PZA: The Thespian

The remaining days of August passed by quickly and before I knew it, the calendar had changed over to September. I've always thought that September and not January was the real start to my new year. It always started with my birthday, then Labor Day happened – unless it fell on my birthday – and then I was back in school in a new grade. Everything in my life seemed to revolve around the school calendar, but the contrast between the lazy, laid-back days of the summer and the regimented, daily routine of school always took me by surprise.

This year was and wasn't different. The surprise element had been greatly diminished because I had been worrying a lot about starting my new school. I desperately wanted to get off to a good start with my new teachers and classmates, but I had a lot of anxiety about the fact that I was going to a new and much bigger school with people I didn't know, with new routines to figure out including how to ride a bus to get there. Pete could tell that I was nervous about school, and even my mother picked up on it. They both tried to talk to me about it, and while I suppose the talking helped, nothing could be said or done to rid me of my unease. Even a new backpack and my annual shopping trip with my mother for a new school wardrobe (most of which ironically was purchased at Sears) did little to relieve my worries.

Sometime in the middle of August, I received a letter from the junior high school principal welcoming me to my new school and providing me with a list of school supplies that I would need for 7^th grade, divided into mandatory and optional items. My mother took me shopping for the mandatory things, but I was so anxious about school that Pete eventually took me to the store a second time to buy the optional ones, too. I probably wouldn't need them, but I didn't want anything – least of all missing school supplies – to prevent me from getting off to a good start.

What was different was all the time I spent with Pete and my mother's gradual withdrawal from me. This year, my birthday fell on a Friday, and when he learned that my mother had nothing special planned, Pete offered to host us a barbeque in his backyard the following day. He told me to invite any friends I wanted to come, but I think by then he already knew that I didn't have any friends my own age to invite. I was hoping to change that this year at my new school. I wanted very much to have a same-age friend, but making friends had never been something I was good at.

My mother seemed okay with Pete hosting a party for me. They had been speaking more and more frequently by telephone since her trip out of town and my extended stay with him, and they seemed to be on the same wavelength when it came to me. My mother had taken to quoting and referring to him when giving me instructions, particularly if I disagreed with her. The plans for the party were made between them without any input from me. I knew that they had coordinated things because my mother ended up baking a chocolate layer cake for me that we brought with us to Pete's house. Pete had told me to bring my swim trunks, but I had no idea why since he didn't have a pool. Something was afoot, but neither of them would say what it was.

When we arrived at his house, Pete was in the backyard standing next to the grill and a table piled high with food for the party. He was wearing an apron and chatting with Mr. Chambers from the St. Clair Players. I hadn't expected to see Mr. Chambers and was both surprised and a bit flattered that he had come to my party. He was one of my favorite people with the Players – after Pete, of course.

"Davey!" Mr. Chambers exclaimed when he saw me. He was sporting a genuine smile.

"Hi, Mr. Chambers!" I replied with a smile of my own. I went to him, and he gave me a little hug, then clasped his hands to my forearms.

"Well, you certainly have grown since I last saw you!" he said as he looked me up and down. "I hope you don't mind me crashing your birthday party. Pete invited me."

"No, it's- it's nice of you," I said with a nod. Mr. Chambers was a nice man, and I was glad that he had come, even if I didn't buy his assessment of my growth. As far as I could tell, I hadn't grown an inch all year, much less in the time since the cast party, but I no longer let that stuff worry me. I tried not to think about it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Pierce," he said warmly. "You have quite a talented young man there," he added with a gesture in my direction. "He was quite a pleasure to have on set," he told her as they shook hands.

"In fact," he continued, "I've been wanting to tell you for months that Davey is one of the finest child performers I've seen in my entire acting career," he continued, "which as you may be able to tell, spans many decades now," he said with a little laugh. "His role in Parasols at Night was one of the more challenging child parts I've seen in recent years, and he played it flawlessly, right down to the Cockney accent – although if you ask me, the accent was out place for a play set in Cheltenham. Not that an American audience would be likely to notice, of course."

My mother didn't seem to know exactly how to respond. She had seen me act in the play, of course, but I think most of the nuances of acting were lost on her, as was the difference between the English accents spoken in London and Cheltenham. To be honest, the difference was lost on me, too. For my role as Sebastian McCardle, I simply emulated the English accent that Pete and Mr. Hamm had demonstrated to me.

"Thank you," my mother said with a big smile and a nod as she tried to come up with something to say. "Davey enjoyed working with the Players and making so many new friends."

"The acting community here is small but tightly knit," replied Mr. Chambers, "although Pete tells me that Davey has moved on to bigger and brighter things."

"He's still open to the stage, Milton," chimed in Pete as he clamped a hand on my right shoulder from behind and gave it a little squeeze. "Isn't that right, Davey?"

