought the sun rose and set on Pete Volcker. I just did.

"Do all over," instructed Aaron as he wiggled his toe free from my mouth. "Have you heard of a tongue bath? Some people like that. Some guys really like feet. What do you think?"

"I like them," I mostly lied, as I looked up. "They're nice."

Aaron chuckled again. I think he could tell I was lying but he didn't let on.

"Good, Davey. I'm glad. Why don't you give mine a nice tongue bath all over? Then we'll see."

See what? I wasn't sure. I did know that I wanted Pete to forgive me and the very best way for me to accomplish that goal was to have Aaron give him a good report on my behalf. I wanted a glowing, excellent, people-person report. I also was harboring some hope that I could still go to the party tomorrow with Aaron, to prove to Pete that I could do it. I reasoned that the more I pleased him and showed him what a people person I could be, the more likely that was to occur. I knew that Pete would be pleased if I did well at the party, but first I had to convince Aaron to take me. I was gaining confidence that I could fix this. I had a plan, and it started with pleasing some feet.

I gave Aaron's feet the tongue bath of a lifetime. I was vigilant and vigorous. I took the bath part seriously and licked him everywhere. From his ankles down to his soles, my tongue touched every spot of skin. I even redid his toes, bobbing and sucking on them like little penises and working my tongue in between. Aaron moaned, sighed, and offered me words of encouragement as I did my thing. There was no question he was enjoying it, even if I wasn't quite sure what the allure was. It tickled when Pete licked my feet and sucked on my toes. Not the side-splitting kind of tickling, but enough to keep me on edge that it could go that way, especially when he licked my soles.

"Mmmm, that was nice, Davey," sighed Aaron as he sat up and looked at me. "Thank you. You did a great job with that and got me all relaxed. There's another thing you can do that's even more relaxing. I think you've done it with Pete," he said as he stretched and rolled over on his stomach. He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with me, as he spread his legs wide apart, forming his lower body into an upside-down V.

"That tongue of yours is a real gift, Davey. Show me what you can do with it."

I knew what he wanted me to do. Pete liked it when I did it, but it wasn't my favorite thing. Truth be told, apart from the punishments rimming was the thing I disliked the most of all the things I did with Pete. He had all but stopped doing it for me, and on the infrequent occasions when he still did, it was right after we took a shower. At first that was the same for me – doing it only after Pete had showered – but eventually I just started doing it whenever he wanted me to. We didn't do it every time we got together, but probably every other time. It was frequent. When he wanted me to do it for him, he positioned himself the same way Aaron was positioned now. There was no mistaking what Aaron expected me to do.

So, I did it. I crawled between his legs, lay down on my stomach, and positioned my face so it was staring at his ass. As a rule, Aaron had less body hair than Pete, but the cleft of his ass was lined with a thick coating of fur, and his butt hole was almost obscured by it. I didn't want to lick it. The only saving grace was that it looked clean, and it didn't really smell, other than the scent of male musk that I was already used to with Pete.

Using my hands, I prized his ass cheeks apart, then lowered my mouth to his cleft and began to lick. The fur felt thick and strange on my tongue as it matted with my saliva, but I didn't let that stop me. I was on a mission. I wanted to reclaim and rehabilitate my friendship with Pete, and the road to accomplishing that goal went through Aaron Richter. Right now, it went through Aaron Richter's ass, so I set about to please that ass as much as I could, in the best way I knew how.

I worked at it for a good 15 minutes until I felt like my tongue was going to fall off. Aaron didn't speak a single word or so much as move a muscle the entire time. At one point I thought he may have fallen asleep. By the end of it, my tongue was so tired that it no longer responded to my commands. It was slack and felt big in my mouth. It was all I could do to press it into Aaron's butt crack and mostly used movements of my face and head to make it lick. It also felt like I had licked a layer of skin off it, kind of like when you burn your mouth on hot chocolate, but not quite that painful.

"Mmmm," said Aaron as he inhaled a deep breath and clenched his butt cheeks around my face. "That was nice, Davey. Thank you. Why don't you head into the bathroom and wash your face and brush your teeth? Do a thorough job, okay?"

I did exactly that and was quite happy to do so. I closed my eyes and soaped my face up until it was thick with suds, then rinsed and splashed it until it glistened squeaky clean. My teeth were next, and I did as nice a job brushing them as I had ever done. I even drank some of the Scope stuff that the hotel had left in a tiny little bottle on the counter, but I didn't like it all that much. It tasted like medicine, so I didn't finish the bottle.

When I returned, Aaron was on his back in the middle of the bed with his back propped up against the headboard with some pillows in between. He was smiling broadly as I re-entered the room.

"Come on up here, Davey," he said as he patted the bed to his side, but when I climbed up, he grabbed my sides and pulled me on top of him. His hands slid down my flanks and cupped my bottom, squeezing me there, before they slid all the way back up to my head to cup my other cheeks with his fingers while his thumbs alighted on my jaw. We looked into each other's eyes for a moment before Aaron tilted his head to the side and brought my mouth to his for another kiss.

We kissed for a while. This was our second kissing session of the day, and I was quickly learning that Aaron was slower paced than Pete. Then again, it wasn't like we had anyplace to be. It was a wet, languid kiss, full of tongue action and accompanying smacking sounds. Aaron continued to hold my face as if he thought it might get away, but I wasn't going anywhere. I would much rather have been kissing Pete, but a good report from Aaron represented my best chance of that happening, and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity. Today, whatever Aaron wanted, Aaron got.

I could feel Aaron's cock hardening underneath me as I lay sprawled on his body. The man was becoming aroused again, and I knew what that meant. Sure enough, after a few more minutes of kissing, Aaron backed my head away and looked me in the eyes from only inches away. As usual, he was smiling, and I half expected to hear his now-familiar chuckle.

"You're a good kisser, Davey," he complimented me. "And your mouth tastes so nice. Clever boy with the mouthwash. It's a neat taste and sensation."

I couldn't help but grin. Who doesn't like to be praised? Show me a single 11-year-old boy who doesn't like being told he did something well or doesn't enjoy being complimented for being clever. Next time, I vowed to drink the entire bottle of that Scope stuff, medicinal taste be damned!

"Pete must have brought some lube, Davey," said Aaron. "Be a gem and bring it here, okay?"

I immediately climbed off Aaron to comply. I knew where the lube was just as I knew why Aaron wanted it. It was a little disconcerting to me, nonetheless. I knew that the act was the most intimate thing that Pete and I did together, and the selfish part of me wanted to keep that exclusively between us. But I already knew from Pete's comments that he didn't feel the same way, and I had a pretty good idea by then what was expected of me. Once again, I had a choice: I could call it all off and end my friendship with Pete, or I could do what everyone wanted me to do, starting right now with Aaron Richter. I chose to be a people person, so I brought the lube over to the bed.

Aaron took his time getting us both ready, first having me lie across his lap with my legs spread so he could work the lube into my butt. He didn't say anything about the reddened condition of my butt. When he began to apply the lube, I almost had to laugh. He was much slower and gentler than Pete. When Pete was aroused, the lube went on quickly and I went for a ride. Aaron was working it in slowly, coating my anus with it, and gently inserting first one finger, then two, and finally the tips of what felt like three. It was the most thorough lubing I had experienced.

When he thought I was ready, Aaron stood up from the bed and arranged me on my tummy with my hips propped up on a pillow. I watched as he coated his own cock with lube. Although his penis looked different from Pete's, both men were about the same size. Looking at Aaron's member alone, I couldn't tell which penis was bigger.

When he was ready, Aaron climbed up behind me on the bed. Grasping my hips from underneath, he lifted my butt up a bit higher, somewhat improving the angle for penetration.

"This is nice, Davey," he intoned as he seated the head of his cock at my indent and then grasped my hips with his hands once again. "This may hurt just a little bit."

It did hurt a little bit, and maybe more than that. It always did. I hadn't yet reached the point where I could be anally penetrated without pain, and I wasn't sure that I ever would. But the pain wasn't horrendous. It wasn't awful. I winced as he sunk into me, but he went slower than Pete usually did and that made it okay. I always felt like a bit of a martyr when I felt that pain, almost like I was enduring a hardship to give Pete the pleasure that he wanted. I felt that way now with Aaron.

Aaron sighed contentedly as he slid his cock all the way into my rectum.

"Oh, Davey, you have no idea how good you feel. Is it okay? Are you comfortable?"

I wasn't used to that at all! Pete didn't really seem to care if I was comfortable when he fucked me. He wasn't mean about it, but the act was about his pleasure, not mine. I was fine with that. That's where the martyr part came in. I was exchanging my pain for his pleasure. It was a tradeoff I was more than willing to make for him. Pete was my best friend. He was also a man who had sexual needs. He had explained all of that to me. It wasn't just something he liked to do; it was something he needed to do. I helped to satisfy that need. In fact, I didn't just help with it, I was his satisfaction. To the best of my knowledge, Pete wasn't fucking anyone else. I'm pretty sure I would have known or found out about it if he were.

Aaron fucked me for a long time, as seemed to be his style. He wasn't in a hurry and he kept the same, slow, in-and-out pace throughout. He continued to hold me by my hips, and the only sounds he made was a little grunt with every inward thrust. After a while it didn't hurt at all. Aaron had lubed me well both in and out, and he had thoroughly lubed his cock before he started. That made a difference. I felt no abrasive pain at my anus, and because he wasn't a violent thruster, I didn't feel any penetrative pain, either. Pete always thrust deeply and painfully when he orgasmed, so I would have to see what Aaron did then, but so far, it was a much easier fuck than I was used to.

It ended the same way. There were no sharp, violent thrusts at the end, although Aaron's rhythm did become irregular as he came in my rectum. I could feel his shaft constricting as he pumped his cum inside me. It was a different sensation from when I was with Pete. It was more sensory, more tactile. I could feel his cock pulsing inside me.

Aaron ended up collapsed on top of me, catching his breath as his penis began to soften in my butt. No offense to Pete, but Aaron was thinner and lighter, and his weight didn't mush be down to the point where I couldn't breathe. Truth be told, it felt good to have him lying on top of me. His body was warm from his exertion, and there was something pleasant and reassuring about the weight. In my later years I found that I enjoyed sleeping with a weighted blanket on top of me – the one I have now weighs 35 pounds – and I often have wondered whether my early sexual experiences had something to do with that preference. In any event, Aaron felt nice inside me after it was all over, and he stayed there like that for at least a couple of minutes.

When he was breathing more normally again, Aaron rolled off me to the side of the bed facing me and propped his head up on his hand. When I looked over, he was smiling, and I could tell that I probably had earned a good report from him to Pete. Aaron reached over and caressed my back, then playfully squeezed my butt. I winced because it still hurt from my spanking.

"That was very nice, Davey," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I replied. I didn't quite know what else to say. What I was dying to do was ask him whether he would talk to Pete on my behalf, but I wasn't quite sure how to broach the topic.

"I think I might stay here tonight with you. Would you like that Davey?"

I immediately nodded. I very much did like that. I didn't want to be left alone, even for a single night.

"Good. Maybe later I'll give Pete a call. I know the name of the hotel where he's staying. Do you want to talk to him?"

I wasn't sure about that. I wanted Aaron to talk to him, first, to tell him what a good boy I had been.

"Are you going to talk to him?" I asked.

"What would you like me to say to him, Davey?"

"That I'm sorry," I said with a hitched voice. "For what I did. And I want him to come back." Just the thought of that conversation with Pete had made me emotional. I dabbed at my eyes with both hands.

Aaron nodded. "I think he'd appreciate that, Davey. I think he deserves to hear that don't you think?"

I nodded vigorously in agreement. I wanted him to hear it straight from me.

"He was very angry when I spoke to him earlier, Davey."

"I know." I felt miserable.

"Do you know why he left?"

I nodded, but then shook my head uncertainly. I wanted to know.

"He left because he loves you. He was very angry, and he didn't want to hurt you."

More tears came when Aaron told me that. It made sense. It explained why Pete had stormed out without saying a word, and without his suitcase. I remember the look on his face after he dumped me to the floor. I had thought he was going to kill me. His hands were balled into fists of rage as he loomed over me. I had literally feared for my life. I had seen him angry before, but not like that. The white-knuckle fury he had displayed was something new.

"He punished you earlier, didn't he?" asked Aaron. My red butt was proof enough of that. It probably still showed the marks from his hands and fingers.

I nodded in response. I didn't want to talk about it. That was private between Pete and me.

"Well then," said Aaron as he pushed me a bit to the side, turned around, and sat up on the bed. He propped a couple of pillows behind him, so he once again was leaning against the headboard. "Climb over my lap and I'll have a go at it, too. Maybe it will help if Pete knows that you've already had a thrashing from me."

I didn't hesitate, but immediately knelt up, crawled to Aaron's lap, and leaned across his legs with my butt positioned for a spanking. It never occurred to me to wonder whether Aaron was right-handed; I simply draped myself across his lap with my head positioned the same way it always was for Pete.

"You're . . . leaking a little bit back here, Davey," said Aaron as he looked at my butt. I did feel a bit slippery back there from Aaron's cum. "Why don't you head on into the bathroom and clean yourself up before we get started?"

Nodding, I climbed off his lap to the floor. Clenching my cheeks together, I walked awkwardly to the bathroom and cleaned myself up with some toilet paper. I wasn't looking forward to being punished, but I knew better than to object. I desperately needed Aaron in my corner, and he was right that it might help with Pete.

"Bring a damp washcloth with you," I heard Aaron call from the other room.

I didn't know why he wanted it, but I grabbed one of the small, rectangular cloths and ran it quickly under the faucet. Arron was still in the same position on the bed when I returned.

"Toss me that," he said, "and get my belt from my pants. I think we need to make sure this hurts a lot."

I was a very unhappy boy as I walked to the desk chair and started to pull Aaron's belt from the loops of his trousers. It was a dress belt, neither thick nor thin, but I knew it was going to hurt, especially on my sore backside. I wanted to say something to Aaron about the party tomorrow and the marks that the belt would leave on me, but the party already had been canceled and I didn't want to be perceived as arguing with him. I would take my beating like a man. Lord knows I deserved it.

I brought the belt to the side of the bed and handed it to Aaron, then climbed up on his lap and positioned myself as before. I hadn't said a word. I had done everything he asked me to from the moment he had walked in the door. I would do this, too. The television wasn't on, so I knew I would have to be quiet, too. I knew I wouldn't scream or anything like that, but it was impossible not to cry when I got the belt.

"Good boy," said Aaron, as he helped to position me on his lap. He still was naked, but his penis was soft, and it didn't stick up into my belly as I lay across his hips.

"When I was a boy, my father used to get my bottom wet before he disciplined me," said Aaron as he applied the wet washcloth to my buttocks. "It made it sting and hurt more when he hit me." The washcloth was cold against my skin as Aaron prepared me for my punishment. I wasn't looking forward to it. The belt was bad enough; I didn't need the sting enhanced by having a wet bottom. But I said nothing. Somehow, I would get through this. I wondered if Aaron's father had used the washcloth trick and the belt together. It seemed cruel to me, but I was about to find out just how much.

The air felt cool on my damp butt as Aaron picked up the folded belt and snapped the leather together a couple of times. I knew with certainty that this was going to hurt, but I didn't question Aaron's right to discipline me. He was a good friend of Pete's, and as far as I was concerned, he had Pete's authority over me by proxy. He also had Pete's ear, and I needed him to whisper good things about me to my friend.

"This is really going to hurt, Davey," said Aaron in an almost-apologetic tone. "But I think we both agree it's necessary, right?"

"Yes," I said quietly as I nodded. I flinched as Aaron snapped the belt a few more times.

Suddenly, I felt his hands around me pulling me from his lap into his arms. I looked at him, a bit stunned, to see that he was smiling.

"Davey, Davey," he said in a playful tone as he snuggled me into a hug. He flicked my nose. "Uncle Aaron's not into rough stuff like that, kiddo. I was just teasing you." His hand reached for my bottom and gave it a little squeeze. "I would never put a mark on something this beautiful," he said as he squeezed it again. "But I am very impressed with your courage. You're a very brave boy."

"Were you really going to let me take a belt to your wet bottom like that?" he asked with an incredulous tone.

I nodded in response. I was still a bit stunned by this development.

"I kept trying to make it sound worse and worse to see if I could scare you, but you are one brave young man!" he said as he bopped my nose once again. "I can see why Pete is so fond of you, Davey. He's a lucky man."

I wasn't sure what to say. I think I was so relieved not to be beaten that I was still trying to figure everything out. Aaron may have thought I was brave, but in truth I was scared to death. I didn't want to get the belt more than any other kid my age, but I didn't question Pete's or Aaron's right to discipline me that way. Maybe that was just the way things were in the 1970s. Maybe it was just the way I was.

"I'll tell you what, Davey," said Aaron. "If you're that brave all the time, you're going to be very successful in the industry. Some men . . . well, let's just say, a brave boy like you can make a lot of money doing brave things. Not all boys are as brave as you are, not by a long shot," he said as he gave my nose another little playful flick.

"Well then," he said with a mischievous smile on his face. "What do you say we give Pete a call, shall we?"

Chapter 9

We did call Pete, or, I should say, Aaron called Pete. I could hear only Aaron's side of the conversation, and I couldn't tell much from that about how Pete was feeling, which is what I really wanted to know. I heard Aaron tell him that I was in "good spirits" and that I wanted to go to Malcolm's party. There was a pause at that point, and I could hear Pete speaking, but the sounds coming to me were tinny and indecipherable. I heard Aaron tell him that I was being good and that he and I were "working on some things." After that, Aaron said a lot of "I will," and "yes," and "I'm sure he will," seemingly over and over. I wished I knew what Pete was saying. I was dying to know how mad he was at me and when he was coming back. Or if he was coming back.

When Aaron finally placed the receiver back in its cradle, I was so desperate to find out what was said that I must have looked like I was awaiting a jury verdict.

"Well then," said Aaron as he looked at me and smiled. He seemed to do a lot of unnecessary smiling. I was not at all in a smiling mood.

"What did he say?" I asked. I barely was able to contain myself.

"Well," Aaron said with his voice trailing off, "I'm sorry to say he's still quite angry, Davey. I know that's not what you want to hear. But I think it will be alright."

I was dejected and deflated at this news.

"Is he coming back?"

"Not tonight. But hopefully he'll be ready to after the party."

Aaron's response was disappointing, but it also surprised me. I stood up from where I had been sitting perched on the bed. I still was stark naked, and for that matter, so was Aaron.

"Wait – am I going to the party?"

Aaron looked at me and paused before answering, as if assessing my worthiness.

"Do you really want to go to the party, Davey?"

"Yes!" I responded instantly. I wanted to go to the party because I needed to go to the party and do well. It was the only way to win Pete back.

"Then we can go. I'll take you. But you'll need to be on your absolute best behavior. Can you do that?"

"I promise, Aaron," I said, nodding vigorously. "I promise I won't let you down."

"You won't let me down so much as Pete. He's the one you have to worry about."

"I won't let either of you down, I promise." I meant it. Come what may, I intended to be good as gold at Malcolm's party. I couldn't afford any problems, not if I wanted Pete back.

"Good boy," praised Aaron. "I'll stay with you tonight. Tomorrow, we have a few errands to run before we head over to the party. How does that sound?"

It sounded great to me. I was ecstatic. The party was back on and I had a chance to show Aaron and Pete what I could do. I was still nervous about it, but I saw it now as an opportunity to prove my worth.

"Are you hungry, Davey? I need to run Pete's suitcase over to him and I can pick up some food on the way back. What are you in the mood for?"

I was always in the mood for McDonald's, and that's what I told him. He left, but was back within 45 minutes, which I found very reassuring. Pete couldn't be that far away, even if he weren't with me right now. I was just happy that he hadn't driven all the way back to St. Clair without me.

Aaron and I ate in the room and then watched television in between several rounds of sex. He fucked me twice more, cumming in my bottom both times after I had gotten him hard and horny with my mouth. He also had me lick and suck on his chest and nipples, bathe his toes with my tongue a second time, and lick his crack and butt hole for about twenty minutes as he recovered from the second fuck.

He also introduced me to something new, which I wasn't all that keen on but tried my best not to show, given the circumstances.

"Has Pete ever had you lick out his armpits?" asked Aaron casually after the second time he fucked me.

I shook my head no. Pete had licked mine, but his were hairy, and Aaron's were, too. It seemed kind of gross to me.

"Some men like that a lot. It makes them feel more dominant."

I wasn't sure what that meant. I probably looked confused.

"You want to try it?" Aaron asked.

I really didn't, not at all. But I had made a promise to myself: I had vowed to win Pete back by being as good as gold at Malcolm's party and by doing everything Aaron asked me to do. While Aaron had asked me if I wanted to try it, it was very clear which answer he wanted me to give.

"Okay," I replied. "I mean yes," I added quickly. I knelt up and came a little closer to him on the bed. "I don't know how, though."

"Good boy," he praised me and patted me on the head. "It's easy, Davey. Just do the same thing you did with my toes, and what you just did when you licked my ass. Basically, it's that tongue-bath concept again. You want to lick it and clean it, get the skin all wet with your mouth and then suck the wetness out of the hairs. Can you do that for me?"

I didn't want to. It seemed gross to me, but then again, I had licked his toes and ass. I'd also rimmed Pete's ass several dozen times. Armpits weren't as gross as butt cracks, I told myself. I hoped it was true. In any event, I had to do this. Aaron would be talking to Pete, and I desperately needed him to file a good report on my behalf.

Aaron lifted his right arm over his head, exposing his hairy pit. Reluctantly, but without any noticeable hesitation, I lowered my mouth to it and began to lick. It had a sharper, tangier taste than his asshole that I was pretty sure came from sweat. Aaron had exerted himself considerably while fucking me twice to that point, so I was sure he had sweated under his arms.

The taste wasn't too bad, all things considered, but licking the thick, tufted hairs there was not my favorite thing. It took a lot of saliva to get everything wet and clean, and when I sucked the hairs dry the way Aaron had told me to, I still could taste his sweat in my mouth.

Aaron seemed very pleased with my effort. When I had finished bathing his right pit, he had me scooch around on the bed to do his left. It was very much the same experience for me. I did a thorough job with my tongue, before using my lips to slurp his pit hairs dry once again.

"Go wash your face and brush your teeth again," he said with a smile when I was finished, before giving me a friendly swat on my bottom to send me on my way.

I climbed off the bed and went to the bathroom to do exactly that. I washed my face thoroughly to get the smell of Aaron's sweat out of my nose and brushed my teeth extra well to rid my mouth of the taste of it. I couldn't say I liked armpit-licking very much, but I was willing to do just about anything to win Pete back.

When I had finished brushing, I drank the rest of the Scope and rejoined Aaron on the bed. Neither of us had worn any clothes in several hours, nor would we need them for several more. In this regard, my time with Aaron was not vastly different to the time I spent with Pete.

"Good boy," said Aaron as I snuggled in against him once more. He placed his right arm around my body and pulled me close. "Did you like licking out my pits, Davey?"

The truth was, I hadn't liked it all that much, but I wasn't about to tell that to Aaron.

"It was okay. They're kind of hairy."

Aaron chucked. "That they are," he replied. "They're supposed to be, right?"

"Mine aren't," I observed.

"That's true, and some men really like to lick hairless armpits like yours. Maybe one will tomorrow. Would you like that?"

I hadn't really thought about it, but I nodded. I guessed that having somebody lick my armpits would be okay with me, even if I didn't quite see the allure.

"It's not my thing, or I'd show you, Davey."

"That's okay. But why do people like it?"

Aaron shrugged. "Some people like doing it, and some people like having it done to them. I guess it's like fucking. Some people like to fuck, and some people like being fucked."

"Which do you like?" I asked him earnestly.

"Well, that's a bit of a personal question," he said with a grin, "but it depends. I like both, to be honest. When I'm with a man, I can do either, but when I'm with a boy, I'm the one doing the fucking."

I was a bit surprised to hear him admit so casually to having sex with other men. This was 1978, and not too many men in that era would openly admit that they were gay like Aaron had just acknowledged to me. Where I grew up, being gay was not an option unless you really had a thing for being ostracized, taunted, and likely beaten up. A joke going around in 6^th grade had asked, "Are you a homo?" If you said no, which was my instinctive answer the first time I heard it, you were ridiculed: "You're not a Homo sapiens? You're not normal?" By the second time I was asked, believing myself to be much wiser and more worldly, I answered affirmatively. That's how I found out what the word really meant in common usage. I also found out what it felt like to be ridiculed and taunted for being a homosexual.

Other than Aaron, therefore, I didn't know a single gay person. Pete had never let on about his own orientation, and I had never even thought about it. It just wasn't something we ever talked about.

The acknowledgment that Aaron was gay certainly surprised me, but I already knew he did the fucking when he was with a boy. Aaron had already fucked me twice on the very bed where we were now lying, and it was clear to me that, like Pete, he preferred the more active role.

"With pits," he continued, "I sometimes like having mine licked out, but I don't like to do it myself, even when they're hairless."

"How come?"

"Well, I guess it's just a matter of what you like, Davey," Aaron replied. "We're all a bit different. Some men like doing things like that, and others like having it done to them. Some are more dominant, and some are more submissive. It really just depends. There are a lot of factors. Boys are nearly always submissive when they're in a relationship with a man."

I didn't know what those words meant – dominant and submissive. The first word made me think of dominoes and the second word made me think of missiles. Whatever point Aaron was trying to make was completely lost on me, and the confusion probably shone in my eyes.

"You don't have any idea what I'm talking about, do you Davey?" grinned Aaron as he bopped me on my nose.

"Yes, I do," I lied. Regardless of what it was, I was in complete agreement with whatever Aaron said. It seemed to me to be the best way to win Pete back.

Aaron chuckled. "Okay, Einstein. Then tell me what dominant and submissive mean?"

Now I was in trouble. I had no idea. Nothing even came to mind. I shrugged sheepishly. I had been busted in a matter of seconds.

"I'll give you a hint," said Aaron. "Pete is dominant and you're submissive. You want to guess what they mean?"

I still had no idea. I shrugged again, bringing another laugh from Aaron. He bopped my nose again for good measure.

"You really don't know?" he asked me with a cocked eyebrow.

I really didn't. I had no idea what he was talking about. I shook my head.

"A dominant is someone who likes to take control and tell other people what to do," Aaron explained.

I must have looked confused, so he continued.

"When you're with Pete, who decides what you're going to do together?"

I paused, then shrugged again. "I mean, I guess we both do."

Aaron laughed. "Oh, really? Well, when's the last time you told Pete to lick your asshole, Davey?"

I didn't think I had ever "told" Pete to do that, but sometimes he did it on his own. The last time had been a while ago.

"After I took a shower?" I replied.

"Right, after a shower, so you're all clean. But whose idea was it, Davey? Did you tell Pete you wanted him to lick your asshole out once you were done with your shower?"

I immediately shook my head no. That was simply ridiculous. I didn't tell Pete what to do. He told me what to do. He decided things like that.

"Pete's the one who decided, right, Davey?" said Aaron, almost taking the words right out of my mouth.

I nodded.

"Who decides when you get spanked?"

"He does."

"Who decides when you get fucked?"

"He does."

"Who decides when you suck him off?"

"He does."

"Would you pretty much agree that Pete calls the shots in your relationship?"

I shrugged. What he said was true, but Pete was an adult, and I was a kid. He made all the decisions on that stuff for both of us. It hadn't even crossed my mind that it could be any other way, and I still wasn't sure what point Aaron was trying to make.

"That means that Pete is the dominant in your relationship, and you're the submissive. He tells you what to do, and you do it. Am I right?"

I had to nod at that. It made sense. Pete certainly called all the shots when we were together.

"And if you don't do what he tells you to do, you get punished. Like that time in my office – am I right?"

"That was because I didn't know-" I started to try to excuse my bad behavior, but Aaron cut me off in mid-sentence.

"No, no. You're missing my point. Pete decided you needed to be disciplined, and that's what happened, right? Whether you deserved it or not, he decided, and you were punished, right?"

I nodded, and then shrugged again. Aaron was right. It certainly hadn't been my decision to be spanked in the middle of the man's office. Just thinking about it was embarrassing.

"Okay. That's because he's dominant. And you do what Pete says because you're submissive. Does that make sense?"

It did make sense, at least a bit. I nodded. Aaron was just putting labels on what Pete and I did together. I knew that Pete made all the decisions, but it seemed natural to me that he would. He was an adult. He was older, bigger, and stronger than I was, and he knew a lot more stuff, especially about sex. I looked up to him.

"When a man and a boy have a relationship together, most of the time the man is dominant, and the boy is submissive. That's because the boy is learning from the man's experience, so he does what the man tells him to do. That makes sense, right?"

That was exactly what I had been thinking, so I nodded.

"Some men are naturally dominant all the time even when they're not with a boy, and some boys remain submissive their entire lives even after they've grown up. It can get kind of confusing sometimes."

I agreed with that, too, as my head was starting to spin with all this information.

"I think you're a natural submissive, Davey. A people-pleaser. You like to make men feel good. You made me feel good today, and I know you make Pete feel good when you're together, am I right?"

I paused at hearing Aaron's assessment of me but nodded once again. What he said was mostly true, but there were some nuances. I wanted to make Pete feel good because he was my best friend in the whole world, and I loved him. It was different with Aaron. He was nice and all, and I did want him to feel good, but that was mostly because he was Pete's friend and Pete would want me to please him.

"A dominant man likes to have his pits and ass licked. It feels good and it makes him feel like he's in control. But a submissive feels the opposite way. He wants to make his man feel good and is willing to do whatever it takes to make him happy. You see how it works?"

"I think so," I replied a bit uncertainly.

"It even extends to punishments and discipline – spankings, and things like that. Some men are really into that, but most boys aren't because it hurts. But you seemed willing to let me do it earlier, right?"

I shrugged. I didn't like being spanked and disciplined, but it wasn't as if Pete ever had asked me how I felt about it. I had been willing to let Aaron do it earlier because as far as I was concerned, he was my only chance to get Pete back. Disobeying Aaron would have stopped him helping me. Also, he was an adult, and kids my age did what they were told by the adults in their lives – at least, they did in the late 1970s.

"I don't like it, though," I told Aaron honestly.

"I never said you liked it," replied Aaron with a laugh. "You're not supposed to like it. But the fact that you submit to it – that's what's key. See my point? It's because you're submissive."

I was starting to get very confused. I didn't let Pete spank me or take the belt to me, he just did it. He knew I needed discipline because I didn't get any at home. There hadn't really been a discussion about it, much less a negotiation. Pete had just started doing it. He said I needed it, and that was that.

"He doesn't give me a choice," I explained.

Aaron laughed as if I had just told him a funny joke.

"He's not your father, is he? You could just walk away if you wanted to."

I had to think about that for a moment. He was right, of course: I could always leave, but then Pete and I wouldn't be friends anymore. I wasn't about to let that happen.

"Yeah, but–"

"But what, Davey?"

"Then we wouldn't be friends anymore," I said with a shrug.

"That's exactly right, Davey," said Aaron, with another of his, in my mind, unnecessary smiles. A lot of the time with Aaron I wasn't sure if he was just enjoying things or laughing at me.

"You want to remain friends with Pete, and you want to please him. That's why you let him discipline you when you could just walk away."

I had never thought about it that way before, but what Aaron said was true. I could walk away, but I didn't. I wouldn't. Pete was everything to me. I adored the man. I loved him. I wanted him in my life. I needed him.

"He spanks me sometimes when we're just acting, when he's not even mad at me," I explained, a bit defensively. "We're just playing around."

"That's another perfect example, Davey. That's Pete showing you his dominant side, and when you let him spank you like that, you're showing him your submissive side. I never said it couldn't be playful."

I didn't say anything in response. I was still trying to comprehend what Aaron was saying.

"What I'm hearing is that Pete spanks you for fun and also when he thinks you need discipline that you're not getting at home, is that right, Davey?"

I nodded and shrugged. Both were true.

"And you let him do both, even though you don't have to?"

"I guess so," I said with another shrug.

"Well, Davey, my boy, that pretty much confirms that you're submissive. That's probably why you and Pete get on so well since he's a dominant through and through. He needs the other person to be submissive or the relationship won't work. But the thing is, and the point I guess I'm trying to make, is that a submissive boy who can accept being spanked and disciplined like that can make a lot of money in our industry. Same for a boy who is prepared to do certain other things, like lick the places you've licked on me today."

The main thing I noticed was that Aaron had used the phrase "our industry." Every other time he had referred to it as "the" industry, which had made me feel like an outsider. Now it was "our" industry – as if I had been welcomed into the club, perhaps by virtue of my successful photo shoot earlier in the day. But then it occurred to me that Aaron had not once mentioned my Sears shoot. He hadn't even asked me how it had gone. It seemed unimportant to him although he had arranged it. He was far more interested in Malcolm's party.

"Why would that make a lot of money?" I asked. Despite reading Aaron's letters, I still didn't have a full understanding of what was going on. It seems ridiculous now, but at the time, I still was very much an innocent, naive young boy.

It was Aaron's turn to shrug.

"Think about it, Davey. I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Look, it's late," he continued, changing the subject. "It's almost quarter to midnight, and you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow. An important day. So how about a good-night kiss for Uncle Aaron and we hit the hay?"

We already were in the hay, but I turned toward Aaron and brought my mouth to his. He hooked his arm around my shoulders and placed his hand on the back of my head as his lips connected with mine. His tongue began to probe at my mouth, and I opened it for him, allowing him in.

"Mmmm," he sighed as he momentarily broke our kiss. "I like your fresh, minty taste, Davey!" he said as he cupped my butt with his free hand and resumed kissing me.

We kissed for a while before calling it a night, and it was fine, but all the while, I wished I were with Pete. We finally rolled over to go to sleep around midnight, and not even two minutes later, I was completely dead to the world.

Aaron awoke the next morning with a pair of needs, and once he had taken care of the first one in the bathroom, he returned to the bed and had me take care of the second one with my mouth.

"Oh, that feels good, Davey," he said as I sucked him. "Just like that, baby, do it like that. You are so good at that, little man."

I did it like that until his cum spurted in my mouth. I swallowed it down quickly and then dashed to the bathroom to take care of my own need, which by that time was acute. I had a really hard piss-boner and I had to crouch and bend it down forcibly to avoid peeing all over the back of the toilet instead of into the bowl. It took a few seconds for my boner to soften enough to let the pee out.

When I returned to the bedroom, Aaron was just finishing buttoning up his shirt. I was still in my birthday suit, as I had been since shortly after Aaron arrived the previous afternoon.

"Alright, kid, let's get a move on. We're going to my place, and then we have stuff to take care of before the party. Let's move it."

Aaron drove a late-model forest-green Lincoln Mark V coupe with a tan-and-green two-colored roof. It was even better than Pete's Marquis, which to that point was the nicest car I had ever ridden in. The Lincoln topped it. I hopped in the passenger seat as Aaron sat behind the wheel.

Aaron drove like a maniac all the way from the hotel to his home in Winnetka, a northern suburb of Chicago. Did I say home? A better word for it would be mansion. I remember him turning into what seemed an endless driveway, which terminated at a four-car garage. We pulled in, and it was then that I first realized that the Mark V was Aaron's knock-around car. Also parked in the garage were a jet-black BMW 6-series sedan, a dark-red Mercedes-Benz 300D coupe, and a banana-yellow De Tomaso Pantera. I still remember the look of those cars like I just saw them yesterday. I remember their names to this day because Aaron gave me a guided tour of his spotless garage when he saw my mouth gaping open at the sight of his collection.

After the garage tour and impromptu auto show, Aaron and I showered together upstairs in the most palatial bathroom I had ever seen, which was in the most enormous house I had ever been in. Did I say house? It was not a house. It was about four houses all stuffed under one roof. Every room was enormous. The bathroom was enormous. The shower in the bathroom was enormous, and there was also an enormous tub, which really was a spa, although it could have been a small pool. Aaron's place reeked of money. He must have been doing quite well in the – our – industry.

We stepped into the shower together and Aaron soaped me from head to toe, running his slippery hands over every inch of my body. He had an erection the entire time. Suffice it to say that I was a very clean boy when he was finished, although he kept emphasizing that we didn't have any time to spare, which also meant that we didn't have sufficient time for me to take care of his need – but I would have, if he had asked.

I didn't understand the urgency. We had checked out of the hotel just past 8:00 a.m. The drive north through Chicago had taken us about 45 minutes, and the garage tour had taken 20 more. It was just after 9:30 a.m. when we entered the shower, but Malcom's gathering wasn't until 4:00 p.m. Aaron had told me that he didn't live all that far from Malcolm's place. So why were we in such a hurry?

"Let's get you dried off, nakey butt," said Aaron as he rubbed my head vigorously with a big, fluffy white towel. He was still naked, himself, and still very much erect. I planned to be on my best behavior all day. I needed Aaron to give Pete an excellent, glowing report about me. So, I thought he would be pleased if I took care of that for him without even being asked, but when I knelt to do so, he stopped me.

"We have a busy schedule this morning, kiddo," he said with a poke to my nose. "You finish up," he said as he tossed the towel to me. He grabbed another from the rack and began to dry himself. He seemed oblivious to his erection, which I was not used to. Pete never wasted one of his when we were together. If Pete got an erection when I was with him, there was no question that he was going to cum either in me or on me.

"I need to make some calls but get yourself ready to go," Aaron continued. "We don't have any time to waste."

I still didn't get it, but I finished up in the bathroom and dressed in the clothes that I had planned to wear to Malcolm's gathering. I stood around waiting for another few minutes as Aaron got himself dressed and took care of whatever phone calls he needed to make. He emerged from his bedroom as I was staring up at the huge chandelier that dangled from the cathedral ceiling over the front foyer, which for some reason I found fascinating.

Aaron eyed me critically as he buttoned his shirt.

"Yup, that won't do," he said, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Your outfit. It's a sartorial disaster. Later, I'll talk to Pete about your clothes but for now, I have a plan. Let's go. ándele, ándele, move it!" he said, while urging me forward with a shooing motion.

I had no idea where we were going, but then again, I barely knew where we were. All I knew was that we were in some ritzy suburb north of Chicago. We walked downstairs toward the doorway to the garage, but Aaron stopped me before we entered it.

"Which car do you want to take, Davey. Your choice."

My choice? Really? I was blown away. The man had four incredible cars!

I debated with myself for a moment and then chose the BMW. It was as black as night and reminded me of the Batmobile. Re-runs of Batman had been my favorite TV show when I was seven or eight years old, and riding in the BMW with Aaron was like me being Robin to his Batman.

Aaron grabbed the keys from the wall, and we were off. I still had no idea where we were going.

"Ever had a mani or a pedi before?" Aaron asked me as he gunned the beamer's engine and pulled out onto the street.

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. None whatsoever. I shook my head.

"Guess not," said Aaron with a smile as he reached over and tousled my hair. "You're going to meet some good and talented friends of mine today, kiddo."

"Who are they?" I assumed he was talking about at Malcolm's party.

"First up, Fran and Tony," he announced. "Then Ramses, and finally Dave Stalteri. Sound like fun?"

Aaron knew that I had no idea who any of those people were, but I had vowed to be on my best behavior all day come hell or high water, so whatever Aaron thought was going to be fun, I did, too.

"Yes, lots," I replied, nodding agreeably.

"Good boy!" Aaron gave another of his smiles as he ruffled my hair once again. "That's the spirit. I think we might be able to make a people person of you, after all, Davey."

I nodded some more and smiled at his praise. I still had no idea who any of those people were or why we were going to see them, but that didn't matter. What mattered was keeping Aaron happy to win Pete back. That's all I cared about.

We drove back in the direction of Chicago at the same speed of light Aaron had used to take us north. We were flying, and it was a wonder he didn't get a speeding ticket. After a drive of about 35 minutes we were back in the northern suburbs of the city. The BMW cruised down the exit ramp into a town called Streeterville. Aaron made a series of quick turns and pulled down a driveway to park behind a nondescript little building that looked very much like a house. It had a commercial sign on the front that I didn't quite manage to read as Aaron suddenly pulled in.

"Out you get, kiddo," said Aaron as he cut the engine and stepped out of the car. I unbuckled my seatbelt and joined him on the concrete parking pad at the rear of the building. He placed his arm around my shoulders and walked me toward the rear door. He knocked twice, then opened it and ushered me inside.

"Anyone home," he called out as we started to walk down a nondescript hallway toward the front of the building.

Suddenly, a tall, thin, and rather strange-looking man whose age I could not determine appeared at the other end of the hall. When he spotted us striding toward him, he placed his hands on his hips, tilted his head, and gave Aaron a disapproving look.

"Well, just look what the cat dragged in," the man said with a roll of his eyes.

I looked up to see Aaron smile.

"Oh, Tony," the man called out behind him, as Aaron and I approached. "We have visitors." He turned back to look at us. "And so early on a Saturday morning, when somebody is supposed to be getting his beauty rest."

To my surprise, Aaron approached the man and as he turned his head slightly to the side, Aaron planted a light kiss on his cheek

"Sorry about that, Fran," said Aaron as he stepped back. "I told you, it's an emergency."

Fran's eyes alighted on me now. He regarded me coldly.

"And what's your little emergency's name?" he flounced.

"This is Davey," said Aaron as he pushed me forward with his hands on my shoulders. "Davey, this is Francine."

I was stunned at that introduction. Francine? I thought his – her? – name was Fran? For Francis. Francine was a girl's name. I was confused. I still was wrapping my head around the idea that Francine was a man – or seemed mostly to be a man, anyway – when he waved at me with an exaggerated downward flip of his right hand.

"Charmed, I'm sure," he said in a drawl that told me he was anything but. But then he smiled warmly and gave me a wink.

Suddenly, he grabbed my right hand.

"Let's take a look," he said, as he examined my hand and fingers. It was then that I noticed that his fingernails were long, like a lady's, and ruby red in color.

"Tsk, tsk," he huffed. "How much time do we have?" he asked Aaron with a flip of his head that sent a shock of wavy hair off his forehead from where it had drooped in his eyes. He seemed exasperated.

"Not long, babe," said Aaron. "Can you fix it?"

Fran rolled his eyes again and pouted. "Is the pope Catholic?"

I still was wondering what was wrong with my hand that it needed fixing when movement caught my eye and I looked up to see a second individual enter the hallway at the far end. He was small in stature – considerably shorter than Francine, anyway – with medium-length brown hair. He looked to me to be about 40 years old, but I was never very good at estimating those things.

Aaron spotted the man's entrance at the same time I did.

"Tony!" Aaron exclaimed, as he edged his way past Francine and ambled down the hall. I watched as they greeted each other with smiles and a handshake – no kisses for Tony, apparently. I still was trying to figure out what was going on and why I was here when Fran directed me into the main room at the front of the building.

I had never had a manicure before, much less a pedicure. Before that day I couldn't have even told you what the words meant. But as Aaron hovered nearby, Fran and Tony had me remove my sneakers and socks before sitting me down in what looked like a combination between a recliner and a dentist's chair. The two of them then went to town on my fingers and toes, soaking, washing, massaging, buffing, polishing, and shining my digits and nails. They used everything from what looked like little stones, to emery boards, to cloths, and to a little hand-held thing that vibrated and felt weird when it touched me. Throughout it all, Fran tutted and clucked like a disgruntled librarian as he worked on my fingers. Tony and Aaron carried on a lively conversation as Tony worked on my toes.