He was right, and I nodded. Working with the Players on Parasols had been one of the highlights of my life. Once I had overcome my anxieties and my fear of Mr. Hamm, I'd had a ball. I had Pete to thank for that – Pete and his unconventional cure for stage fright, which is what had kicked things off between the two of us so many months ago.

"Well, then I'm sure there will be other opportunities with the Players," replied Mr. Chambers with a smile. "And when you're old enough, I hope you'll consider joining our ranks. We have a lot of old fogies like me on the playbill, but not nearly enough young people."

"I will," I replied with a nod. At the time, I really meant it. Acting was something I was good at and felt comfortable doing. I also was learning that the ability to act was a valuable life skill that could help me to navigate situations and relationships that were difficult for me. Malcolm's party had been a case in point. I hadn't needed to adopt a completely different persona to get myself through the weekend, but the knowledge that I could have done so at any time had helped me quite a bit.

My mother seemed to have disappeared. I happened to look over at the picnic table and saw the cake that she had baked for me sitting there under a glass cover. It looked yummy. Next to it on the table were three wrapped gifts: one big, one medium, and one small. I felt a stirring of excitement as I realized that they were for me. What could they be? I wanted to open them, but I knew instinctively that I shouldn't appear too eager. Especially with this being an adult-only party, and with me now being a big kid of 12, the situation called for preternatural maturity and patience.

Except that the party wasn't adult-only. As I was peering at the table with the gifts, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and looked over to see Mr. Chambers's grandchildren, Ellen and Benny, walking through the gate into the backyard. Although they were dressed in shorts and t-shirts, they had towels draped across their shoulders as if they were going swimming. That left me as perplexed as ever, and I turned to look at Pete's backyard to verify that he did not have a pool and hadn't had one installed in the last couple of days. Indeed, there was no pool.

I remembered Ellen and Benny from the cast party. We had met while swimming in their grandfather's pool. They had seemed nice at the time and we ended up spending most of the party swimming together, but I hadn't been a people person then and had been too shy to try to get to know them. Nonetheless, I was very happy to see them now, and I greeted them with a welcoming smile.

"Happy birthday!" he exclaimed as he handed me a small, gift-wrapped package, which now meant that I had four gifts to open for my birthday. I took it gratefully. Ellen came up behind her brother wearing a big smile and echoing her brother's birthday greeting. She also seemed happy to see me.

I was both stunned and pleased that Mr. Chamber's grandchildren had come to my party. I barely knew them, having only met them once, but they were kids around my age. I had always wanted friends my own age and I hoped to get some at my new school, but the truth was, I was more comfortable in the company of adults. Adults seemed to like me more than other kids did, whether it was Pete taking an interest in me, Mr. Stone talking to me about baseball, or Mr. Emerson jokingly offering to adopt me.

Obviously, especially with the benefit of 20-20 hindsight, I know what motivated the friendships I had with these new adults when I was 11 and 12 years old, but the thing is, I knew it then, too. I wasn't stupid. Even as a preteen, I knew that sex was an important part of my relationship with Pete – maybe even the most important factor – but I felt then that there was more to it than that, and I still believe that to this day. Adults seemed to like me then, and I liked them, too. It may be a stupid analogy, but married couples often enjoy each other as friends even if sex is an important part of their relationship, so why shouldn't it be that way between other people?

At 11-12, I thought it was like that between Pete and me. We weren't married, of course – our relationship then was more like mentor and protégé – but I reveled in his company, and I think he enjoyed mine. In fact, I'm sure he did. We spent part of every single day together over that summer, often hours and hours of just being together, and even though not one of those days went past without us having sex, I really don't think he could have stood having a kid around all the time if he didn't have at least some feelings for me. It couldn't have been all about the sex and the business stuff. Pete was unmarried and childless, and I think I checked a lot of boxes for him as his companion, his de facto son, and his slave boy. I know that I loved the man with all my heart, and I believe that he loved me back at least a little bit in his own way. Even now as an adult, I choose to believe that, and it's my choice to make.

As I said I was hoping to make some same age friends at my new school. I guess like a lot of kids, I was afraid that nobody would like me, but I had the added problem of knowing that given my size, I likely would be the runt of the entire school. I knew I would be the youngest kid in my year. If I had been born just a day later, I would have been in the year below and been one of the oldest. I expected literally to be the smallest kid in my grade and school, and it isn't easy to make friends with kids your own age when you look like a little kid to them. As a case in point, Benny was only 10, but he already was a couple of inches [5 cm] taller than I was. We looked like we were in the same grade, but he was going into 5^th, and I was going into 7^th. Ellen towered over me by at least a foot [30 cm], and she was no more than six months my senior.