"Do we want clear, or color?" asked Fran, as he turned toward Aaron. "Personally, I think he'd look perfectly lovely in a pastel blue to match his eyes." Fran turned back to look at me with a serious expression. "Those eyes are to die for, sweetheart. Don't you ever forget it."

I was too dumbfounded to respond, but Aaron quickly came to the rescue.

"Just clear, today, Frannie," he said with a chuckle. "And nothing that will wash off in the pool."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Fran with a wide-eyed look of shock and despair. "Tell me he isn't going swimming! Not with chlorine! Oh, please, please tell me he won't be doing that. Chlorine is just so icky for the skin." He – she – turned back to me. "Don't you go in that icky water, sweetheart."

"I-" I started to say, before Aaron interrupted me.

"He'll have it all chipped off in a couple of days, anyway, Frannie," he said. "You know how boys are."

"Do I ever!" flounced Frannie. "Boys!" he said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Horrid little things, truly." He looked back at me and smiled. "No offense to you, sweetheart."

I didn't know what to make of any of this, so I just kept quiet as Frannie produced a clear bottle of nail polish and began to paint my fingernails with the applicator brush. Meanwhile, Tony re-washed and then dried my feet while seated opposite to me at the base of my chair. When he was finished, he stood up with the towel in hand. He stretched his back with a grimace.

"All set for you, Fran," he said.

Fran waved him off frantically with his left hand as he concentrated on painting my nails with his right.

"Do not disturb! Do not disturb!" he cautioned. Both Tony and Aaron laughed at his antics. I did not know what to make of Fran. I still wasn't 100% sure what gender he was.

I watched as Fran painted my fingernails with clear coat and then moved to the foot of my chair and began working on my toes.

"Sweetheart," he said as he twisted my bare foot to the left and right as if appraising it, "you have the most adorable little feet I've ever seen. Don't you ever let anything happen to these little feet."

"I- I won't," I said, as Aaron laughed.

As soon as Fran was finished with my toes, Aaron made it clear that we had to go. He opened his wallet and shoveled a handful of bills at Tony as I sat barefoot on the chair.

"You have to wait until he's dry!" exclaimed Fran in distress.

"Sorry, babe," replied Aaron. "We're on a tight schedule. I'll just carry him to the car. He can dry on the ride."

Fran flounced. He pouted. He rolled his eyes. He clearly was not happy.

"You are simply a Philistine, Aaron Richter," he said as he strode quickly to a nearby bureau. Opening a drawer, he extracted a hair dryer and returned.

"This is not good for the skin, I'll have you know," he said as he plugged it in the wall socket. He gave Aaron a sour look, then turned back to me and rolled his eyes.

It took a couple of minutes with the hair dryer before Fran adjudged my fingernails and toenails sufficiently dry.

"I suppose it will simply have to do," he told Aaron, before turning back to me. "Don't you go in that icky pool, sweetheart," he warned. "Do come back and we'll do this the right way," he added with an exaggerated wink. He looked back in Aaron's direction disapprovingly.

"You're the best, Frannie," said Aaron as he planted another peck on his – her? – cheek. "Gotta run," he said as he retrieved my sneakers and socks from the top of the bureau. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

"Come on you – up," he said as he offered his hand and pulled me from the chair.

As soon as I was upright again, he leaned down and picked me up under my thighs with his right arm. I felt like a toddler as he lifted me up and carried me barefoot down the hall and out the back door to the car. He placed me in the front passenger seat of the BMW.

"Put your seat belt on, and don't let anything touch your feet until we get to Ramses'," he said before closing the door and walking hurriedly around to the driver's side.

It was another 15 minutes before Aaron pulled into a strip mall and parked the BMW outside a storefront with the name "Ramses" in black, italicized lettering painted on the upper window. Below that, in regular font, was the word "Salon."

Aaron hopped out and retrieved my sneakers and socks from the back seat, then came around to my side of the car and opened the door.

"Okay, kiddo," he said as he handed me my things. "Your toes should be dry by now. Get these on."

We went inside and were greeted by a tall, exceptionally fit, and muscular black man. He was considerably taller than Aaron and he simply towered over me. He looked like he could play linebacker in the NFL if he were only a few years younger.

"Ramses, this is Davey," said Aaron.

"Hi Mr. Ramses," I said as we shook hands. The man's hand was enormous. Mine was swallowed by his. Ramses laughed.

"It's just Ramses," corrected Aaron. "I don't even think he has a last name," he said with a chuckle.

"Maybe that is my last name," said Ramses in the deepest, smoothest baritone voice I think I had ever heard. He had an accent of some sort that I could not exactly place. It sounded English to me, but I was no expert.

"What are we doing today?" he asked. His voice was as smooth as chocolate.

"Davey needs a new look," said Aaron. "Maybe a center part, higher on the sides? Something like that. He's got a gig this afternoon and needs to impress. What do you recommend?"

Ramses grasped my shoulders in both hands and turned me to face him. He gazed down at me as he gently tilted my head up with a hand under my jaw. He eyed me appraisingly for a moment, then used a thumb to sweep my blond hair to the left of my forehead. He stared down at me contemplatively for several more seconds.

To that point in my life, my hair had just been . . . hair. Like most kids my age in the late 1970s, I wore it on the long side, and I didn't much care what it looked like. I took a brush to it before school or whenever else it had to look presentable, but most of the time, it did what it wanted to do. I'd never really been too conscious of hair styles or even thought all that much about how I wanted it to look.

My attitude about hair changed that day with Ramses. When he was finished looking me over, he had me sit in a chair and lean my head back as he washed my hair in a sink. His big, black hands massaged the shampoo into my already freshly washed scalp. He used a sprayer to rinse, then gave my hair a vigorous going over with a towel until it was mostly dry again, before having me sit in a traditional barber's chair. He covered me from the neck down with a white cape and then proceeded to give me the single best haircut of my entire life.

For all intents and purposes, we had the salon to ourselves for the next 30 minutes. A single, older black man sat in one of the waiting chairs reading the newspaper. He remained silent throughout our visit and never once looked up. About halfway through my haircut a teenager entered the salon for a few moments, looked about, turned, and left. Other than those two, it was just Aaron, Ramses, and me.

Ramses was a true artist, and to this day he remains the most-talented hair stylist I've ever met. He gave me a scissors-only cut, and I still remember the slithering, clicking-and-clacking sound that those stainless-steel blades made in Ramses' hand as he went about his business. And he was all business. From the moment he started until he was finished, he didn't chitchat, he just worked. With his fingers on my jaw or cheeks, his left hand positioned my head the way he wanted it as his right hand made the scissors sing almost continuously. He made them click and clack so fast that it was a wonder that the metal didn't heat up in his hand from the friction.

When he was finished, he spun the chair around and showed me to Aaron who smiled and nodded. Ramses then handed me a hand-held mirror. I gazed into my own reflection to see that I had been transformed. My full, blond hair was now parted in the middle a la Leif Garrett. It was delicately feathered on the sides, held that way with the help of a couple of spritzes of hair spray from a can. For all the clicking and clacking of the scissors, it didn't appear to me that Ramses had really taken off all that much. I still had a full head of sandy blond hair, but it was styled very differently. I looked like a different boy, like a kid from a television show. The only problem, I thought, was that if anything, it made me look younger.

Suddenly, I was beset with worry. What would Pete think when he saw it? Would he like it? Would he be happy with my changed appearance? I didn't know if he would like the new center part very much. Pete liked to ruffle my hair when we were together; he did it all the time. What if he didn't like the look of my new cut? Would he be disappointed? Had Aaron even told him that he was going to take me for a haircut? Would Pete be angry? What if he didn't want to ruffle my hair anymore?

Aaron came over as I was studying myself in the mirror and worrying.

"You're the best, Ramses," he said. "Davey looks great. What do you think, kiddo?" he asked me.

"I- I like it," I replied, despite my concerns. I didn't want to hurt either man's feelings, but I couldn't stop worrying about Pete and whether he would approve.

Ramses smiled and gave a little chuckle. He had an enormous set of white teeth.

"Are you filming today?" he asked in his chocolate voice.

"No, actually no," replied Aaron quickly as he reached out and gently squeezed my shoulder. "Davey's new to the industry, just breaking in," he added. "He's even new to Chicago, right kiddo?"

I was still looking at myself in the mirror, but I nodded as I handed the mirror back to Ramses.

"I went to my first Cubs game," I told the man as he placed the mirror on the counter and began to remove the barber's cape from around my neck.

"Did you now?" replied Ramses with that accent that I still couldn't trace. I didn't get the impression that he was a baseball enthusiast. At that age, I simply assumed that everyone who lived in or near Chicago was a Cubs fan. How could anybody not be a fan of the Lovable Losers? Chicago's other baseball team, the White Sox didn't even exist as far as I was concerned.

Moments later I was out of the chair and Aaron was opening his wallet once again to pay. It wasn't lost on me that Aaron was spending a lot of money on my behalf. Not that I was worried he would be left destitute, as the man owned his own business, and had plenty of money for fancy cars and an enormous house. But I barely knew Aaron. This was only the second time we had met, but he seemed more than willing to pay for meals, hotel rooms, and other services on my behalf. I chalked it up to his friendship with Pete. It probably was an "any friend of his is a friend of mine" kind of thing. It was a bit like why I had sex with the man. He was Pete's friend, and that made him my friend, too. Although, of course, I had done it the first time because Pete had told me to and spanked me for good measure. And last night was because I needed his help. We both were friends of Pete, so it made sense that we were friends, too.

We said our good-byes to Ramses and were once again on our way. By this time, I had completely lost track of where we were. Normally, I was pretty good with directions and keeping myself oriented, but Aaron zipped around so fast in that BMW that I no longer had my bearings.

"One more stop to make, kiddo," he said as he checked his watch. "It's almost 1:30. You must be hungry, right? You want to stop and get something to eat? But we have to be quick."

I nodded. I was hungry. We hadn't had any breakfast, and it was well past lunchtime. I hadn't eaten anything since Aaron brought McDonald's to the hotel the night before.

I was hoping for McDonald's, again, but Aaron took us to a Greek restaurant with a blue-and-white sign with the name of "Stokos" or "Storos" or something like that. We sat down together in a booth, but when the waitress came over with menus in hand, Aaron waived her off.

"We'll take two of your chicken souvlaki salads," he told her. "Coke for him," he said gesturing at me, and unsweetened iced tea for me." When the waitress had finished jotting his order down and turned to leave, Aaron looked back in my direction.

"I know salad may not be your thing, but I don't want you eating anything heavy for lunch. If you ate something fried right now, it would go right through you, and you'd end up needing to use the bathroom at Malcolm's. If you don't like the salad part, just eat the chicken off it, okay?"

I nodded. I still preferred McDonald's.

"If you end up needing to go number two at Malcolm's, I want you to wipe and then jump in the shower and get yourself clean. I think all his bathrooms have showers, but if you're in one that doesn't, go find one that does. He has about a dozen of them, and people use them all the time to take showers at his parties, so don't worry about that. You don't even need to get your hair wet, or anything. Just make sure you're really clean down there, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, trying not to think about why it would be so important for me to be clean down there.

"I mean it, Davey!" he said a bit sharply.

"I will," I promised, realizing that Pete considered my contemplative tone to be disrespectful. I scolded myself mentally. I didn't want to ruin things now.

"Okay, we have one stop to go, Davey, and then we can head back up to Malcolm's," said Aaron. "Are you getting excited for the party?"

I nodded and tried to grin as if I were. In truth, though, I was still more than a bit nervous about the whole thing. I couldn't stop thinking about Pete's threat that if I embarrassed myself at the party, it would be the last time. It had been unsettling enough when he said it. I had worried at the time that he meant our friendship would be over if I messed up, and with what had happened yesterday, now I was sure of it.

That was an enormous amount of pressure to put on the slender shoulders of an 11-year-old kid. It wasn't just that I was worried about having another episode like the ones that had sent Pete into a rage, but I also had no idea what to expect from a party like this. The truth was, outside of kids' birthdays, and the cast party after Parasols at Night, I hadn't been to any actual parties before. My mother wasn't the most sociable person in the world, and we really didn't have much in the way of family. Even things like backyard barbecues were mostly foreign to me. I didn't even know what the party was for. I was in uncharted waters here, and the stakes were incredibly high.

Aaron seemed satisfied with my head nod and didn't press the issue.

"Our next stop is with a friend of mine whose name is also David – actually, it's Davide, which is Italian for David – so, you have that in common already," he said. "Dave's a great guy. He's going to hook you up with some amazing duds, so you look sharp at the party."

I nodded in acceptance. Aaron had already made it clear that he wasn't a fan of my wardrobe. Pete had asked me to pack my best-looking summer clothes for the party, and I had done that. I was wearing them now, but they obviously weren't good enough for Malcolm's party. Now we had to go buy something else for me to wear, but since I had already undergone a mani, a pedi, and a haircut to get me ready for the party, the idea of making yet another stop didn't seem like a big deal at all.

"Dave's doing a big favor for both of us, kiddo, so I want you to take care of him when he's done taking care of you, okay?"

I tried not to look glum. I now knew what "take care of him" meant. Pete had used the same terminology with me the first time we had gone to see Aaron. I hadn't understood what it meant at the time, but Pete had tattooed the meaning into my butt the moment we got back to the hotel. After that experience, I would never forget what "take care of him" meant. It was code for a blowjob.

"You're okay with that, right, Davey?" asked Aaron with a tiny bit of an edge to his tone. I realized that he may have detected my initial reaction despite my effort to conceal it.

"No- I mean yes," I quickly replied. "I'm okay with it."

"Are you sure?" Aaron asked skeptically.

"I'm okay with it," I repeated, nodding vigorously, and doing the same grin. I desperately wanted him to believe me. I needed him to believe me. I would take care of his friend.

"Alright then," said Aaron as the waitress returned with our drinks.

We chit-chatted about nothing specific as we waited for our food to arrive. Aaron didn't drill me about the party, but I would have liked him to. There was everything riding on that party for me, and I was nervous. Pete had spanked some instructions into me, but I still didn't know exactly what it was going to be like. I was nervous, and I knew that when I was nervous, I tended to shut down and become withdrawn. That absolutely could not happen this afternoon. I couldn't let it. I wouldn't.

Our food came on big platters and . . . it looked awful. It was about as unappetizing a mess as I had ever seen. There were onions – which I hated – black olives – which I hated – some sickly-looking brown olives – which I'm sure I hated even more – shards of green peppers – which I hated – tomatoes – which I hated – a whole yellowish-green hot pepper – which I hated and didn't even want to touch. The whole thing was covered with what looked like dried cottage cheese – which I hated. I looked up at Aaron with what must have been a stricken expression. A single thought was repeating itself in my brain: If he makes me eat this, I will die.

"Just eat the chicken, for god's sake," he said in an exasperated tone. "Eat the chicken and the pita. There'll be plenty for you to eat when you get to Malcolm's."

I looked back down at the horror on my platter and tried to come up with a game plan. Eventually, I picked up a strip of chicken and tried to brush the cottage cheese off with my fingers. Aaron rolled his eyes.

"Really, Davey?"

"I don't like it with stuff on it."

"It's feta cheese," he said in a weary voice. "It doesn't even have a taste."

I wasn't about to argue with him, but I didn't believe for one minute that the curd-like cheese adorning my salad like a snowfall had no taste. I removed every little piece of it before taking the bite of the chicken. To my surprise, it wasn't bad. In fact, it was pretty darn good. My day got a little better.

I ate all the chicken and the pita thing as Aaron worked on his salad. By the time Aaron paid the bill, I had managed to eat not one vegetable on my platter. I left the entire, snow-covered mess for the waitress to take away.

Once we were back in the car, Aaron kept looking at his watch as we headed to our next destination.

"I knew we'd be cutting this close," he said as he drove the BMW at his usual breakneck speed. I still marveled at the fact that he hadn't been pulled over. Apparently, there were no traffic police in Chicago.

"We don't have a lot of time for you and Dave to mess around, Davey," he said in what sounded almost like an accusatory tone.

"I- I won't."

"I suppose it won't be the end of the world if we get there a bit late," Aaron rationalized, "but we still have to drive all the way back to Glencoe. Jesus Christ."

He almost seemed to be talking to himself, so I didn't say anything. He checked his watch again for what had to be the 10^th time, then glanced over at me.

"You're going to be relaxed and friendly at the party, right?"

"Yes," I replied I earnestly. I even added a reassuring nod, but I wished I could feel as confident on the inside as my answer suggested I was. In truth, I was terribly concerned that I might not be able to be relaxed and friendly. I was worried about being shy and withdrawn and retreating into my shell. I wanted more than anything to do well at the party and make Pete proud of me, but I was becoming more and more nervous about it as the start time drew nearer.

"Good boy. It's super casual. Just do what the other boys are doing and be friendly. You'll be fine."

I swallowed nervously and nodded. I tried to envision the party in my head, but I couldn't.

Suddenly, Aaron turned to stare at me.

"Davey, did you remember to bring your swimsuit? The red one you had on yesterday at the hotel?"

"No, I-" I started to say.

"Shit!" exclaimed Aaron as he pounded the steering wheel with both hands. "Damn it, Davey!"

"I-" I started to say again as tears came to my eyes. I had already messed up and we hadn't even arrived at the party. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Aaron pounded the steering wheel again and I flinched as if he had struck me. He didn't speak again for almost a minute.

"Alright," he said finally. "We'll deal with this when we get to Dave's. Do you know where you left it?"

I nodded. I knew exactly where it was.

"It's in my bag – at your house," I replied unhappily. I felt miserable.

Aaron didn't reply and didn't even turn to look at me. He concentrated on his driving, which was faster than ever. He took the expressway off ramp so fast that I had to brace myself against the car door. It was bit scary. After a couple of blocks and two quick lefts, Aaron pulled into a parking lot with a squeal of tires and parked before a rectangular building. "Stalteri Men and Boys Clothier" read the sign.

"Remind me never to try to do this again in one day," said Aaron as he slammed the car into park and cut the engine. He undid his seatbelt as I did the same with mine. "Come on."

The bells above the front door jangled as we went inside, and I got my first glimpse of the place. Racks of clothing were everywhere and there were shelves with more items along the walls. Everything looked clean and neat. My eyes were drawn to a young man on a ladder who was busy hanging a suit coat on the wall above the shelves. He seemed to be fashioning a display of some sort, complete with a turtle-neck shirt tucked inside the suit coat.

I didn't have long to look before Aaron placed his arm around my shoulders and escorted me quickly to the back of the store. There was a long counter there with a cash register in the middle. An older-looking man stood behind the counter with his back to us.

"Hi Dave," Aaron called out as we approached. The man turned.

"Aaron – it is-a good to see you," the man said with a heavy accent as his eyes turned to me. They stayed there. Our eyes locked.

"Hoping you can help us out, Dave," said Aaron. "We're in a big hurry."

"Will-a see what I can-a do," said the man. His eyes had not left mine.

"This is Davey," said Aaron by way of introduction. "Davey, this is the owner, Mr. Stalteri."

"Hi, Mr. Salteri."

"Stal-teri," Aaron corrected me.

"Hi Mr. Sal- Staleri," I said, as I forced a smile. I was trying to be on my best behavior.

"My a-name is-a Davide, like-a yours," the man said in his thick, Italian accent. "Come to back," he added with a gesture toward a curtain-covered opening that led to a room at the back of the store.

Aaron and I walked around the counter and followed Mr. Stalteri through the curtain and into the back. Unlike the main part of store, this room was a mess, with bolts and snippets of fabric everywhere, including on the floor. I counted three sewing machines on the large table in the center and a couple of chairs. Cubbyholes adorned the back wall and were filled with bolts of fabric and folded cloth that looked like stacks of towels. The entire room smelled like a textile factory, not that I had ever been in one.

"What-a does he-a need-a?" Mr. Stalteri asked Aaron.

"Classy summer boy casual," replied Aaron. "Shorts, shirt, footwear. He needs to look good."

Mr. Stalteri looked down at me once again. He seemed to be appraising me.

"He look-a good. We feex. I measure." He reached his arm out and grasped my left shoulder. "You take-a everything off. I measure."

Everything off? Here? In the back of the man's store? I looked up at Aaron and he nodded back at me. Not even 24 hours ago, I might have balked at this instruction. I was shy around strangers, and I didn't know this old Italian man from Adam. I wasn't familiar with the store, and the curtain-covered opening didn't exactly lend itself to privacy. I wouldn't want somebody to come strolling in while I was standing there in my undies, including the teenager on the ladder I had seen when we first walked in.

But that was 24 hours ago, and a lot had changed since then. I was now on my best behavior, and that meant I did what I was told. I knew that if I wanted Pete back, I couldn't have any more incidents or episodes. The man had given me an instruction, Aaron had nodded his approval of it, and that was all I needed to know. In truth, I probably shouldn't have even looked to Aaron for guidance, but I still was learning these new ropes.

As Mr. Stalteri walked away to retrieve a measuring tape, I skinned my shirt off, leaving me bare-chested. My sneakers were next. With a last look up at Aaron, I unsnapped my shorts and stepped out of them.

I now was completely undressed save for my socks and underwear. I felt sheepish about that because I was in a strange place with a man I didn't know, but my experiences with Pete over the last several months had made me a lot less nervous about such things. Aaron, too. He had seen me fully naked just a few hours before while I sucked his cock.

Mr. Stalteri returned with a length of measuring tape draped across his shoulder and holding in his hand one of those foot-measuring things you see in shoe stores. He took one look at me and waved his hands in the air.

"No-a, no-a, everything off-a, everything a-come-a off."

Everything, as in . . . everything? I swallowed hard. I paused. I knew I had a decision to make, and I made it instantly. I was not going to mess this up. Not this, not Malcolm's party, not my situation with Aaron, and not my friendship with Pete. I had made promises to myself, and it was time to abide by them.

My underwear came off first, followed a second later by first one sock, then the other. I was naked, and so be it. It was no big deal, I told myself. I had been naked in front of men before. I had been naked in front of Aaron this morning. It was fine. It was nothing to be nervous or worried about. Everything would be fine. I would be fine. I desperately tried to convince myself of these things so I wouldn't become upset.

Both men had watched me undress, and that was fine, too. I was okay with it. It wasn't anything to be worried about. It was no big deal. I didn't even try to cover my genitals, as tiny and hairless as they were. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. This was nothing to be nervous about. I wasn't nervous and I didn't really blush. Not all that much, anyway. I was trying my best not to be nervous.

Mr. Stalteri helped me stand on a chair and proceeded to measure me – and boy did he measure me. The tape measure went around my waist, my hips, my chest, and my neck. And that was just for my torso. The man also measured my arms and my legs, including my inseam. All the while, his hands and fingers touched, grazed, and positioned me. They brushed, prodded, and felt me. He used the back of his hand to lift my testicles for the inseam measurement, and his fingers teased across my buttocks as he measured my waist. Very few parts of me went unmeasured or untouched, and I was almost surprised when he didn't take the time to measure my penis. In between measurements, he jotted numbers down on a little pad, using the stub of a pencil that he kept either between his teeth or behind his ear.

When he was finished, I was a well-measured boy. He then had me step down from the chair and sit on it while he used the shoe-store thing to measure my feet. I remember to this day how cold it was as I placed first my right foot, then my left foot on the black part while Mr. Stalteri used the slider part to take my width. As Fran had observed earlier in the day, I had very small, slender feet at that age. I think I was a size 6.

When he was finished with the measurements, Mr. Stalteri left the backroom through the flimsy curtain with an "I be-a right-a back-a," leaving Aaron and me alone. I was still completely naked, but nobody had told me to get dressed, so that's how I remained. I waited for Aaron to say I could, but the instruction never came, so I just sat there, buck naked, as if that were a totally normal way for me to be – which, in my case, it mostly was, although not out in public in the back room of a clothing store like this. For his part, Aaron didn't seem to care that I was naked or even notice. He had picked up the shoe-store thing and was playing with the slider.

"Remember what I told you about taking care of Mr. Stalteri when we're done here," Aaron said after a minute or so. "He's doing us a huge favor, Davey."

"I won't," I replied. I didn't need Aaron to remind me. I wouldn't forget. I was on my best behavior. I would do whatever I was told, and I would do it for Pete.

The man returned a couple of minutes later with a handful of garments in his arms. He beckoned me to climb back up on the chair again as he placed the pile of clothing on the big, rectangular table with the three sewing machines on it. He picked up a pair of creased, khaki shorts and showed them to Aaron.

"Those look nice," said Aaron with a smile and a nod.

Mr. Stalteri turned back to me and held the shorts out for me to step into, but I hadn't put my briefs back on and still was naked.

"I need to get my underwear," I informed both men.

"Not for this party, you don't," replied Aaron. "Go ahead and try them on."

It was then that I remembered the words about the part from his third letter to Pete. "No undies," the letter had read. Followed by "Good attitude. Talk to him. This is important." I needed to have a good attitude right now, so I did. Holding the back of the chair to steady myself, I stepped into the shorts with first my right foot, then my left. Working carefully so as not to ensnare my penis in the fly, Mr. Stalteri zipped me up. The shorts were a perfect fit around my waist. Mr. Stalteri stepped back to appraise me.

"Dees-a look-a good," he said as he reached to either side of my hips and tugged the shorts a bit to the left so the zipper lined up under my navel. Then he reached his hand up the left leg-hole all the way to my scrotum before fanning his fingers out and spreading the fabric from inside. With his hand still there, he turned back to look at Aaron.

"Dees-a have-a loose-a fit – is-a good-a, right?"

"They're perfect," replied Aaron. "What do you think, Davey," he asked me, almost as an afterthought.

I thought it felt weird to wear shorts without any underpants. I could feel cold air on my penis as Mr. Stalteri fanned the leg hole open even more. But Aaron already had pronounced them perfect and I wasn't about to argue with that.

"They're nice," I said with a quick nod. Mr. Stalteri smiled.

"Very nice-a," was his assessment, and that was that.

Next up were shirts, and I tried on several of those. Aaron and Mr. Stalteri decided on a lightweight, collared, button-down, pastel plaid. When I first put it on, I buttoned it right up to second-last button, but Mr. Stalteri shook his head and unbuttoned it all the way down to my navel.

"No, no, you wear-a like dis," he corrected, as he pulled shirt open a bit and then smoothed it back. The shirt gaped open a bit on my chest. The shirttails remained untucked.

"Look-a good?" he said as he looked back at Aaron.

"You look sharp, Davey," Aaron replied to both of us with a nod. "Much, much better."

"I get-a shoes," said Mr. Stalteri as he left the back room through the curtain once again as I remained standing on the chair in my bare feet.

"You look good, Davey," said Aaron. "Always remember: Dress for success."

I wasn't sure what kind of success he meant. I still was disconcerted that I wasn't allowed to wear any underwear to the party. It was going to be strange to feel an air current on my genitals whenever the wind blew, or somebody walked by.

"Are you going ask if he has any swimsuits?" I reminded Aaron. I didn't want to bring that problem up again, but it needed to be solved before the party.

"I'll ask," said Aaron with a frown. "I wish you hadn't left yours back at the house."

I felt glum. That had been a mistake.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. That word never went very far with Pete, and I wasn't sure how effective it would be with Aaron. I felt like an idiot for forgetting the Speedo and was just about to elaborate on my apology when Mr. Stalteri returned. It was time for me to try on shoes.

The first was a pair of gleaming-white canvas tennis shoes with white laces. Mr. Stalteri laced them up – no socks, of course – and looked down at them appraisingly.

"I was thinking something more along the lines of loafers," said Aaron.

Mr. Stalteri nodded, then looked back at my feet for a moment before shaking his head.

"Is-a not-a right," he said with a look of disapproval. The shoes came off.

Next up was a pair of tan-colored loafers that slipped right onto my bare feet. They were a perfect fit, and they matched the color of my new shorts. Even I could tell that they went better with the ensemble, and I was just a kid.

"Those are perfect," said Aaron. "Easy to slip on and off. They look good."

Aaron stepped toward me and gave my left shoulder a little squeeze.

"Nice work, Dave. I'm going to let you and Davey finish up in here. Why don't you just come back out when you're done?"

I swallowed nervously. I knew it was time for me to take care of Mr. Stalteri. I watched as Aaron turned to go.

"Oh, wait!" he said as he turned back. "I almost forgot. Dave, do you carry any swimwear here? Somebody forgot his," he added with a disapproving look in my direction.

The older man shook his head. "We no-a have. You try-a Mattingly. He have-a for-a boy."

"Ah, shit, Dave," replied Aaron. "We don't have time to head all the way down there. Dammit!"

I cringed as Aaron swore. Despite my best-behavior vow, I had screwed up and forgotten to bring my Speedo, and Aaron was angry. I wished I could magic those speedos up.

"You have more-a time, I make for you," said Mr. Stalteri with a shrug.

"I'll figure something out," said Aaron, as he turned to leave once again. "I'll wait up front."

"Wait-a, stop," exclaimed the older man, as he hurried to a cabinet situated under some of the cubby holes that housed different bolts and folded fabrics. He opened the bottom drawer and extracted a box, which he brought back to the big table in the center of the room.

As Aaron drew a bit closer to see, Mr. Stalteri began rummaging through the box, finally pulling out something that looked like it was mostly straps and string, with a black-and-red-colored swatch of fabric hanging from the end of it.

"I like the look, Dave, but that's way too big for him," said Aaron with a chuckle.

"No, no, I feex," replied the man, who approached the chair where I was standing with the garment in hand. "Everything a-come-a off-a," he said with an impatient sweep of his arms.

It took me a second to realize what he wanted, but I immediately started to unbutton the shirt the rest of the way as Mr. Stalteri helped me out of the loafers one at a time. The shorts came off and I was naked once again. I was starting to become almost accustomed to that.

"This-a right here," the man said to Aaron as he held black-and-red triangle of fabric to my groin.

"It's too big," Aaron repeated.

"I feex," said the older man with a smile. "You come," he said as he tugged on my arm.

Still naked, I stepped from the chair and followed Mr. Stalteri over to the big, rectangular table. He sat down before one of the sewing machines and placed the garment on the table and pulled me close beside him. I watched as he picked up a big pair of stainless-steel sewing scissors and began snipping away at the black straps that attached to the corners of the triangle. In moments, the garment – whatever it was – was in pieces.

I was skeptical that whatever the man was trying to do was going to work, and I think Aaron was, too, but over the next five minutes, the namesake owner of Stalteri Men and Boys Clothier proved us both wrong. The man put on a veritable sewing clinic right before our eyes. He pressed the now-detached triangle to my groin once again, covering my penis and testicles as he eyeballed it. Then he took it back in his hands and began to cut away with the scissors.

Aaron and I watched as the man's practiced hands cut the fabric swatch down to size. He didn't seem all that concerned with the precision of his cuts, and the fabric soon had a series of jagged edges that made it look like it had been hacked by a machete. That's when Mr. Stalteri really went to work. He pulled the sewing machine a bit closer and quickly replaced the spool of white thread with black. He folded one edge of the triangle over and placed it under the needle guard. The machine hummed to life as the man ran the swatch through, then ran it through again.

He did this for all three sides of the triangle, folding the edges and forming it into a smaller version of itself. It took him less than a minute to double-stitch the three sides. When he was finished, the new triangle was much, much smaller than before. He carefully trimmed the jagged, folded-over edges with the big scissors, then held the patch up to the light before pulling me closer and holding it over my groin. It still covered my genitals, but not much more than that. Despite being substantially smaller, the triangle still had a slight concavity from the edges to the center.

None of us said a word as Mr. Stalteri put the swatch back on the sewing table and reached for the straps that he had just cut away. He circled my waist with the longer piece, pinching the end together in the middle just above my penis. Turning back to the sewing machine once again, he reattached the strap to the corner with a triple-stitch. He then wrapped the entire thing around my waist again and measured the fit. He used the scissors to cut the strap down, then measured it on me once again. Another snip followed another measurement before he turned back to the sewing machine and re-attached the now-shortened strap to the second corner.

There was only one more strap to re-attach, and it was the thin one that ran from the center of the strap in the back down my butt crack and between my legs. Mr. Stalteri measured and snipped twice more, then sewed the strap to the lower corner of the triangle that disappeared between my legs under my scrotum. The entire process of reducing it to my size had taken no more than five minutes. When he was finished, he had me step into the completed garment.

I was impressed at what I had just witnessed, and I think Aaron was, too. I was now wearing a miniaturized version of the adult-sized garment that Mr. Stalteri had extracted from the box only minutes before. It fit me perfectly in the sense that the little triangle completely covered my genitals. It barely did that, however, and it didn't cover anything else. There was no corresponding triangle in the back. The only thing covering my bottom was a tiny strip of black fabric that ran between my butt cheeks. Anyone looking at me from behind could see my entire naked behind.

I wasn't sure what to think, but I didn't have to. Aaron was the next to speak.

"Dave, you are incredible," he said. "That was amazing. I'm amazed. No wonder you're the best in the business. Where the heck did you learn to do that?"

"Zee old-a country, of course," replied the older man as he stood up from the chair. I stood there like a department-store mannequin as the two of them looked over Mr. Stalteri's handiwork.

"You-a like?" the man asked Aaron.

"I more than like, Dave. You're amazing. I had no idea you could do that. Holy crap, Dave, you should start your own clothing line."

Aaron looked down at his watch.

"Damn, Dave – we gotta go." Aaron turned his head and looked right at me. "You be sure to thank Mr. Stalteri properly for all he did for us. I'll wait out front." And with that, he turned and walked through the curtain back into the main part of the store, leaving the man and me alone.

"You take-a off, Davide," said Mr. Stalteri softly. "That way no-a mess-a, capiche?" His tone was gentle.

I made a mental note to tell Pete the next time I saw him the correct way to pronounce the Italian word that he liked to use so much – but on second thought, I probably wouldn't. Mr. Stalteri sat back in the chair where he had done the sewing. As he reached for the fly of his pants, I skinned the pouch down my legs and placed it on the table. I stood awkwardly for a moment as the man fished his penis from his pants. Then I knelt between his legs.

I had never encountered an uncut penis in person before. I only knew they existed because I had seen them in Pete's magazines and asked him about them. Before that conversation, I had no idea that American males routinely went under the knife within a day or two of being born and had their foreskins chopped off. I started to get the picture when Pete showed me my own circumcision scar and let me peer up close and run my fingers over his, but it wasn't until I saw Mr. Stalteri's penis, inches from my face, that I had a complete sense of how a foreskin worked. Three quarters of the man's cockhead remained hidden under the thin sheath of skin that I and most other American boys lacked. It made his penis look a lot different. I stared at it for a moment.

But I had a cock to suck and we were in a hurry, so I reached for the man's shaft with my right hand and guided the head of it into my mouth. As I bathed it with my tongue and got it wet, I couldn't help but notice that it seemed to taste and smell different from the one I was most used to and to Aaron's. I was starting to learn that variations in bathing, soaps, size, pubic hair, clothing, and age produced different flavors and scents in a man's genital region. Mr. Stalteri's was only the third cock I had had in my mouth, but aside from it also being a cock, it was different in just about every detail from the other two.

When I had the man's penis sufficiently wet, I began to do my thing. I knew I was good at this, so I took pride in it. I didn't see that as a bad thing. Blowjobs were one of the things I did with Pete – something we did together that was special to us – and I liked giving him pleasure that way. I liked being good at it. I liked to make Pete moan as I sucked him, and I liked the way he got all quiet and tense right before he came. It gave me an odd feeling of control to be able to elicit those responses from him. Of course, as Aaron had pointed out earlier, I didn't really control anything, but when I had Pete's penis in my mouth, I felt like I did.

It had felt that way with Aaron, too, and now it felt that way with Mr. Stalteri. I felt the man's hand on my scalp as I bobbed and sucked. He gently rubbed my head and caressed my hair as I fellated him. He didn't speak, and aside from some deep breathing, he made no sounds, but his cock had come to life in my mouth, the shaft elongating and thickening as I bobbed on it. Mr. Stalteri's cock felt bigger in my mouth than both Pete's and Aaron's, and I wondered if that was because he still had that skin part at the end of it.

I knew we were in a hurry, but Aaron had told me at least a couple of times to take care of the man, and that's what I did. He deserved a good blowjob for all he had done for me, so I took my time and took care of him with my mouth and tongue. His foreskin had completely retracted from his glans, which was now fully exposed to my tongue as I sucked, licked, and bobbed. I swirled over his glans several times, admiring the texture of it, and tasting the precum from his piss slit. Mr. Stalteri's cockhead also seemed smoother than the others I had sucked, and I wondered if being secreted away in that little sheath of skin protected it more than the exposed, circumcised versions. Such were the meanderings of my young mind as I did my thing.

Mr. Stalteri made no sounds as I sucked him. I was worried that I might not be doing it to his satisfaction, but when I looked up, he had a peaceful, bliss-filled expression on his face and his eyes seemed only half open. When he saw me looking, he smiled and gave me a little nod. I found that reassuring and returned my eyes and efforts to the task at hand. The fingers of his right hand continued to rub and caress my scalp while gently twisting and playing with my blond hair. I found this reassuring and pleasant, but I hoped he wouldn't mess up my new haircut too much.

The thing I remember about that blowjob was how much precum the man made. I wasn't sure whether it was because he was older, but Mr. Stalteri's cock leaked more precum that day than Pete's or Aaron's had at any time I'd sucked theirs. In fact, I never came across one that equaled it. His precum didn't just dribble out in occasional droplets appearing at his cockhead; instead, his precum seemed to run out of his penis like a leaky faucet. There was so much of it that it kicked my salivary glands into overdrive, and I was forced to swallow every few bobs to keep the combined liquids from overflowing my mouth and making a mess.

I was still very fastidious about blowjobs at that age. I didn't like drooling or dribbling as I sucked, but I almost had to gulp to keep up with what Mr. Stalteri's cock was feeding me. I imagined that if he produced this quantity of fluid during the blowjob, it was going to be like trying to drink from a firehose when he finally came.

But it wasn't like that at all. With a grunt of pleasure and a few huffs, the man leaned forward, grasped my head a bit harder in his hand, and came. His thick, musky spunk exploded in my mouth and I began to gulp it down, not wanting to spill any. But his load wasn't any bigger than Pete's or Aaron's; in fact, it was more like what Pete usually gave me for his second orgasm of the day. There were only three or four spurts before his cock was left to pulse and ooze. I stayed latched on, sucking, and drank it down, but I stopped tonguing and bobbing. Pete didn't like me doing any of that while he was cumming; his cockhead became too sensitive while he was ejaculating.

I knew we were in a hurry, but I didn't rush to pull off. I kept Mr. Stalteri's cock in my mouth until I was sure I had taken the last of his cum, then gently withdrew my mouth from his shaft while I looked up at the man, hoping for his approval. Mr. Stalteri patted my head, then grasped my left cheek and gave it a little squeeze.

"Good-a boy," he said in his thick Italian accent as he smiled down at me, while using his left hand to tuck his cock back into his pants. I smiled. I was glad he was happy. He was an amazing tailor, and I was grateful that he had saved the day. I liked him.

"Thanks, Mr. Sal-Salteri," I said to him as I rose to my feet. I was still buck naked, but fortunately nobody had come into the back room while I was thanking him. He stood from the chair and zipped his fly.

"Should I get dressed?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, you get-a dressed," he replied.

I reached for the pouch thing, which I intended to wear under my shorts, but Mr. Stalteri reached for my arm and gently plucked it from my hand.

"No wear-a, keep – no wrinkle," he said with a smile. He held the shorts out to me. "You wear-a these."

I stepped into the shorts and drew them up my legs. As Mr. Stalteri gathered up my old clothes and sneakers, I finished dressing in my new ensemble. I donned the shirt, buttoning only the first two buttons on it just as Mr. Stalteri had shown me. I stepped into the loafers.

There was a full-length mirror on the opposite side of the table, and I went to it, taking a moment to gaze at my reflection. I looked like a different boy. My clothes and hair were different. The untucked shirt made me look a bit taller. My haircut made me look a bit younger – at least, that's what I thought at the time. I was sure I would pass for nine, now, and there was nothing I could do about that except accept it. I told myself that it didn't matter. I just hoped that Pete would approve of my changed appearance.

I was still at the mirror when Aaron eased the curtain back, peered in, and stepped back into the room.

"There you are — jeez Davey," he said in an exasperated tone as he saw me at the mirror. "We have a party to go to. Now is not the time to be admiring yourself in the mirror, Narcissus."

Embarrassed, I scurried away from the mirror as Aaron walked to Mr. Stalteri and held out his hand. The two men shook.

"Dave, you're the best," said Aaron. "I mean that. The best. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Are we all set? Can I do anything for you?"

"There is-a no-a charge-a for you," replied the man as he handed Aaron the shoebox of my old clothes. The pouch thing lay on the top of the pile. "You want more deez, I-a make-a," he said as he gestured to the garment. "Make-a small for you-a beezness," he said with a twinkle in his eye, as he held his thumb and finger about an inch apart.

"You're my first stop for boy pouches," laughed Aaron as he took the box. "I may just take you up on that. Nice work!" He turned to me. "Come on, Davey," he said, as if I had been the one holding up our departure. "We gotta go!"

Moments later, we were out of the store and back in the BMW. Aaron pulled the car out of the parking lot, and not more than five minutes of perilous driving later, we were on the highway heading north out of Chicago. Aaron checked his watch a couple of times.

"It's twenty to four now," he said. "We should be able to get there by 20 after – no later than 4:30."

I nodded as I watched the scenery whiz by. I still was feeling very nervous about the party. It had been built up so much in my mind for so many days and then suddenly canceled, only to be put back on again at the last minute. These sudden changes and 180-degree flip flops had caused me to experience a roller coaster of intense emotions in the last 24 hours. I not only had all that to contend with, but I also felt like my friendship with Pete, and hence my very future, was riding on how well I comported myself at the party.

I knew that I couldn't afford to screw this up. Adding to that pressure was my knowledge that Aaron had already spent most of the day helping me to get ready for it. Everything from the style of my hair, to my clothing, to the appearance of my fingernails and toenails, had been carefully arranged by him. He had paid for everything, too – except for Mr. Stalteri's work, of course. I had paid for that with my mouth, although it wouldn't occur to me until much later exactly what that meant for me and my future.

My biggest worry of all was that I simply didn't have any idea what one was supposed to do at a party. I doubted very much that we were going to put on hats, open gifts, and sing happy birthday, but aside from that and the cast party I had gone to after Parasols at Night, that about summed up my total experience of parties. Pete had told me to join in, have fun, and smile, and not be a sourpuss. I hoped I could do those things. I wanted to do everything right.

I knew that I could do this. I wouldn't let my shyness get the better of me, not this time. The anxiety I was experiencing was a bit like stage fright and I was sure I could overcome it, especially if I had a little help. I didn't want to ask Aaron such a dumb question, but I wanted to say and do the wrong things at the party even less, so I decided to take the plunge.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked the man.

"Sure – what is it, Davey?"

"I know we're going to Mr. Stone's house for the party. But what's the party for?"

"It's just a party. You know, just think of it as a regular party. Have a good time. Have fun."