I had a ball at my 12^th birthday party. It was the last birthday that I would celebrate with anything even resembling a normal kid's party, but I didn't know that at the time. I didn't know a lot of things back then. The summer of 1978 was a season of change for me in so many ways. For better or for worse, it marked my transition from a little boy to the older, wiser, and savvier young man that I would become. Over the past three months I had grown even closer to Pete, taken two trips to the big city of Chicago, been introduced to the world of boy sex and porn, grown apart from my mother, and learned a lot of things and life lessons along the way. I was about to enter junior high school, where I knew that the pace of change in my world would accelerate.

"Normally at a birthday party you eat and have cake before opening presents, but we're going to do things in reverse order today," announced Pete with my mother at my side. "Come on over here, Davey, and let's get started on those gifts."

I was more than happy to comply with Pete's decision. Including the one that Ellen and Benny had brought me, I now had four gifts sitting on the table with the cake, and I was eager to open them. I tried not to let my eagerness show as I sat down on one of the benches and the others gathered around.

"I guess I'll open this one first," I declared as I reached for the present that the kids had brought. It was small and lightweight in my hands, and I admit that I didn't have much in the way of expectations for it. I forced myself to unwrap it carefully as if I were conserving the wrapping paper for reuse. My mother always did that, and I had seen other adults do it, too. One of the things that's required when you get older is to pretend that you're not really all that enthusiastic when you open a gift. I tried not to show my excitement.

My first gift was a new pair of swim goggles, which was quite thoughtful of Ellen and Benny, since the only other time I had met them was at their grandfather's house swimming in the pool.

"Thanks," I said, acknowledging them with a nod and a big smile. "I can really use these."

Benny and Ellen were smiling as I turned to the gift I really wanted to open, which was the biggest one on the table. I thought that I had shown true restraint by opening one of the smaller gifts first, but now that I had that out of the way, I could go for the big banana. The package was heavy and had my imagination going before I peeled back the first piece of tape. I forced myself to work the package open slowly, although when some of the tape caught and wouldn't dislodge, I tore the paper with a sheepish "oops" as if it had been an accident. It hadn't been. Nobody seemed to mind.

I peeled the wrapping paper off to reveal a brand-new Wham-O Slip 'N Slide. If you haven't played with one of those things at least once in your life, you have missed out. They are great fun, and now I understood why Pete wanted me to bring my swim trunks to the party. I was glad I hadn't forgotten it, as the only other garments I had at Pete's house in that category were the tiny red Speedo he had bought for me months ago and the pouch that Mr. Stalteri had made for me, and I didn't think my mother would approve if she saw me wearing either of those. Of course, she would have approved even less of the bondage gear that I wore when Pete and I played sex games together.

I was shocked that Mr. Chambers had bought me a gift let alone such an amazing one. I hadn't even been introduced to him when I worked with the Players and knew him only as the host of the cast party. When I looked up, he was beaming ear to ear, which only served to remind me how friendly everyone had been when I worked on Parasols at Night.

"Oh, pshaw!" he said with a chuckle. "Who comes to a birthday party and without a present! Besides, I had a couple of ulterior motives here, whom I think you've already met."

"I'll get it set up for you kids while you're finishing opening your presents, Davey," said Pete as he took the Slip 'N Slide from me, walked around to the other side of the picnic table and began to work on getting the factory-sealed plastic package open.

I reached for the medium-sized package next, which I knew right away was from my mother. I could tell from the wrapping paper, which she had been using to wrap presents with for at least the last two years. The package was rectangular and light in my hands. I carefully pulled the paper back. Inside was a brand-new Coleco Electronic Quarterback handheld football game!

While I was much more into baseball than football, Electronic Quarterback had been all the rage at my school, and the tell-tale, irrepressible sound of a touchdown being scored had resulted in more than one of them being confiscated by an irate teacher. I guess you could say that these first-generation handheld video games portended the arrival of cell phones in classrooms 15 years later. Back in my day, these were the coveted electronic devices that every kid wanted to have, myself included.

"Thanks, Mom," I said as I rose from my seat to give her a little hug. I had mentioned the game to her earlier in the summer but hadn't asked for it as a gift as I knew that money was tight. I honestly had not intended for her to buy it for me, but I was thrilled that she had. She hugged me back as Benny gave me an envious "Oh, cool!" that confirmed how much my new gift was coveted.

"There's a pack of nine-volt batteries in there," my mother said as she gave my hair a little tussle and steered me back to the table.

I wanted to play Electronic Quarterback right away but knew that it would have to wait. Pete had unrolled the Slip 'N Slide across the back yard and gone for his garden hose at the side of the house. I reached for the last gift, but my mother stopped me from opening it.

"I think that's from Pete," she remarked. Why don't you wait for him to see you open it?"