That was the problem. I didn't know what a regular party was. I didn't know what Aaron meant.

"But what are they celebrating?"

"Celebrating?" asked Aaron, answering my question with a question of his own.

"You know – at the party," I replied.

"They're not celebrating anything. It's just a party."

"I know, but . . ." I started to say as my voice trailed off.

"What do you mean, 'celebrating'?" Aaron asked.

I was starting to regret that I had mentioned it.

"Nothing," I relied.

"Tell me what you mean." Aaron was getting more direct with me.

"I'm just not sure why they're having a party," I said reluctantly.

"The same reason everyone has a party – what are you talking about?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know what, Davey?" Aaron asked in an exasperated tone. "Don't you dare tell me you're having second thoughts about going."

"No, no, I want to go," I insisted, my voice desperate. It was true. I was just a little worried about it, that's all.

"Then tell me what it is you're trying to ask me. You brought it up. You started the conversation."

Aaron was cross-examining me, and I was starting to get flustered. I wished I had never broached the topic with him.

"I just thought maybe the party was for a reason."

"Oh, okay," said Aaron in a slightly calmer voice. "Like a birthday party for someone?"

"Right, or a cast party – for if you're in a play, or something like that."

"This is just a normal, regular party," replied Aaron. "Malcolm has them all the time. The only thing different about it is that it's for guys only. Men and boys. There won't be any girls there. That's okay with you, right?"

I couldn't care less if there were girls there, or not. The truth was, I didn't have much use for them.

"It's fine," I said.

"You can have a party and not have it be about anything, you know," continued Aaron.

That was news to me, but I nodded.

"What else did Pete tell you about the party?"

"Some stuff." I didn't necessarily want to admit that Pete had given me a thrashing over it.

"Did he tell you that every guest brings a boy with him?"

I shook my head no.

"Did he tell you that they won't even let you in without a boy."

I was surprised to hear that, and I looked over at Aaron.

"Except, of course, for Malcolm and maybe a few others that he personally invites," he continued. "But they usually have some other boys there to start with, so the numbers even out."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I kept my mouth shut and didn't ask what was on my mind. I wanted to know why every man had to bring a boy with him, but I didn't.

"Why couldn't Pete come to the party?" I asked instead.

"Because Malcolm doesn't know him, Davey. He's not from Chicago. Malcolm can't just let people he doesn't know drop by and hang out at his parties."

"I'm not from Chicago and he doesn't know me."

"Well, right, Davey," replied Aaron. "But that rule's only for the adult guests. You're fine. You're with me and Malcolm knows me. That's all that matters."

"How many parties have you been to?"

"At Malcolm's? Probably five or six."

"Did you bring a boy with you every time?"

Aaron seemed to pause. "Yes, I did, Davey," he said.

"Who was he?"

"It was a different boy each time."

I went silent as I pondered this for a moment.

"I guess you can say it's a party for men who like boys and that's what they're celebrating," added Aaron softly. "Does that make sense?"

I pondered this, too. It did make sense. It explained a lot. I nodded.

"Just be yourself, Davey. You've been around men like that before. How long have you known Pete?"

I shrugged. It had been a while.

"Six months?" asked Aaron. "Maybe eight?"

That seemed about right, so I nodded.

"You'll be fine, then. I don't want you getting upset or uptight about it. Just be yourself."

"Okay," I said with a nod.

"I'll be there the entire time, Davey. I'm your ride, after all!" he said with a grin as he reached over with his right arm and gave my shoulder a little push.

I nodded at that, but Pete had been my ride, too, and he had left.

"There's one other thing about the party, Davey."

"What is it?" I asked as I looked over at him again.

"There might be a man there. Maximillian Tal. Mr. Tal to you. If I see him there, I'll point him out to you. I want you to be yourself, Davey – just act naturally and have fun – but if you get a chance to talk to him for a little bit, that would be great."

"Who is he?"

"He's just a guy. He's friendly. He doesn't bite- er, well, what I mean is, he's a nice guy. He'd be a good friend to have, Davey. So, if you get the chance . . ."

"Okay," I responded. I made a mental note of what Aaron had said. "But if he's there, you gotta tell me which one he is."

"I will," said Aaron as he checked his watch. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes. Any last questions for me?"

I shook my head no. I still had more questions, of course, but I already had decided not to ask them.

"Davey just have fun," Aaron emphasized. "There's nothing to worry about. Everyone's there to have a good time. Just do whatever the other boys are doing. Interact with people. Mingle. I don't want you to be uptight about anything. There's no reason to be. You look great. You'll do fine if you just act naturally. Just go with the flow, okay?"

"I will," I replied. I had already promised myself that I would do my best. I would be on my best behavior. I wouldn't be shy. I needed to do this for Pete.

"When we first get there, I want you to have some of the punch," said Aaron. "It's always in a big bowl on a table between the parlor and the grotto. It's there for you and the other boys. It'll help you relax."

"What's a grotto?"

Aaron laughed. "Malcolm's place has a lot of rooms and they all have weird names," he explained. "The grotto is what he calls the indoor part of the pool, I guess because of the rock wall and plants and things around it. Did I tell you about the pool?"

I shook my head no. I knew Malcolm's house had a pool, but I didn't know anything more than that.

"You're gonna love it, Davey. All the boys do. It's a year-round, indoor/outdoor pool. It starts inside in the grotto, but it keeps going outside through this porch area he calls the portico – it's like a little channel you swim or wade through – and then there's a regular-size pool outside. He keeps it open year-round, so you can even swim outside in the middle of winter. You just have to kind of duck under this plastic thing that comes down, and you can be outside swimming even when it's freezing outside with snow on the ground. I've even been in it when it was snowing out, like a full blizzard. If your arms or head get cold, you just duck under the water for a second. It's pretty amazing."

It did sound like fun. I loved to swim. It was one of my favorite things to do and I wasn't bad at it. If the other boys went swimming, I was sure I would, too.

That's when I remembered that I had forgotten my swimsuit and would have to wear the little triangle thing that Mr. Stalteri had made for me – the one that displayed my butt cheeks for the entire world to see. My enthusiasm for swimming took a sudden nosedive, but I forced myself not to get into a mood. I had a party to attend, and I couldn't afford to screw it up. There was simply too much riding on it for that. Perhaps there would be other things to do and I wouldn't need to go swimming.

"Alright," said Aaron as he turned onto a tree-lined street and proceeded more slowly than before. "We're almost there. 443 is the address – it has a big, black gate." He turned to look at me one last time. "Just remember to have fun, Davey. Have a couple of glasses of punch right off the bat. Do what the other boys are doing. Let your hair down and have some fun, okay?"

I nodded again.

"And if you get a chance to talk to Mr. Tal, you definitely want to do that, okay?"

"I will," I said with resolve.

"Good," he said, as he made a left turn into a wide driveway approach. "And here we are."

Chapter 10

Was I ever nervous as Aaron and I pulled into the driveway of the enormous, Georgian-style mansion in the northern, outer-ring Chicago suburb of Glencoe, Illinois. I had been impressed at the size of Aaron's home earlier in the day, but the mansion where Malcolm Stone lived and held his parties put Aaron's residence to shame. The structure loomed like a castle as Aaron approached the driveway gate and came to a stop. With the gate still closed, a man in the uniform of a security guard came around to the driver's side of the car as Aaron rolled down the window.

"Name?" he asked in a businesslike manner. He glanced over at me before looking down again at his clipboard.

"Aaron Updike," came the surprising reply. I looked from the guard back to Aaron, wondering why his name had changed from Richter to Updike for our visit. The guard made some type of inscription on the clipboard before looking up once again.

"Alright, Mr. Updike. Welcome. Mr. Stone is expecting you. Just a reminder that there are no cameras allowed on the premises. Left at the circle, all the way to the back, use the breezeway entrance."

With that, the guard walked to the side of the gate, inserted a key, and turned it to the right. The massive, wrought-iron gates immediately began to swing inward, clearing a path for the BMW. Aaron pulled through them and drove toward the massive structure.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" Aaron asked as he gave my thigh a squeeze.

Impressive wasn't the word. Intimidating was more like it. I'd never even seen a house this big before. It looked like a palace. I had seen pictures of the Palace at Versailles and this reminded me of it.

"It's big," I said as we drove around the circular driveway in front of the structure and made a 90-degree turn to the left.

"Wait until you see the inside, Davey. 'Big' doesn't even begin to describe it," he said as he reached over to squeeze my thigh once again. Aaron seemed to be in a better mood now that we finally had arrived at our destination.

"Maybe you'll live in a place like this someday, kiddo. You and your mom, once you've made it big."

I wasn't at all sure about that. I think my mother would have felt very out of place here. I felt out of place here, and a familiar pit of worry was starting to form in my stomach. Aaron seemed to sense my anxiety.

"Davey, there's nothing to be nervous about, okay? At the end of the day, it's just a house. Bigger than some, but still just a house. You'll do fine, okay? Just relax."

I nodded. I knew I needed to relax. If I wanted Pete back, I needed to overcome my shyness and fears and try to have fun at Malcolm's party.

Aaron pulled the car around to the back and was greeted by a second security guard who approached the driver's side as Aaron rolled down the window once again.

"You can park right over there by the tennis courts next to the Jaguar," said the guard as he pointed to our right, where at least five other cars already were parked. Aaron nodded in response and pulled ahead.

"Take a look, Davey – that's an XJ6," said Aaron as he eased the BMW in beside a sleek, black four-door sedan. "Whatever you do, don't bang it with your door when you get out, okay?" he added with a chuckle.

I nodded as Aaron put the BMW in park and cut the engine. Feeling nervous beyond belief, I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door, but before I could step out Aaron reached over and tugged on my left arm.

"Wait," he said. "Hold up a minute."

I turned to look at him. I was full of anxiety and I'm sure it showed on my face.

"Davey, look," he began in a gentle tone. "I can tell you're nervous. I know how you get when you feel that way. We both want this to go well, right?"

"Yes," I replied with a nod. If I wanted Pete back, I not only wanted it to go well, I needed it to go well.

"Davey, Pete tells me that you're a fine actor. You picked up an important role for his theater troop and hit it out of the park, isn't that right?"

I knew that Aaron was referring to my part in Parasols. That had gone well, and I was proud of my performance. I nodded in response.

"Good. Excellent, Davey. That's a real skill, you know, to stand up in front of a lot of people you don't know and play a role like that. You understand that, right?"

I thought about what he had said for a moment, then nodded again.

"And you're good at it, Davey. Really good. That's what Pete told me. He was very proud of you, you know."

Aaron's words made my heart ache for Pete and nearly brought tears to my eyes. I wanted nothing more than for him to be proud of me, but right now he was angry with me and it was eating me up inside. I missed him and I wanted him back.

"I know," I replied, but without much enthusiasm because I knew that Pete wasn't feeling proud of me right now.

"So, look, Davey," continued Aaron. "Here's what I want you to do in there, okay? First and foremost, just try to relax and have fun. Enjoy yourself. Have some punch, mingle with the other boys, run around, swim, have a good time. It's a party, and it's supposed to be fun, okay?"

I nodded. I had heard all this before. Despite my nervousness, I was going to do my level best to have fun and show Pete and Aaron what I could do.

"But here's the thing Davey. If you find yourself going the other way – getting all quiet and shy, worrying about things – I want you to do something for me, okay?"

"What is it?" I asked him after a pause.

"I want you to act, Davey. I want you to act like a boy who's having fun at a party. I want you to play a role. It may be one of the most important roles you're ever going to play. I've never seen you act before, so consider this your audition with me. I want you to show me what you've got. Show me your acting skills. Can you do that?"

I hadn't thought about it in that way. What Aaron said simply had never occurred to me before, but it made a lot of sense. I was about to go into an environment where a lot of eyes would be on me. People I didn't know. They didn't know me, and I didn't know them. In a way, they were a lot like an audience. And because they didn't know me, I could be anyone I wanted to be, and they wouldn't know the difference. I didn't have to be myself. I could play a role.

I hadn't yet responded to his question, but Aaron must have seen the light bulb go on in my brain.

"See what I'm saying Davey?" he asked. "You can do that, right?"

I nodded in response, but I was still thinking about what he had said. It made a lot of sense. I could play a role. I didn't have to be myself. Nobody here knew who I was. Playing a role might be just the way to overcome my anxieties about the party and my fear of losing Pete.

In another way, it was the ideal solution. Pete had taught me more about acting than anyone else. He had also taught me tricks to overcome my fears before an audience. I could use the skills he had taught me to perform well at the party, and if I did that successfully, I could win him back. Pete would be helping me even though he wasn't here with me at the party. It was perfect.

"Can I play the role even before we go inside?" I asked Aaron.

"Sure, you can," said Aaron with one of his trademark smiles, which this time did not seem out of place. "If that's what you think you need to do, go right ahead. Whatever it takes."

I nodded once again. I felt empowered. This could work. It really, truly could work. I couldn't believe that I hadn't thought of it before. I was supposed to be an actor, after all. I wasn't shy when I was on stage. I didn't mind having hundreds of eyes looking at me when I was performing.

Suddenly, I was eager to get inside to the party. I felt energized and confident. I wasn't even sure exactly what role I was going to perform, but that detail didn't really matter. I knew that I wasn't going to play the role of Davey Pierce. I wasn't going to play a boy who was worried about looking like he was nine years old, anxious about losing his best friend in the world, and nervous about how to behave at a party. That kid no longer existed, at least not for the rest of today. I felt good.

"Okay," I said with a nod. "I'm ready."

Aaron looked pleased and gave me another smile.

"That's the spirit, kiddo," he said as he gave my thigh a pat. "Do you have everything? Oh – wait," he said as he reached into the back seat and retrieved the pouch thing that Mr. Stalteri had made for me. "You'll need this."

I took the garment from him, but I wasn't sure exactly what to do with it.

"Just put it in your pocket for later, Davey," counseled Aaron. "I don't think it can really get all that wrinkled, and besides, it's going to get all wet in the pool, anyway."

I nodded in agreement as I folded the straps as best I could and slid the pouch into the right front pocket of my shorts. I was ready.

Aaron and I stepped out of the car simultaneously and closed our doors together. He placed an arm across my shoulders as we walked past the tennis courts and through an enclosed breezeway that led to the house. From the windows of the breezeway, I could see an enormous, rectangular pool behind the house that looked even longer than the one at the St. Clair YMCA. There was nobody in it, but it looked inviting. If the opportunity to use it arose, I wouldn't need to act the part of a boy who liked to swim.

The side door of the mansion was open as we approached, and from inside, I already could hear children playing and laughing. A man in full butler's livery – complete with a bow tie – met us just inside the door.

"Welcome to Mr. Stone's estate, sir, and young master," he said, in what sounded like an affected British accent. The man doing the speaking would have been right at home in the playbill for Parasols at Night. It made me wonder if everyone at Malcom's party would be acting and playing roles.

"Thank you, thank you," replied Aaron as he ushered me inside with his arm still around my shoulder.

The place was enormous. We hadn't walked into an individual room so much as a huge space, like a large hotel lobby that was all open and accessible. It was much more ornate even than a hotel lobby, with wood-paneled walls, high ceilings, and enormous chandeliers. Toward the center of the space was a large, round table with an enormous glass bowl in the middle of it containing a red-colored liquid. You couldn't miss it. I knew right away that it was the punch that Aaron had told me about.

I looked to my right to see a seating area with couches, chairs, and a side table with food, drinks, and glasses. I saw five or six men in the vicinity who were both seated and standing. I heard the deeper voices of adults engaged in conversation, but those sounds were overshadowed by the high-pitched squeals, laughter, and splashing sounds emanating from the area behind the punch bowl. It was the unmistakable sound of kids playing in a pool. Not too many, by the sound of it, but definitely kids.

We hadn't been inside for more than 30 seconds when two boys came running from the pool area toward the punch table. They looked to be about eight or nine years old, and they were both dripping wet and completely naked. They paused at the punch table, engaging in chatter, then looked up to see Aaron and me. They immediately abandoned the punch bowl and came scampering in our direction.

"Have fun," whispered Aaron, as he gave my shoulder a final squeeze and let me go.

The two boys ran right up to me, stopping not more than a foot away. They were smiling and excited, their bodies still soaking wet from the pool. They each grabbed one of my arms with their clammy hands and began to tug me away from Aaron.

"Hi," they said almost simultaneously.

"Come on," said the slightly older of the two as he pulled on my arm, propelling me forward. His brown hair was plastered to his scalp above blue eyes.

"What's your name?" asked the younger boy, whose light-colored hair almost certainly would have been blond if it hadn't been so damp.

I was struck by the fact that both boys were soaking wet and completely naked – not that they seemed to notice or care.

"I'm Mikey," said the blond boy as he tugged me along. "And he's Chris. What's your name?"

"Davey," I replied, as the boys pulled me by my arms in the direction of the punch bowl, which was in the same direction of the pool.

"You gotta play with us," declared Mikey in no uncertain terms.

"Are you good at swimming?" asked Chris. "This pool is so cool. You want some punch?" he asked, as the boys arrived back at the punch table and finally let my arms go.

"Sure," I said a bit uncertainly.

The punch table had what looked like about 40-50 colored, plastic drinking cups arrayed on it in a perfect rectangle, although one side of the rectangle looked like a tornado had hit it and a half dozen of the cups had been knocked over and strewn everywhere. I had my suspicions as to who may have knocked the cups over.

I watched as Mikey dipped one of two big, stainless-steel ladles into the punch bowl and poured some into a lime-green cup. He was none too careful with the pour, and punch ran down the sides of the cup, dripping onto the table and the floor. He took a big drink of the punch right there, sending a rivulet of the red liquid dripping down his chin onto his bare chest. When he had finished half the cup, he slammed the rest of it down on the table and used the back of his arm to wipe his mouth.

"Come on, get some!" he admonished me. "It's good!"

Chris and I took up matching ladles and simultaneously dipped them into the bowl. I chose a yellow cup and carefully filled it three quarters of the way to the top. I took a tentative sip, then another. It was good. It tasted like Kool-Aid – no more like Hi-C. I was a connoisseur of such beverages at that age and liked Hi-C better than Kool-Aid. Whichever this one was, it was pretty good. It even had some fizz in it. I took another sip.

"Come on!" said Mikey, as he waited impatiently for Chris and me to finish. He grabbed my arm again and began trying to tug me toward the pool.

I sipped the punch as I allowed myself to be pulled along. As we approached the pool, I saw four other boys in or around the water. These boys were older; they looked like the kids at the junior high school I would be attending in the Fall. I estimated them to be about 13 or 14 years of age. One boy was sitting on the edge of the pool and I could see that he was naked. I assumed that the other three boys in the water were naked, too. None of them seemed to care. Mikey and Chris didn't appear to care, either. The older boys eyed me suspiciously as I came into view. It was not a warm welcome.

Chris had called it a pool, but it wasn't like any pool I ever had seen before. The big, rectangular water feature outside looked like a pool, but the indoor part looked more like a jungle pond. It was irregular in shape and roughly enclosed on two sides by the windowed rear and side walls of the house, and on the third side with upright panels thick with plants and ivies. The part that I could see from where I was standing was about the size of the master bedroom in my old house, but there was a bend that extended behind some boulders where the pool reached the rear wall of the house. I assumed that this was where the opening was that you either swam or waded through to pass through the wall and get to the outdoor part. I couldn't wait to try that!

There was a paneled waterfall immediately behind the pool on the rear wall. It was about 10 feet high, and the shimmering, continuous flow of falling water looked like an aquatic curtain. Rock walls adorned with ivies flanked the waterfall to either side. Large boulders adorned the fourth side of the pool that opened into the great room, and the naked older boy was now perched on one of them, occasionally catching a ball thrown to him from the water by one of the other three boys. There were plants and small trees everywhere, which made the entire area look like a jungle.

I took another drink of the punch as Mikey tugged on my arm impatiently.

"Come on, you gotta jump with us!" he declared. The older boy on the rock turned to look in our direction at the sound of Mikey's voice. Our eyes met. He appraised me for a moment and then looked away. I wasn't getting a very friendly vibe.

Chris walked past us to the edge of the pool, pinched his nose with his fingers, and jumped straight in. He went all the way under and then surfaced, still holding his nose. He swiped at his face as one of the older boys pushed him away.

"Get outta here, midget," the older boy said. It didn't seem malicious, but Chris quickly waded away.

"Come on, Davey!" Mikey implored me to hurry up.

I knew I had a decision to make. I could either embrace the naked swimming and do what the other boys were doing, or I could beg off and … do what? Hang out at the punch table? Mingle with the adults? I liked to swim. The other boys were naked, and nobody seemed to care, so why should I? Besides, I was playing the role of a boy who was having a good time at a party, and the best character actors always tried to get into their roles and adopt the persona of the person they were portraying. It was time for me to get into my role. I was now going to play a boy skinny-dipping and having fun at a party with a bunch of kids he didn't know.

I put my punch down on a nearby boulder, then kicked my loafers off one at a time as I simultaneously undid the last two buttons on my shirt. So much for all Mr. Stalteri's work on my little swimsuit, I thought to myself as I prepared to get naked. All the angst about leaving my swimsuit at Aaron's house apparently had been unnecessary, too. I took the shirt off and unsnapped my shorts.

Mikey was staring at me like I was unwrapping a Christmas present. I was a little embarrassed by the fact that I wasn't wearing any underwear, but I didn't let that deter me. I carefully unzipped the shorts to avoid injury to any sensitive parts and simply let them fall to the ground. There. I was naked. The other boys were, too. When in Rome, as they say.

"You got a nice one," said Mikey as he stared at my penis. I rolled my eyes at his unfiltered comment. The boy on the rock looked over to glance at me once again, then seemed to dismiss me.

"Thanks," I replied a bit sheepishly.

"Come on!" Mikey said, as he ran over and grabbed my arm once again, then began tugging me toward the water. "It's fun."

It was fun. Lots of fun. I loved to swim and play in water, and five minutes in, I couldn't have cared less that I was naked at a party with strangers. I didn't need to play the role of a boy having a good time as I spent the several minutes jumping and playing in the pool with Mikey and Chris. We had a ball jumping off the rocks, holding our noses and splashing down. The older boys wanted nothing to do with us but that didn't deter our play. The pool wasn't all that big, and I think our boisterous play and yelling bothered them. I did my best to steer clear of them, but Mikey and Chris got too close a couple of times only to be shoved unceremoniously away.

About 20 minutes into our play Mikey got too close yet again and one of the older boys grabbed his arm and reeled him in. I watched as the three boys in the pool converged on him, grabbing his arms, and forcing his head into the lap of the fourth boy who was sitting on the pool edge. All four boys laughed as Mikey struggled to free his face from the boy's groin.

"Lemme go!" Mikey managed to protest as the boys twisted his arms behind his back and mashed his face against the seated boy's genitals. They obviously thought this was funny as all of them were laughing like they were watching the best show on television. The seated boy made a show of humping Mikey's face.

"Ow, shit!" said the seated boy suddenly as he shoved Mikey's head away, groaned, and cupped his balls. "Fuck, guys," he added with a pained expression. Apparently, the face-shoving and Mikey's struggles had become a bit rough on the boy's testicles. I barely suppressed a laugh. I thought it served him right.

Chris and I then watched helplessly as the largest of the older boys grabbed Mikey by his upper arms and began pushing him through the water to the little bend where the pool angled to meet the back wall of the house. Mikey struggled and kicked to free himself, but it wasn't a fair fight. Chris and I no longer could see once the older boy had propelled Mikey around the bend, but the three older boys could from their angle, and they grinned as they turned to watch.

"Lemme go," Mike whimpered as he was taken out of sight. Chris and I looked at each other with worried expressions.

"Oh, man!" exclaimed one of the remaining boys as they began to wade after Mikey and his captor.

"Do him, Carl!" encouraged another.

"Holy shit, Carl!" said the third boy as he looked back nervously over his shoulder with a worried grin on his face.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't see what was being done to Mikey, nor could I hear any more of his protests, which seemed ominous to me. I looked helplessly at Chris as he looked at me. His expression told me that he also wasn't sure what to do. I wanted to help, but I was new here and didn't know what the rules were, so instead of trying to help Mikey, I froze and did nothing. It was not my finest moment as a boy.

It couldn't have more than a couple of minutes – at the most, maybe three or four – before Mikey emerged from around the bend wading determinedly in our direction. His expression was one of anger and unhappiness and it looked like he was crying. Once he had pushed through the phalanx of older boys who half-heartedly blocked his path, he turned to look back in the direction of his tormentor.

"Big fat jerk!" he said in an unhappy voice that told me he was very upset. He reached under the water with his hand and grabbed at his butt. I still didn't know what had happened to him, but I was starting to get an idea.

"Come back again soon, Toad!" taunted Carl as he also emerged from around the bend with a shit-eating grin on his face.

I wanted to kick him in the nuts. The other three boys laughed.

"Jerk!" cried Mikey as he turned around again. Although he had thought he was at a safe distance from Carl when he yelled his insult, one of the other boys was close enough to reach him and snared him by the arm. He pulled the younger boy toward him, plucked him out of the water under his armpits, twisting him, and held him up as one of his companions applied two blistering spanks to Mikey's bottom.

Mikey howled in pain as the boy holding him tossed him away like a used dishrag. He splashed down in the water and immediately began wading toward us once again, spluttering and crying. Chris and I both jumped in the water as he made his way to us, but he pushed past us and climbed out of the pool. His wet backside glowed pinkish red from the slaps.

"Big fat jerks!" Mikey turned and yelled in the vicinity of the older boys as Chris and I climbed out of the pool once again.

Mikey was upset and it took Chris and me a few minutes to calm him down. He was crying and he wouldn't say what had happened to him, but he kept reaching behind his back to touch his bottom. If Chris knew what had happened, he didn't say, but eventually he asked Mikey in an excited voice if he wanted to jump in the pool once again, and that seemed to work with the younger boy. In just a few seconds, all three of us were back in the pool as if nothing had even happened, although we all made sure to keep a good distance from the older boys.

Shortly after we resumed playing, the older boys all got out of the pool and dried themselves using the folded white towels that had been neatly stacked on a nearby table. I watched them towel off. All four had pubic hair. I was curious to see if they were going to get dressed again as I hadn't seen any clothes by the pool apart from mine, but after they finished drying themselves off, three of the boys simply wrapped the towels around their waists as they walked over to the punch bowl. The fourth boy, Carl, kept his towel draped across his shoulders and followed them with his naked lower body fully on display for all the world to see.

With the older boys gone, with the danger gone with them, the three of us had a grand time whooping it up in the pool and jumping off the boulders with Tarzan yells as we splashed down into the water. It was tremendous fun, and now we had the entire pool to ourselves. I must have climbed out of the pool at least 50 times just so I could jump back in. In between jumps, I ran over to "my" boulder and drank the punch. Each time the plastic cup was empty I ran over to the punch bowl to refill it. The punch was fizzy, cold, and good. I felt good, too. I must have had three full cups of it.

After another solid half hour of play, a pair of men dressed in identical white, terrycloth bathrobes and slippers approached the pool. We had been making a lot of noise with our Tarzan yells, and for some time I had been expecting we would be told to quiet down, but the men were smiling as they stepped between the boulders and surveyed the three of us from the pool edge.

"You boys sure sound like you're having a good time," said the first man with a smile. He was about 40 years old, slightly stocky, with a thick, brown mustache to match his wavy brown hair. The second man was older, older than Pete and Aaron, so maybe about 60. At 11, I wasn't very good at guessing people's ages, especially when it came to old people. He was slightly taller than the first man but not as stout, his dark hair was tinged with gray, which in my mind automatically made him old.

"Mind if we join you?" asked the younger man.

We had been having so much fun by ourselves that I wasn't really all that keen on sharing the pool again, but obviously there was only one answer we could give to the question.

"Sure!" said Mikey with a big smile on his face, as Chris and I nodded amiably.

The younger man seemed pleased and gave us a smile.

"Which one of you was making all the Tarzan noises?" he asked.

All three of us had made the famous Tarzan yell as we leaped into the water, so we just looked at one another and smiled.

"All of us, but he's the best!" exclaimed Mikey. He was pointing at me.

It was true. I had the best Tarzan yell, so had made the most noise of the three of us. I looked sheepishly up at the man.

"Go ahead and show Mr. Tal what you've got," he encouraged.

I paused and did a double take. There was no mistaking what the younger man said. Mr. Tal was the man Aaron had wanted me to see and meet. He was the man Aaron wanted me to talk to if I saw him. The only problem was, I wasn't certain which of them was Mr. Tal. Aaron hadn't told me anything about him, so I didn't know how old he was or what he looked like. I assumed he was the older man by the way the other man had referred to him in the third person, but I couldn't be sure.

It was at times like this that I tended to freeze up, but I couldn't let that happen today, and I didn't. With a nod and what I hoped was a confident smile, I climbed out of the pool in my altogether and climbed atop the jumping boulder. With both men watching, I gave the Tarzan yodel and jumped high into the air, pinching my nose between the finger and thumb of my right hand as I splashed into the water.

I came up smiling and slicked the water from my face before looking up at the men.

"Well done! Bravo," said the younger man.

"Nicely done," agreed the older man with an approving nod. It sounded to me like he had an accent of some type, but I couldn't tell for sure from only two words.

Mikey, the youngest and most boisterous of the three of us, was out of the pool and up on the jumping rock in a flash. He sashayed to the edge of it, raised his arms above his head, and performed a little hip-waggling dance as he prepared to jump.

"Awwwww eeee awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, eee awwww eeee awwwww," he squealed in his high-pitched young voice as he leapt from the rock. His arms and legs were akimbo as his naked little frame splashed into the water.

I looked up once again to see both men smiling, and just like that, the three of us returned to our play. Chris was next to leap from the boulder, followed by me and then once again by Mikey. As we jumped, the older man slipped his robe from his shoulders and made his way to the far end of the pool where it pooched out a bit into an imperfect semi-circle. He was naked and old. He used the steps to walk down into the pool, crouched for a moment to immerse himself to his shoulders, then sat back on the steps with his arms draped on the pool deck behind him to watch our antics.

Meanwhile, the younger man also had slipped his robe off and now stood naked on the edge of the pool watching and encouraging us as we sprang from the jumping bolder and made our Tarzan yells. Eventually, he jumped into the pool himself and leaned against the edge, smiling, clapping, and appraising each of our jumps as we made them.

"That was an eight!" he told me after I had surfaced again from one of my leaps. "What's your name, young man?"

"Davey," I replied, even as I was scrambling back to the pool edge to take my place in the conga line of boy jumpers. I heard him ask the same question to Chris shortly after the brown-haired boy splashed into the water. He had rated Chris's leap a seven.

"And I already know who you are, little man!" he said to Mikey as he offered the boy a high-five. "That was a ten out of ten, sport!"

I knew that my jump and Tarzan yell had been better, but Mikey was younger, and I wasn't put out by the man's imperfect scoring. Still, I had every intention to earn a higher mark from him the next time around. My very next jump was my highest and best one yet, and it earned a score of nine.

"Bravo!" the man said as he offered me a high-five. "Who did you come with today?"

"Um, with Aaron …" I started to say, but my voice trailed off as I could not for the life of me remember the name he had used with the security guard.

"Ah, yes," replied the man with a smile. "You're one of Aaron Richter's boys. Very nice."

So much for Aaron's fake last name, I thought to myself as I stepped quickly to the edge and hoisted myself from the water. I wanted to tell the man that I wasn't one of Aaron's boys; I was Pete Volcker's boy, and I was still a bit miffed that Mr. Stone hadn't allowed Pete to come to the party. But I said nothing, of course. I didn't even come close to saying it. I was not about to let my attitude get me in trouble, not today.

As I watched and waited my turn, Chris made his yell and leaped into the water, but this time, the man stepped from the edge and made as if he was going to grab Chris in mid-flight. Chris surfaced with a huge smile as he pawed the dripping water from his face.

"No fair!" he said, but he was grinning ear to ear as he high fived the man.

"Mr. Prescott, Mr. Prescott, look at me!" exclaimed Mikey as he stood wet and dripping on the jumping boulder. When the man turned, Mike gave an abbreviated Tarzan yell and leaped into the air. This time, the man lunged toward his landing spot and succeeded in reaching Mikey just as the boy splashed down. He grabbed the naked youngster around the chest and swished him through the water toward the exit edge.

It was my turn once again. As I stood on the jumping boulder, Mr. Prescott waited for me in the middle of the landing area.

"Awwwww eeee awwwwwwww, eee awwwww eve awwwww," I yelled as I jumped into the air. As I reached the water, Mr. Prescott caught me under my arms.

"Oh, no!" he exclaimed as he fell backwards in the water as if I had knocked him over. I fell with him and brushed against his naked body before slipping to the side. We both stood up and smiled as he tapped me on my bottom under the water.

"Bowled me right over, Davey!" he said with a laugh. "You're just too big for me!"

The man would not have known it, but his words were music to my ears. Although I was only "too big" in that moment because I was playing with two younger kids, I was so sensitive to being small and so desperate to catch a growth spurt that I took solace even in idle comments like Mr. Prescott's. I decided on the spot that I liked the man. He could tell me how big I was anytime he wanted.

His kind words broke the ice with me. Along with Mikey and Chris, I spent the next fifteen minutes or so leaping from the boulder into Mr. Prescott's arms. When Mikey leaped, Mr. Prescott would catch him, reel him in with a little poke on his chest or nose, then send him gliding gently back toward the pool edge with a firm push on his bottom. With Chris, the man would catch him, draw him in, and then throw him back toward the edge with his left hand on the boy's arm and his other hand propelling Chris's bottom from below. But with me, Mr. Prescott would catch me under my arms with an "ooof" sound, then fall backwards in the water like he had been struck by a freight train as the two of us rubbed against each other and scrambled to disengage. I loved knocking him over with every leap I took. It never got old.

Mr. Prescott became even more touchy and feely as our play went on. I felt his hands on me under the water every time we fell over together, touching me on my bottom and squeezing my privates. I knew exactly what he was doing, but I didn't say anything and just let him do it. Pete and Aaron both had emphasized that this might happen, and I knew better than to object. Chris and Mikey didn't object, either. I would have rather he kept his hands to himself, but I wasn't about to mess this up. Not if I wanted Pete back, which I very much did.

"Do you like that, honey?" he asked as he held me for a moment and caressed my penis. I murmured something in reply and nodded my head. If this was a test, I was determined to pass it. I even considered touching his cock as we tumbled together, but I didn't know if that were allowed or how it would go over with him, so I refrained. At one point I did touch his privates with my hand inadvertently, only to find that he had an erection. After that, it seemed like I felt his erection on part of me or poking at my bottom after every time I jumped into his arms. It was obvious that Mr. Prescott was enjoying our play every bit as much or even more than we were.

When the three of us were beginning to tire of the jumping, on Mikey's whispered suggestion, we attacked Mr. Prescott, pulling, pushing, and climbing all over him, trying to topple him over in the water. He groaned and complained and pretended to be worried, which brought peals of laughter and squeals of glee from all of us, especially Mikey. Mr. Prescott was much bigger than we were, and I doubt we could have knocked him over if he didn't let us, but he did, and that made it incredibly fun. He also had an erection the entire time and his hands were roaming all over our bodies as we assaulted him, so I knew his protests were for show. After we had brought him down a few times, he took turns tossing us high up into the air by our bottoms and placing us on his shoulders for impromptu aquatic pick-a-back rides. Whichever boy was on his shoulders was vulnerable to being attacked and pulled down by the other two.

I glanced over a few times to see how the other man was reacting to this boisterous play. We were being loud, even obnoxious, and I had been to the town pool enough times to know that I would be on my second warning from the lifeguards by now if not already ejected for misbehavior. But the rules were different here – starting with the bare-naked swimming – and I needn't have worried. Mr. Tal looked perfectly fine with our play and even nodded at me the couple of times we made eye contact. Aaron had been right that the party would be fun if I allowed myself to enjoy it. If he or Pete had told me from the start that it was a pool party, I wouldn't have worried so much about going. I loved to swim and was having the time of my life.

I must have spent almost an hour playing in the pool. I hadn't even missed Aaron although I had not laid eyes on him since Mikey and Chris had dragged me away. The only time I ventured away from the pool was to refill my cup with punch at the big, round table. Playing in a pool like this inevitably made my thirsty – I always thought that was one of life's great ironies – and the punch was cold, sweet, and refreshing.

It also was spiked. Not by a lot or with a lot, but as time went on and I drank more of it, I started to feel happier, more playful, and less inhibited. I was as unfamiliar with those sensations then as I am familiar with them now, and with the benefit of hindsight, I know with virtual certainty that there was something in that punch. What I don't know and can't say is what. There probably was some alcohol mixed in, but there couldn't have been much of that or there would have been three young boys lying comatose on the pool deck. Mikey, Chris, and I were drinking a lot of punch. I alone had three nearly full glasses, and by an hour in, I was feeling no pain and desperately needed to pee. I was a bit embarrassed to say anything so was pleased when Mikey piped up.

"I gotta go bathroom," said Mikey as he quickly climbed out of the other side of the pool and ran off.

"Me, too!" exclaimed Chris as he waded to the same edge and climbed out. Both boys were stark naked and dripping wet, and neither made any effort to grab a towel or dry off before they scampered away to do their business. I was sure that I had to go worse than either of them, so I immediately followed suit, climbing from the pool edge, and running after them.

The bathroom was situated along the back wall of the house near where the pool transitioned from indoors to outdoors. It was more like a locker room than a bathroom. There were three sinks, a curtained shower area with three shower heads, a stall, and two side-by-side urinals, one lower and smaller than the other. By the time I arrived, Mikey was standing before the small urinal with his legs spread wide apart and his wet and naked little body dripping all over the tile floor. Chris already was in the stall with the door closed, so I took the taller urinal. Standing on my tip toes, I was barely tall enough to get the tip of my penis above the edge of it to pee. But boy, did I ever pee!

It was just as we came out of the bathroom that there was a call out from the main room in a stentorian, English-sounding voice. It had to be the butler.

"Supper is served," said the voice. Supper, not dinner. It was all so very formal at Mr. Stone's mansion, except that we were all naked.

I had emerged from the bathroom expecting to return to the pool, but when I looked in that direction, Messrs. Prescott and Tal were gone and the water in the pool was tranquil and undisturbed, save for the area near the waterfall that still shimmered and bubbled with motion. I glanced over to the seating area where the men had convened earlier and saw that two large tables had been added since my arrival. They were positioned end-to-end and full of platters, chafing dishes, and bowls.

The boys and I still were naked. Mikey and Chris took off in the direction of the pool for something to wear, so I followed them, returning to the boulder where I had undressed only to find that my clothes were missing! For a moment, I panicked, but then I spied my garments sitting on the edge of the towel cart. My shorts and shirt had been neatly folded, and the little pouch thing that Mr. Stalteri had made for me had been removed from my shorts pocket and was sitting on top of the other items. My loafers were neatly arranged on the floor, slightly underneath the edge of the cart.

Without even thinking about it, I grabbed my shorts from the pile and pulled them up my legs, zipping them up very carefully to avoid injury to my most sensitive parts. As I was snapping my fly, Mikey and Chris re-emerged from behind the boulders dressed in matching, white cotton briefs.

"What's that thing?" asked Mikey as he peered at the pouch I had left atop my shirt on the cart. Chris joined him in perusing it.

"It's just a swimsuit somebody made for me," I replied, trying to appear nonchalant.

"It's small," said Mikey.

"How does it go on?" asked Chris rather skeptically.

"I'll show you later," I answered. I was eager to end the conversation and get some food.

"It's really small," Mikey repeated.

"You weren't even wearing one!" chided Chris.

"Neither were you!" Mikey retorted.

"Come on!" said Chris as the two boys scampered off in the direction of the food. I watched them run off like two cotton-tailed bunnies.

I debated putting my shirt back on, but I was feeling good about the party and didn't feel self-conscious at all, so I left the shirt where it was and followed Mikey and Chris to the food tables. I was starving. The restaurant lunch I had eaten with Aaron seemed many hours ago and hadn't been all that filling. I felt like I could eat a horse.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried about being underdressed. As I approached the table, I saw two of the older boys from earlier with towels still wrapped around their waists. I was pretty sure that they were still naked underneath. Mr. Tal was back in his white terrycloth bathrobe and slippers. Mr. Prescott had changed into an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt with lime-green shorts. There were two other men I didn't know. One of them was fully dressed in khaki shorts and a polo shirt. The other one was in a white bathrobe and slippers just like Mr. Tal. I didn't see Aaron, nor did I see the other two boys from the pool.

There was another boy there, too. I hadn't noticed him before, and I almost overlooked him now. He was about my age and kneeling upright next to one of the upholstered chairs with his hands by his sides. He was shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a pair of white athletic shorts that were about as tight on him as a pair of underwear. A single strip of gray tape covered his mouth. He continued to kneel motionlessly with his back straight and his arms at his sides as the rest of us gathered around the tables and prepared to start in on the food. The grey, upholstered chair next to him was empty and there was nobody else in the seating area. It was just him, all alone, kneeling motionlessly. I stared at him for a moment. It was obvious he was being punished for something. I stared at him long enough that we made eye contact before I averted my eyes and looked away. There was food to be had and I was hungry.

It was a veritable smorgasbord of food. Breaded chicken cutlets, meatballs, half-sized hamburgers, French fries, cold cuts and sandwich fixings, potato chips, pretzels, raw vegetables with dip, something in a crock pot that looked like either soup or chili, shrimp with cocktail sauce, pizza cut into squares, cheese with crackers, and even a Jell-o mold that looked like it had little tomatoes embedded in it. I didn't touch that. In truth, I didn't touch most of it, but it was an impressive spread, nonetheless. I loaded up with three of the mini hamburgers, some French fries, and some pretzels, and made my way over to a little card table that had been set up near the seating area. Mikey was already there ahead of me, kneeling upright on one of the folding chairs in his underwear, happily gnawing on a square of pizza.

"Did you get any pizza?" he asked me with his mouth full. Pizza sauce already adorned his lips and the corners of his mouth.

"Got hamburgers," I replied as I settled into my seat. I picked up one of the little burgers and dug in. I was so hungry I hadn't even taken the time to put ketchup on it.

While I ate, I studied the men and boys who were chatting and loading up their plates. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood except the boy who remained passively kneeling in the seating area. I couldn't tell his mood due to the tape across his mouth, but his eyes had looked unhappy. As I watched, the man dressed in shorts and a polo shirt walked over to him, lowered himself to his haunches, and placed a plate of food on the floor before the boy. The man remained crouched for several seconds as he appeared to speak to the boy. I couldn't hear a word of what he said but I saw the boy nod. I continued to watch as the man reached up and pulled the tape from the boy's mouth before giving him a pat him on the head. The boy sat down on his heels, reached for something on the plate, and began to eat.

Just then, my eyes were drawn to the left and I saw Aaron enter the room from a hallway beyond the seating area. He was dressed in one of the ubiquitous white terrycloth bathrobes and slippers that seemed to be available to all comers. He had his right arm draped around the shoulders of yet another boy I hadn't seen before. This boy appeared to be about 10 years old and was wearing what looked like full-length pajama bottoms or possibly sweatpants. He was shirtless and his undeveloped chest and abdomen were a very pale white. Aaron was smiling and I heard him laugh as he reached over with his left hand to ruffle the boy's red hair. When he spied the food arrayed on the table, he steered the boy toward it and propelled him forward with a friendly smack on his bottom.

As the boy scampered away, Aaron made a quick scan of the room before his eyes alighted and stopped on me. He smiled broadly and strode in my direction.

"Hey there, kiddo!" he said as he approached me with a big smile. He seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood. "I see you got some food. Told you there'd be a ton of it. Having fun?"

I was chewing, so I nodded and attempted to swallow my mouthful of hamburger so I could speak.

"Hi, Mikey," said Aaron as he turned his attention to my tablemate. "How's my buddy? How's Mr. Emerson these days?"

"He's good!" replied Mikey with a big smile. "He got me a horse! It's a girl horse and I get to ride it all the time!"

"A girl horse!" repeated Aaron in an encouraging voice. "That's exciting! You get to ride her?"

"Yup! I got my own saddle and everything!"

"That's great, Mikey!" said Aaron as he turned his attention back to me. "So, you guys having fun?"

"Yeah, we just got done swimming," I replied earnestly with another nod. "Where did you go?" I asked him. I was curious why he had disappeared, and I was at least a little bit curious or even perhaps a bit jealous to see him return with his arm around the red-headed boy.

"Oh, I was just chatting with Mr. Stone. I'll introduce you to him in a bit. Did you feel your ears burning? We were talking about you."

I wasn't sure what to make of that or to say. Chatting with Mr. Stone didn't explain why or when Aaron had changed into a bathrobe or why he had had his arm draped around the shirtless boy. I shook my head as I popped another French fry into my mouth.

"How come?" I asked with my mouth full.

"Mr. Stone is really nice," Mikey interjected before Aaron could answer.

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" Aaron replied to Mikey in a voice I recognized as one that adults used with younger kids. He bent down and put his head closer to mine, then began to whisper in my ear.

"Remember what I said to do if you need to take a poop?" Aaron said softly. "And don't eat too much, okay? You don't want to get an upset tummy."

"I won't," I replied in a subdued voice of my own. It was kind of an embarrassing topic to be discussing, but we probably didn't even need to be whispering as Mikey was busy breaking his potato chips in half one at a time and arranging the broken shards in rows on top of his remaining pizza slice. He seemed fully concentrated on that activity and wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to us.

"Did you meet Mr. Tal?" asked Aaron in a low voice as he placed a hand on my bare shoulder.

"He's the older man, right?" I said as I turned my head and looked back where I had last seen him.

"That's him," replied Aaron.

"I didn't meet him, but I know who he is, now. He was at the pool."

Aaron nodded. "He's the man I want you to meet," he whispered. "Him and Mr. Stone. They can open a lot of doors for you, Davey. A lot of doors, okay?"

I nodded again. My conversation with Aaron was reminding me that we were here on business even if the party itself was supposed to be fun.

"Did you have any punch?" asked Aaron.

"Three glasses," I replied with a nod. "But I left my cup by the pool."

"You stay here, and I'll get you some more," said Aaron as he walked off in the direction of the punch bowl.

"Is he your man friend?" asked Mikey after Aaron had departed.

I nodded. Aaron fit that description. Not like Pete, of course, but Mikey didn't need to know about that, and I wasn't about to tell him.

Before I could say anything further, Chris joined us at the table. He brought with him a heaped plate of food that he couldn't possibly eat in one sitting.

"Hi guys!"

"Hey," I replied as the two younger boys exchanged high-fives.

"He 'dopt you?" Mikey asked me, resuming our earlier conversation.

I wasn't sure what he meant. I looked at him with a confused expression.

"Mr. Richter – he 'dopt you?" he persisted.

"It's 'adopt,' Mikey," corrected Chris. "Adopt, with an a. Adopt. Not 'dopt. And Mr. Richter doesn't adopt kids. He's a talent agent."

"Talent agents 'dopt kids," rebutted Mikey with a pout.

"No, they don't," said Chris dismissively. He turned to me. "Tell him Mr. Richter didn't adopt you," he directed in a world-weary tone.

"He didn't adopt me." I stated.

"But he's your man friend?" Mikey asked again.

"I guess so," I said, as I looked to Chris for help.

"Everybody here's a man friend, dummy," the older boy replied.

I was hopelessly confused by the conversation and Chris must have sensed my befuddlement.

"Mikey thinks-" Chris started to say, but he looked up suddenly and his voice trailed off as Aaron returned with a cup of punch for me. His eyes met Chris's.

"What's your name?" Aaron asked as he extended his hand. "I'm Mr. Richter."

"Chris," replied my friend as he placed his smaller hand in Aaron's. They shook.

"Who are you here with?"

"Mr. Campise," replied Chris as he pointed to the man in the polo shirt and khaki shorts.

Aaron looked confused for a moment as he looked back at Chris.

"I thought he came with, uh, uh," he said as he snapped his fingers obviously trying to remember, "uh, Kevin today."

"He brought both of us," replied Chris. "Kevin's in trouble, though," he added as he looked back at the boy who was still kneeling by himself next to the chair in the seating area.

"I saw that," said Aaron with a chuckle as he also glanced in that direction. "What did he do?"

"Talking back."

"I see," said Aaron with a contemplative nod before turning back to Chris. "How long have you known Mr. Campise?"

"Like a year," Chris explained. "Me and Kevin are friends. I go over to his house a lot. He has a lot of cool stuff."

"I see," replied Aaron. "You live in West Town, then?"

Chris nodded. "My grandma lives there and I'm staying with her for a while," he said in an almost apologetic tone of voice.

"That's nice," said Aaron with a nod. "So, you've gotten to know Kevin and his- and Mr. Campise?"

"Yes, when I went over to play with Kevin. I sleep over sometimes, too – if my grandma lets me."

"Nudie!" interjected Mikey with a pizza-sauce smile. "They sleep nudie in bed!"

"Shut up!" retorted Chris.

"You told me!"

"Shut up, Mikey!" Chris replied angrily as he glared at the younger boy. The tips of his ears were flushing red.

Aaron ignored the younger boy's comments and continued the conversation as if he hadn't heard them.

"How long have you guys been friends?"

"Since last year, I guess? We're in the same grade but he's a year older than me."

"Nice," replied Aaron. "Great. Well, it's nice to meet you. Was it … Chris?"

The boy nodded.

"And how old are you, Chris?"

"Ten."

"Mr. Richter! Mr. Richter!" exclaimed Mikey. "I'm staying with Mr. Stone tonight!"

I glanced up at Aaron at this news, but he wasn't looking in my direction.

"You are!" replied Aaron enthusiastically. "That's great!"

"He's nice!" declared Mikey.

"He sure is!" said Aaron. "Are you going to be a good boy for him?"

Mikey nodded and popped a green grape in his mouth. I hadn't seen those on the food table and decided on the spot that I might just have to return to get some. I liked grapes.

"Who are you staying with?" Chris asked me as he sawed at a piece of chicken with his knife.

I was taken aback by his question and didn't know what to say.

"We haven't figured out all the details," Aaron answered for me. "Not sure what we're doing tonight, are we kiddo?" he added with an indulgent smile in my direction.

I didn't like being called kiddo in front of the younger boys, but it wasn't like I could say anything about it to Aaron. I also didn't know exactly what details we needed to figure out. I nodded in reply.

Chris looked confused. "Isn't it always a sleepover party?" he said to Aaron.

"Sure," said Aaron with a dismissive smile. "Anyone can sleep over if they want. Davey and I just haven't figured out the logistics just yet, have we?"

I didn't know what logistics meant, but I sensed that Aaron hadn't told me everything he knew about the party. I looked up at Aaron and scowled. There was something in his voice that told me he knew exactly what Chris was talking about. I had a sixth sense that he had known all along that we would be staying over and hadn't told me. I was starting to get wise to how he operated.

That was the difference between Aaron and Pete. Pete didn't beat around the bush. He had told me exactly how the party worked and what was expected of me. He had even mentioned the possibility that I would be staying overnight. But Pete had never been to one of Mr. Stone's parties before and there was no way he knew as much about them as Aaron. I sensed that Aaron knew a lot more about the party than he had told me. I now knew that we would be staying overnight – not maybe, but definitely – but I had not learned that from Aaron. It had taken a little kid to inform me of that. Aaron had known that all along but hadn't told me. What else hadn't he told me about the party?

Aaron's eyes met mine and for a moment we held each other's gaze. His face was smiling but his eyes weren't, and as we looked at each other I suddenly realized that I was on the cusp of trouble. In an instant, I remembered exactly why I was at the party and what the stakes were. For a moment I had forgotten myself and reverted to my usual ways, and in that moment, I had forgotten my promises about being good as gold at the party. I hadn't said anything, yet – thank god for that – but my scowl no doubt told Aaron everything he needed to know about my present attitude. My blood ran cold when I realized what I had done.

I knew that I needed to fix things and I needed to fix them fast. I also knew that my friendship with Pete was at stake and riding on my decisions. My demeanor changed instantly – I was an actor, after all.

"Can we please stay over, please?" I begged Aaron, as I instantly replaced my scowl with a hopeful expression and the biggest begging, puppy-dog eyes I could manage.

I saw the coldness in Aaron's expression slowly turn to a mix of surprise, then skepticism. He looked away for a moment, his eyes flicking first to Chris, then to Mikey, then back to me. All three of us were looking at him expectantly. He was looking at me and seemed to appraise me for several seconds before responding. Those were some of the longest seconds of my entire life.

"I bet we could," he finally said with a nod and a conspiratorial wink. "I'll talk to Malcolm."

"Cool!" I exclaimed, before adding an enthusiastic arm pump for good measure.

I turned back to my plate feeling somewhat relieved, but my appetite entirely was gone. That had been close. I had almost messed things up once again with my attitude. I was starting to think that there was something wrong with me that I couldn't control it better. I needed to learn to keep it under wraps.

"Davey, why don't you finish up," said Aaron. "I want to introduce you to Mr. Stone. You can thank him for inviting us to the party and we can talk about staying over, okay?"

I knew full well what "thanking" Mr. Stone might entail, but I was willing to do anything to stay out of trouble with Aaron and win Pete back. I'd already thanked both Aaron and Mr. Stalteri earlier in the day. I could thank Mr. Stone, too, and Mr. Prescott, and if I had to, I could give a few more thank yous, as well. It didn't matter. I was good at giving thank yous and I gladly would give as many as I had to get back in Pete's good graces.

Okay," I replied, feeling even more relieved. "I'm almost done."

"I'm going to get a quick bite to eat," said Aaron, as he began to walk away. "Davey, come find me when you're done. You guys be good."

"We will!" said Mikey with a big grin. "Bye, Mr. Richter!"

"Mr. Richter's nice," declared Mikey as he popped another grape into his mouth. "Maybe you can stay with him tonight."

"You don't stay with the one that brung you, dummy," retorted Chris. "Then it'd be like you were still at home."

"You're the dummy," said Mikey as he slid down in his seat to give Chris a barefooted kick under the table.

I ignored their antics and looked down glumly at my plate. The boys didn't know it, but I had just learned another thing about the party that I hadn't known before and hadn't been told. Now I knew that boys and men would be paired off for the night, but neither Pete nor Aaron had told me that. What else hadn't they told me? I blamed Aaron more for my lack of information than Pete. Aaron had been to parties like this one before and knew exactly how they worked, but he hadn't bothered to tell me any of that. Except for the letters I had discovered in the hotel room, Pete had never withheld information or lied to me, but I no longer could say the same of Aaron.

"Why's Kevin in trouble all day?" Mikey suddenly asked Chris.

"He said something to Mr. Campise in the car."

"What'd he say?"

"He said he didn't want to stay with a man tonight."

"But he gots to," replied Mikey.

"I know that, retard," retorted Chris. "I meant a man – the man he stayed with last time."

"Why doesn't he?"

"I dunno," Chris said with a shrug. "Something happened last time."

"What happened?"

"I don't know," replied Chris, who obviously was becoming irritated. "Ask him yourself."

"Which is the man it happened with?"

"Mr. Tal. Did you see him at the pool?"

"I seen him," said Mikey in a soft voice. "I don't want to stay with him, either." He looked contemplative for a moment before he spoke again. "Do you think Kevin can play with us later?"

"I dunno," replied Chris. "But he's gonna get it for sure when he gets home."

Mikey nodded knowingly and let the topic drop, but I had already learned a lot from what the boys had said. The truth was, I was learning more and more about Mr. Stone's parties with every passing moment, but what I had learned so far was making me angry. Aaron hadn't told me about any of this and I could feel myself getting riled up. I willed myself to calm down. If I wanted Pete back, I could not let my temper or my mouth get the better of me. Not today.

"I'm done," I said to the younger boys as I stood up. "Do you know if we gotta clear our plates or anything?"

"That guy gets 'em," said Chris as he leaned to the side and pointed somewhere behind me. I turned to look, and sure enough, another man dressed in butler's regalia whom I hadn't seen before was walking around with a large tray in hand, clearing dishes and glasses from the tables in the seating area. Mr. Stone sure had a lot of servants and employees.

I left my plate where it was and went to find Aaron. He was standing at the edge of the seating area, holding a plate in one hand while eating with the other. The only other people there were Kevin and the man – who I now knew as Mr. Campise – who had brought Kevin and Chris to the party. He was seated comfortably in the chair with a plate in his lap next to Kevin, who was kneeling upright once again. The boy apparently had been kneeling there beside the chair for the entire time I had been at the party, which at this point was going on two hours.

Just as I walked closer, the man leaned over toward Kevin and spoke, loud enough for me to hear.

"You may go," he told the boy. "Remember what I said."

I watched as Kevin scrambled to his feet and bolted from the area. He strode past me quickly without so much as a glance. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw him heading in the direction of the food table and the little card table where Mikey and Chris still were seated. Kevin's only attire was a pair of white athletic shorts that hugged his butt and looked from a distance like a pair of squared-off cotton briefs. The whiteness of the garment stood out even against his pale skin. As I followed Kevin's progress with my eyes, Mr. Campise stood up and wandered off in the other direction as I continued to make my way Aaron.

"Hi," I said amiably as I approached. Now that we were completely alone, I was worried that he might reprimand me for my earlier behavior, but there was nothing I could do to change the past.

"Having a good time?" he asked as I drew near. I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought I detected a bit of a challenge in his voice.

I nodded. Despite Aaron's half-truths and omissions, I was having a good time, at least so far. I was trying not to think too much about the things to come.

"That's good, Davey. I'm sure Pete will be pleased to hear it. You ready to meet Mr. Stone?"

I nodded again. "I'm ready."

"I want you to meet Mr. Tal, as well. You said you already know who he is?"

My blood ran a bit cold at the mention of Mr. Tal, but aside from a brief pause, I gave Aaron no other reaction.

"I saw him at the pool. But I didn't really talk to him."

Aaron didn't reply immediately. He ate a piece of raw broccoli and followed it up with a carrot. I glanced down at his plate to see raw vegetables, grapes, and a few cubes of cheese. No pizza, hamburgers, or meatballs. It was not what I would have chosen to eat. I was starting to think he was a rabbit.

"Why are you in your shorts, Davey?" Aaron asked me in a falsely casual voice. His question took me aback. Why was he asking me that now? Then I realized that I had been sitting at the table and he hadn't seen them on me.

"I put them on after swimming. For dinner." My answer sounded defensive even to me.

"Did you forget about your pouch?"

"I was going to wear it in the pool."

"I'm talking about now."

"I just thought- "

"What are the other boys wearing?" Aaron interjected.

I looked around to see, as my heart sank into my stomach. Mike and Chris were in their undies. The older boys in view were in nothing but towels. Only Kevin was in shorts, but they weren't at all like mine. They were almost form-fitting on his body. Nobody was wearing shorts like mine. I suddenly realized that I was overdressed among the boys and stood out because of it. I didn't think it would be a good idea to tell Aaron that I almost had put on my shirt, as well.

"Sorry," I replied. What else could I say?

"Sorry," Aaron repeated derisively. "You're sorry. Go get your pouch on now."

The tips of my ears were burning as I walked away toward the pool. My cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. I wanted to cry. Despite all my efforts and intentions, I was messing things up, and now Aaron was mad at me again. I could detect the anger and impatience in his voice. He probably thought I was being bad on purpose. But how was I supposed to know this stuff? I had never been to a party like this one before. I didn't know the rules and conventions. We had been called to dinner, so I had simply put on my shorts. The other boys had put on their briefs, but I hadn't worn any to the party. The pouch was supposed to be for swimming, but we had swum in the nude and I hadn't needed it, so …

It wasn't fair. I hadn't done anything wrong. I was being good. From the moment I arrived at the party, I had played, mingled, drunk punch, swam, and had fun. I had done everything Aaron had told me to do and it still apparently wasn't good enough. He was mad at me about the shorts, but how was I supposed to know what to wear and when? He hadn't told me, and I hadn't thought about it. I had never made a conscious decision to wear the shorts versus the pouch. I had just put them on. It took all of 30 seconds to do so and then I had gone to eat.

But even as I pouted, part of me knew that Aaron was right. I may not have done it intentionally, but I had made a poor choice. None of the other boys were dressed like I was. It wasn't like I had to wear my shorts. I could have wrapped a towel around my waist like the bigger kids – I did that a lot after I showered with Pete after sex – or I could have worn my pouch. Mr. Stalteri had gone to a lot of effort to make it for me. In fact, we had been late to the party because we waited for it to be made. It had been made for me to wear, not to ignore. As I thought about it more, I realized that I had indeed made a poor choice. I deserved Aaron's sarcastic reproach.

With a lump in my throat, I returned to the cart with my clothing. Without a second thought, I undid my shorts and slid them down my legs and off. Naked now, I grabbed the pouch, arranged it with the triangle in front, found the leg holes, and stepped into it. I drew it up my legs and fit the fabric over my genitals. It fit snugly and wasn't wrinkled at all.

Although the waterfall was several feet away, I could feel the breeze from it against my exposed bottom as I turned to walk back to Aaron. The only thing covering my butt was a narrow strip of black fabric that nestled between my butt cheeks, ran down over my butt hole, and attached to the bottom corner of the fabric triangle just under my balls. The result was that my butt cheeks were on full display. Now I was perhaps the least-dressed boy at the party, if you didn't count the fact that the older boys were completely nude under their towels.

I couldn't help but feel self-conscious about the skimpy garment. Although I had a good idea about the party and why I was here, I couldn't overcome my natural shyness and tendency to embarrass easily. To alleviate my anxiety, I grabbed a fresh towel from the stack and draped it over my shoulders. At least that way it would look like I was heading to or coming from the pool, and I wouldn't feel quite so self-conscious as I walked back to Aaron in my skimpy attire.

My path took me by the card table where Kevin was now sitting with Mikey and Chris. The new boy had a full plate of food before him like he hadn't eaten anything already. He was chatting and smiling and seemed to have a new lease on life now that he was at least temporarily out of the doghouse with Mr. Campise.

"Woah, that's far out, Davey," exclaimed Chris as he saw me approach.

Mikey's head wheeled around as if on a swivel. When he saw me, he was out of his chair in a flash scampering in my direction. He ran right past me as I continued to walk and leaned down in exaggerated fashion to leer at my backside.

"Cool, I can see your butt!" the eight-year-old exclaimed as he followed me like a puppy, staring at my exposed bottom. I felt the tips of my ears burning once again. Any thought I may have had about strolling up to Aaron in my pouch casually and unobtrusively had just been blown to pieces by Mikey's excited reaction.

"You saw his butt earlier, dummy," said Chris.

"Come 'ere, you gotta see this!" replied Mikey as he continued to follow me while staring ostentatiously at my butt cheeks. I rolled my eyes at his antics, then looked toward the table where Chris and Kevin were sitting.

"I don't need to see his butt," said Chris. "I know what a butt looks like."

I watched as he and Kevin exchanged knowing looks and sheepish grins.

Suddenly, I felt a sting on my right buttock that caused me to flinch and startle. When I turned around to see what it was, Mikey was backing away from me in his tighty-whities with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Free spanks on your bare butt!" he teased in a sing-song voice.

I made as if to lunge at him, but the truth was, I just wanted him to go away. He giggled and scampered off a decent distance as I feinted in his direction, so I turned quickly and resumed walking back toward Aaron. I had taken a grand total of one step before I almost ran straight into a man I didn't know. He was dressed in one of the bathrobes but had flip flops on his feet instead of slippers. I had seen glimpses of this man earlier but didn't know his name. He grabbed me by my shoulders to keep us from colliding.

"Oops, easy there, son," he said as I stopped in my tracks. With his hands still on my shoulders he looked beyond me and yelled in Mikey's direction.

"Toad, get over here!" he yelled, his hands still situated on my shoulders. I remembered the older boys had called Mikey that, as he looked back down at me, seemingly appraising me with his eyes.

"And what's your name, young man?"

"Um, Davey, sir," I replied as my eyes met his.

"Davey," the man repeated. "That's a nice name. I like it. And who are you with?"

"Um, I- I um, I'm not sure," I replied hesitantly. "Mr. Richter hasn't told me, yet."

The man looked perplexed for a couple of seconds before breaking out in a wide smile. He followed that up with a chuckle.

"I meant who did you come to the party with," he said with a disarming little wink. "I take it you're one of Aaron's boys?"

I knew instantly from his answer that I had misunderstood his question. My mind had been on other things; no wonder he had grinned and laughed at my response. As for his next question, I wanted to tell him that I was Pete's boy, not Aaron's, but I knew better than to say that out loud.

"Yeah, um, he brought me," I replied, as Mikey walked up sheepishly in his little briefs and parked himself at the man's side.

"First time at one of Malcolm's parties, I take it?" asked the man as his hands gently squeezed and massaged my shoulders. He smiled down at me, ignoring Mikey, as I nodded in response.

"Well, you're certainly dressed for success, Davey," he said as he looked down at my pouch. He grinned and gave me another wink, and then with his hands still on my shoulders, he turned to look at Mikey.

"What did I tell you?" he said to the boy coldly.

The boy hung his head in shame. "To behave," he replied in a soft, contrite voice.

"And were you behaving just now?" the man asked sternly.

Mikey was pouting with his head down. He hesitated, then shook his head no. His lower lip protruded as he made a boo-boo face.

Without delay, without fanfare, and without saying a word, the man reached for Mikey's arm and dragged the boy to his side. In what seemed like a series of choreographed motions, he turned Mikey around, bent the boy over, yanked his briefs to his knees, took his flip flop off his right foot, and delivered two thunderous spanks to Mikey's bare bottom. They sounded like thunderclaps as the footwear hit home.

"I understand you were also being annoying to the older boys in the pool. We will deal with that at the appropriate time," he told the boy as he stood him upright once again.

Mikey immediately stood up, clearly wanting to tug his briefs back into place, but obviously waiting for permission. Despite his lack of concern about running around naked while we had been having fun, it was clearly different when it was part of a punishment. The expression on his face told me everything I needed to know. His eyes welled with tears as he reached behind him to grasp his butt cheeks with both hands.

"Hands off!" said the man. Mikey instantly let go of his bottom as he grimaced and performed a little barefooted pain dance.

"Apologize to Davey!"

My adrenaline was racing from what I had just witnessed as Mikey turned his teary-eyed face to me. I hated it when adults made kids apologize to each other. Usually either the apology wasn't sincere or there was nothing to apologize for. This was one of the latter situations. I knew that Mikey wasn't being malicious when he teased me about my pouch and gave me a spank on my butt. He was eight years old and just being mischievous and having fun. Now he was a very unhappy boy because of it. I felt bad for him, and I certainly didn't need an apology.

Mikey lifted his weeping face and looked directly at me. "I'm sorry," he whimpered through his tears.

"It's okay," I said with a sheepish little shrug. That was the obligatory kid response to a forced apology. I'd been in the same situation myself several times before.

"There's no reason why the two of you can't be friends," the man said, apparently persisting in the belief that Mikey and I had been having a spat. "You two are the youngest boys here. I think you should make up and stick together. What do you say?"

Now it was my turn to hang my head. I was embarrassed. At eight years old, Mikey easily was the youngest kid at the party, but Chris was sitting just a few feet away from us and he was only 10. I wasn't sure about Kevin, but I had also seen Aaron with the red-haired boy who looked like he was 10, too. I was almost 12! I wasn't even close to Mikey's age! Why did everyone I meet seem to think that I was several years younger than I was? The man's words hurt. I felt like a pigmy dwarf. I felt like one of those Oompa Loompas. Why couldn't I grow? Why did I still look like a little kid? What was wrong with me?

The man apparently took my embarrassment for contrition or fear. He placed his right hand under my chin and raised my head up to look at him.

"It's okay, Davey. You're not in any trouble, son."

"Yes, sir," I replied as I tried to look unperturbed, even though I was upset. Like everyone else, the man seemed to think I was a little kid. It was upsetting, but I knew that I needed to put this conversation behind me and not let it get to me. I had a job to do. I was here on business.

"I'm Randy Emerson, by the way. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. And if Mikey bothers you again," he said with an ominous look at the sobbing boy, "come see me about it, okay?"

"Yes, Mr. Emerson," I replied, even if I had absolutely no intention of doing do.

"Good boy," he said with a wink. "Here, let me rub it better." With that his hand left my shoulder and went to the cheek that Mikey had smacked and gave it a quick, vigorous rub. I managed to hold still until he gave it a little pat and stepped aside with a smile.

I was sure I could feel his eyes on my butt cheeks as I walked past him back to Aaron, but I didn't let that bother me. I reminded myself that I had been skinny-dipping earlier with men looking on and that I was more dressed now than I had been then. Not to mention that I was playing the role of a boy at a party who was walking around in a skimpy bathing suit and pretending not to be bothered by it. Roleplaying like that seemed to help. If it prevented me from making another mistake with Aaron, I was all for it.

"Much better," said Aaron as I approached him, "but lose the towel. You don't need it."

I pulled the towel from my shoulders and draped it over the squared-off arm of the closest chair in the seating area. Now I really felt exposed in the skimpy pouch thing. It didn't cover much of anything on my body except my penis and balls.

"You ready to meet Mr. Stone?" asked Aaron.

"Yes," I replied with a nod. I was as ready as I would ever be. I felt confident that I could meet Mr. Stone and not mess things up. I also was ready to thank him for inviting me to the party in the way I had been told was expected.

"Come on then," he said as he placed a hand on the back of my neck and steered me in the direction of the hallway. It was the same hallway I had seen him emerge from 20 minutes before with the red-haired kid whose name I didn't know. Come to think of it, I hadn't laid eyes on that boy since, and I didn't know where he had gone.

"Who was that kid with the red hair?" I asked as we walked under the arched hallway entrance.

"His name is Jordan," Aaron replied. "Why do you want to know? You're not jealous, are you?" he teased.

I shrugged. "I was just wondering 'cause I hadn't seen him before."

"You probably won't see much more of him tonight either," said Aaron. "He lives here. He's not really part of the party. He's more like a house pet. And you don't have to worry — I've known him for years, ever since he was a little tyke."

"Oh, okay," I replied matter-of-factly, but I was confused. Why wasn't the boy part of the party? Why had Aaron called him a house pet? And what did Aaron think I was worried about? I was trying to listen better and be more cognizant of my surroundings, but even when I tried as hard as I could, certain things adults said still made no sense to me. This was one of those times.

"I'll introduce you to Mr. Stone, and then if I can find him, Mr. Tal," said Aaron. "Best behavior, Davey," he added in an ominous voice.

"I know," I replied. I did know. I felt confident but was also starting to feel a bit nervous. Aaron had built up the importance of the two men in my mind so much that I couldn't help but worry, and on top of that there was the thing that Chris had told me about Mr. Tal and Kevin. What if they didn't like me? What if they were mean? What if I said something wrong? What if I let my attitude get the better of me? I willed that latter thing not to happen. I could not mess this up – and by extension, my friendship with Pete – by having a bad attitude. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I would be on my absolute best behavior. Aaron would see.

It was a long hallway, but we didn't need to travel down it all that far before we arrived at a door on our left that was partly ajar. Aaron turned toward it and stopped for a moment, seeming to listen, then knocked on the door and gently pushed it the rest of the way open. With his hand still on my neck, he guided me through the doorway.

The carpet was thick and lush beneath my bare feet as we entered the room. My eyes immediately alighted on Mr. Stone, who was seated in a red silk bathrobe behind an enormous mahogany desk. The windows behind the desk must have been 10' [3 meters] tall and were bedecked with maroon curtains that looked like they were made of a heavy velvet fabric. The walls consisted of stained wood panels. The entire right wall of the room was a giant bookcase filled with hundreds and hundreds of hardcover volumes, many of them appearing to be quite old and possibly bound in leather. A brown leather sofa with a white pool towel on it rested against the opposite wall.

"Malcolm, please allow me introduce you to David Pierce, the boy I was telling you about," said Aaron as he ushered me toward the desk.

Mr. Stone smiled broadly as he adjusted something below the desk before standing up and walking toward us, extending his hand to me. I offered mine in return and he grasped it firmly, shaking for both of us.

"It's very nice to meet you, David," he said with a friendly smile. He released my hand, then raised his in the air and snapped his fingers. "Sammy," he said simply.

I had no idea what he meant by that, but my eyes suddenly were drawn to motion near the windowed back wall. I watched in surprise as one of the older boys from the pool stood up and began to walk out from behind the desk. The boy was completely naked. Without making eye contact with any of us, he made his way quickly to the sofa, collected the towel, and left the room, closing the door behind him on the way out.

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Stone as if nothing had happened. "David Pierce. A most worthy thespian, I'm told. Michigan, is it? St. Clair? Other side of the peninsula, then. Closer to Lake Huron than Lake St. Clair, I imagine. Star in the school play — Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, was it? Based on the book of the same title by Roald Dahl, as opposed to Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, the movie adaptation of the book starring Gene Wilder and the most delightful Peter Ostrum, to whom I must say you bear more than a passing resemblance, young man."

I was dumbfounded at the man's recitation and looked up at Aaron for assistance. Aaron's reaction was to laugh. It was a big, hearty guffaw that came straight from his diaphragm.

"I think you just confused the heck out of the kid, Malcolm!" Aaron said with a smile. "Davey, do you have any idea what he just said?"

I smiled and shook my head. "I got the part about the play," I said with a shrug and a little giggle.

"And I hear you were excellent in it, Davey," said Mr. Stone in a more normal-sounding voice. "My gosh, you do look a lot like Peter Ostrum, young man. I can see why you were cast as Charlie. I hear your performance was a hit and you were the star of the show. I also hear that you like baseball – a boy after my own heart. Let me look at you."

I stood still as he approached me. I wasn't a very good judge of people's ages in those days, but Mr. Stone looked to me like he was somewhere in his fifties, perhaps a handful of years older than Pete. He had brown hair tinged with gray and sported a bushy mustache. He wore his sideburns in the style of the day, which is to say about halfway down the side of his face. His bathrobe gaped open and curly, salt-and-pepper chest hairs poked out where it formed a V. Red-silk pajama bottoms and thick, burgundy slippers completed his ensemble.

I stood still looking up at him as Mr. Stone walked directly in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders. He slid them down and grasped my upper arms, giving them gentle squeezes as he turned me gently to the left, then to the right.

"Turn around for me, Davey," he said as he let my arms go. I turned around and stood facing the door, feeling more than a bit self-conscious about my exposed butt. I felt his hand trace down my spine from the base of my neck to about halfway down my back. After a few seconds that seemed almost interminable to me, Mr. Stone grasped my upper arms once again and used them to turn me gently back around. He was smiling warmly as I looked up at him once again.

"Well, Davey," he began. "First, let me welcome you to my home. I'm very glad you could come, and I hope you're having a wonderful time. Have you met the other boys? Some of them are new, but several have been here before. Have you met any of my friends?"

"Um, I met, um, Mr. Prescott?" I replied. "We played in the pool, and I saw Mr. Tal, and I just met Mr. Emerson a few minutes ago."

"Very good. You played in the pool with Terry Prescott?"

"Is that Mr. Prescott?" I asked. I wasn't sure if Terry was the man or one of the boys.

"Yes," Mr. Stone replied. "And you met Mr. Tal?"

"I saw him, but I didn't meet him. He was in the pool, too."

Mr. Stone nodded. "He's been known to enjoy a dip now and again, Davey. I'll be sure to introduce you to him a bit later," he said, as he glanced up at Aaron.

"I like your outfit," he said, changing the subject. "Wherever did you find such a thing?" the man asked.

"Stalteri Men and Boys, private fitting," replied Aaron on my behalf.

"I should have known it," Mr. Stone said with a laugh. "How is-a he-a doing these-a days?"

"He-a doing just-a fine," Aaron replied with a laugh of his own.

"He's really good at making stuff," I offered. I wanted to contribute to the conversation where I could.

"He's-a really good, that's-a right!" said Mr. Stone with a hearty laugh that both Aaron and I added to with laughs of our own. It was easy to mimic Mr. Stalteri's Italian accent, and it was funny.

"Come," the man said as he led us to the sofa where Sammy's towel had been lying when we walked in. I sat down in the middle as Mr. Stone sat to my left and Aaron sat to my right. As Mr. Stone began to speak, I turned a bit to my left and drew my leg up underneath me so I could see him better as we talked.

We spoke for a while, probably at least 10 minutes. Mr. Stone asked me a bunch of questions about school, acting, and eventually sports. It turned out that he was a big Cubs fan and that he was the source of the Cubs tickets that Aaron had given to Pete to take me to the game.

"I'd love to take you to a game the next time you're in town, Davey," he said with a smile. "Who's your favorite player?"

"Bobby Murcer!" I answered excitedly. "And Dave Kingman, too. I like them both!"

Mr. Stone chuckled at my double answer. "I like your enthusiasm, young man. You think they can win the East this year?"

I smiled sheepishly, then shrugged and shook my head.

"I want them to, but …"

Mr. Stone laughed again. "I share your lack of optimism this year, my boy. But there's always next year. They have to win sometime this century."

I nodded in agreement. The Cubs hadn't won the World Series in decades and they were due. I just knew they would win it all soon, possibly even next year.

With that, the conversation petered out. The silence persisted for several seconds, almost like a pregnant pause. I was quiet, too, as I waited for Mr. Stone to speak. When he did speak again, his voice was softer and more subdued.

"Why don't you stand up and take that off for me, Davey," Mr. Stone said as he gestured vaguely toward my crotch.

I barely hesitated before I quickly rose to my feet. Nervously, but with only the most fleeting glance in Aaron's direction, I turned to face the sofa, lowered my pouch down my legs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. I stood naked and silent, facing Mr. Stone with my arms at my sides.

"That's a good boy, Davey," he said as he looked down at my crotch. He studied me there for several seconds – maybe half a minute – before finally speaking again. "Turn around again for me, please."

I turned 180 degrees and stood facing the bookcase on the opposite wall as Mr. Stone appraised me from behind. None of us spoke for a while; I have to say it seemed a long, long time to me.

"Spread your legs apart Davey, if you would be so kind."

Again, I steeled myself to do as requested and slid my right foot away from my left.

"Can you touch the ground without moving your feet or bending your knees, Davey?"

I knew he didn't want a verbal answer from me but a demonstration. Thinking of Pete and his instructions, which had been reinforced several times by Aaron, I forced myself to do as he requested. This was Mr. Stone after all, whose happiness was vital to me winning back Pete. Bending slowly at the waist, I reached for the ground with my hands and pressed them into the rich pile of the carpet and held the position. I wasn't naïve. I knew exactly what was on display to Mr. Stone as I awaited his next instruction. I think this was the longest of all the silences.

"You can straighten up and turn back around now, Davey," Mr. Stone said finally in a soft voice. "Thank you, my boy. I'm very glad to see you are so flexible."

I stood up and turned to face him once again, and when I did, he reached out with his right arm and took my genitals in his hand. He rolled my testicles between his finger and thumb and then grasped my little worm and began to manipulate and stroke it.

"Does that feel good, Davey?" he asked in a soft voice. "Do you like that? Can you get an erection for me?"

I was so nervous that I didn't feel any real arousal from his stroking, but I knew instinctively that I shouldn't tell him that.

"It feels really good, Mr. Stone," I whispered. On the other end of the sofa from where I was standing, Aaron was completely silent. I knew he was watching, but otherwise it seemed almost like he wasn't even there.

Mr. Stone continued to stroke and roll my penis between his thumb and fingers. It was taking longer than usual, but I could feel it starting to react a little bit just as Mr. Stone withdrew his hand.

"Give yourself an erection, Davey," said Mr. Stone in a friendly voice. "Can you do that for me?"

"I think so," I replied as I reached down and gripped my still-flaccid penis between my own fingers and thumb. I continued not to feel much of anything down there, but then to my relief I felt the familiar tingle that meant a boner was on the way. It still seemed like it was taking much longer than usual, however, which probably had something to do with the fact that I was nervous with the two of them watching me stand there and pleasure myself.

"I don't usually do it standing up," I said, trying to excuse the delay.

"Be my guest, Davey," said Mr. Stone as he patted a spot on the sofa beside him. I turned and sat on the sofa, then slouched into a reclined position. I grasped my penis once again and began to stroke it the way I most liked to do it. This time, I felt the tingle almost immediately. My penis began to engorge, and within 20 seconds or so it was fully erect.

"Good boy, Davey," Mr. Stone praised me. "Now let go."

I unhanded my boner and placed my arm at my side. My 2.5-inch (6 cm.) boner levitated from my hairless groin. All three of us stared at it.

"It's very beautiful, Davey," said Mr. Stone as he reached over and gave it a little squeeze. "Can you flex it for me?"

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant but I clenched all my muscles down there a few times. That made my boner wag up and down.

"Good boy, Davey," Mr. Stone repeated. "Just keep it hard, but don't touch it. Can you do that for me?"

I wasn't sure what the point was, but I nodded affirmatively as I continued to flex my muscles to make my penis bob up and down. I did it rhythmically, and that made it look like my boner was doing sit ups. I maintained the contractions as all three of us continued to stare at my penis like it was doing tricks.

For once in my life, I didn't feel at all self-conscious about what I was doing. I had been so worried about the party and all the pressure I felt on me concerning Pete that I think I was just relieved that things appeared to be going so well with Mr. Stone. I was perfectly content to sit naked next to him on the sofa doing boner calisthenics all night if that's what he wanted me to do.

As it turned out, that wasn't all he wanted me to do – not that I had any real expectation that it would be. As I continued to bob my penis up and down, Mr. Stone slowly untied his bathrobe sash and casually lowered his pajama bottoms and underwear halfway down his thighs. His large, mostly flaccid, dark-skinned, adult genitals came clearly into view. His penis lay gently on his right thigh. It looked like it was sleeping there comfortably.

"Why don't you kneel on the floor between my legs, Davey," Mr. Stone said softly. "Take your time. Whenever you're ready. I'd like you to keep your erection up the whole time you're kneeling, can you do that for me?"

I slid my hips back on the sofa and rose to my feet, then turned and knelt before Mr. Stone. I dared a quick glance in Aaron's direction. He sat impassively. He was looking right at me, but he didn't react at all to my gaze. He hadn't spoken a word for at least the last 15 minutes as I interacted one on one with Mr. Stone.

I turned my attention back to the part of the man's anatomy that I would be interacting with in a different way for the next little while. Mr. Stone's penis reminded me of Pete's. I thought it was a little darker and thicker, but the length seemed about the same and the head was very similar. The major difference between the two was that Pete sported a thick, unruly nest of pubic hair, while Mr. Stone had none. I could tell from the hair on his chest and legs that this was not his natural state; Mr. Stone must have trimmed and shaved his pubic bush to keep it like that.

Looking back on things now with the benefit of decades of adulthood behind me, I can theorize why Mr. Stone kept his genitals clean-shaven. Unlike Pete, who was mostly or entirely monogamous in his interactions with boys like me, Malcolm Stone apparently enjoyed a much more varied and extensive diet. Known in the industry as a man who could make or break careers – and not just of boys, but their agents, as well – Mr. Stone had a steady stream of young men and boys at his disposal for sex. Many of these boys were inexperienced young actors and models who were trying to jump-start their careers. They were not experienced sex partners. For young boys who are not used to it, the presence of pubic hair on and around adult genitals can be worrisome, especially when it comes to performing fellatio. I don't precisely remember my reaction to Pete's pubic hair when I first saw it and touched it, but I'm sure it took some time for me to get used to it. Mr. Stone no doubt alleviated at least some of the anxiety in his young sex partners by keeping his groin clean-shaven.

I was now face-to-face with that clean-shaven groin and Mr. Stone's still-flaccid penis. I reached for his cock with my right hand and gently lifted it from his thigh before taking the head in my mouth. He didn't move or say a word as I began to tongue and wet his glans.

I had already decided to go slow with this blowjob and show Mr. Stone what I could do. Unlike the sucks I had given Aaron and Mr. Stalteri earlier in the day, I didn't think there was any need to hurry this one. Pete had trained me well in the art of cocksucking and I wanted to impress Mr. Stone with my skills. In the back of my mind, I was aware that he could help me in my career if I performed well for him, but that thought was of minor importance compared to my desire to earn a good report from him and Aaron that I could use to get back in Pete's good graces. Acting and modeling were of secondary importance to me in that moment.

For these reasons, I knew that there was a lot riding on this blowjob even as I methodically began to suck Mr. Stone to an erection. I slowly masturbated his shaft with my right hand as I continue to lubricate his cockhead with my spit. As if on cue, his penis began to engorge and enlarge in my mouth. I slid my lips lower down his shaft and began to wet that part, too. I worked slowly and unhurriedly, trying to maximize his pleasure.

When I had his cockhead nicely hard, wet, and slippery, I began to bob my mouth up and down, taking the entire head and the first couple of inches of his shaft deep into the back of my mouth. When those parts also were suitably wet, I extracted his cock from my mouth and drew my lips and tongue up the entire length of his shaft, tracing the veiny contours with my open mouth from the base all the way up to the tip of his glans and back down the other side. I did this several times until his entire penis was wet and glistening with spit, and then I leaned down and did the same thing for his balls. I felt them flex inside his scrotum a few times as I bathed the dark, wrinkled skin with my mouth and tongue.

I took my time. When I resumed the blowjob, Mr. Stone's genitals were glistening wet with my saliva from his balls to the head of his cock. I grasped his slippery shaft with my right hand once again and proceeded to masturbate him slowly as I continued to pleasure him with my mouth. I sucked him at a leisurely pace, using my lips to apply friction to his shaft as I bobbed lower, and my tongue to swirl and bathe his cockhead and piss slit as I worked my way back up.

Neither man spoke as I thanked Mr. Stone for inviting me to the party. I took my time and did my best. Although I had always tried to please Pete, I think this was one of the nicest blowjobs I'd ever given. I had never thought so much rested on my performance and I certainly gave it my all. At the finale, the man gave a single grunt as he fed me his load in three or four spurts and oozes. I swallowed it all down into my tummy. My thank you was complete, and I looked up for his reaction with his cock still in my mouth. I had tried as hard as I could, and I just hoped that Mr. Stone was pleased. I was confident that Aaron would be happy with my effort and my attitude. What happened next was out of my hands, but my hopes were high that things were going well and that my effort and behavior would help me mend my rift with Pete.

To Be Continued