Trailing the garden hose behind him, Pete returned to the picnic table to see me holding the last gift in my hands. It was the smallest of the boxes, and the lightest, too.

I worked the package open carefully, which took a while because Pete had really taped the flaps of the wrapping paper down and there weren't all that many places to grab it. I finally got one of the flaps undone and used it to pull the wrapping paper off, tearing it from the box underneath. It was a small box and very light in my hand, and I had no idea what could be inside.

Everyone around me was silent as I removed the lid and placed it on the table. Inside was what looked like a silver chain with a medallion hanging from it. I pulled it free from the box to see that it was a necklace. I peered closely at the medallion and saw the figure of a man who looked like he was wearing a toga. The words "Saint Genesius" formed an arc along the bottom of the round medallion.

"Saint Genesius is the patron saint of thespians, Davey," explained Pete as I held the necklace up by its silver chain. "He's brought good luck to actors for centuries, and if you wear that necklace, he'll do the same for you. I know he's helped me out a lot over the years, and I'm not even religious."

"Thanks," I said with a hitch in my voice. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift, and it came from my best friend in the whole world. I was touched. I had no idea how much the necklace cost, but it looked like real silver to me. It was a generous gift for a 12-year-old, and I knew it. I would be sure to thank him in my own way when the others weren't around.

"Thanks everyone," I remembered to say as I looked around and made eye contact with my friends and mother.

"That Slip 'N Slide thing is almost ready," said Pete, "but there's one more thing we need to take care of before you kids start in on it. Sharon, would you like to do the honors?" he asked my mother.

"It's in the garage," said Pete as he motioned her toward the side of the house that led to the front.

I didn't know what this was about even as my mother nodded and started on her way. I truly had no idea, but all of us stood silent and watching as she walked out of view. I stood up from the picnic table as I waited for her to return. It seemed like a long wait to me, but it probably was less than a minute. Nobody said a word as we all waited for her to return.

When she reemerged into view, she was wheeling a bicycle by her side. My mouth gaped open in surprise at the sight of it. I knew right away what it was. It wasn't just any bike. I could tell from the rectangular shape of the seat that it was a Huffy. It was all black with white fenders, and it sported a big, oval "54" sign under the crossbar. I knew the brand and the model. It was a Huffy Thunder Road, a bike that was all the rage in 1978.

"Oh, wow," said Benny. He was the first to speak. I couldn't, as I had been rendered speechless. It was all I could do to stop myself from crying. I knew that Huffy bikes were expensive. There was no way that my mother had enough money for a gift like that, even if she had used the money that I had given her from the Sears shoot.

I couldn't take my eyes from it as my mother wheeled the bike closer. It was beautiful. Sleek and dark, it looked almost menacing. It looked like a motorbike with its wide, knobby tires and racing number.

"Mom," I said as she wheeled the bike across the lawn. It was too much. I knew we couldn't afford it. As much as I wanted a new bike and coveted the Huffy, getting our old house back was more important to me, as was seeing my mother happy once again. I could be a selfish, immature kid sometimes – maybe even most of the time – but when it came to my mother's happiness, I didn't compromise.

"This is a combined gift from Pete and me to you," she explained. "It's okay, Davey."

My eyes misted with tears as I shook my head. I simply couldn't hold them back. I looked to my mother, to Pete, and back to my mother once again. I still hadn't taken the bike from her.

"Of course we're sure," said Pete as he clasped his hands on my shoulders and gently nudged me closer to the bike.

I pawed at my eyes as I took the bike from her and stared down at the corrugated-grip handlebars. I could barely see them through my tears. I felt embarrassed for my emotional reaction, and I didn't want Mr. Chambers or his grandchildren to see me crying.

"I'll be right back," I managed to say without my voice cracking much as I turned the bike around and began to wheel it quickly back along the side of the house. Once I had it on the driveway, I mounted it and rode off onto the sidewalk as fast as my legs could pedal.

I went all the way around the block on my new bike, pedaling fast, weaving, and racing from the sidewalk to the street and back, even popping a wheelie on it for the first time. Always keeping at least one hand on the handlebars, I alternated wiping the tears from my eyes, the wind in my face helping them to dry as I rode.

In that moment, riding my new bike, I felt truly loved. I didn't have a big family or a lot of friends, but I had a mother and a father figure in my life that meant the world to me. I knew that they had spoken by telephone about my birthday and had agreed that Pete would host it, but I had no idea that they had collaborated on a gift together like this. I truly was surprised. I hadn't been aware how often they spoke, but the arrangements for my birthday party now gave me a sense. It also meant that I didn't need to be as guarded about what my mother knew about Pete. It appeared that she had accepted him as a presence in my life. They wouldn't have gone in together on a birthday present for me if that weren't true.

To this day, I still am not sure what my mother knew – or more importantly, what she thought – about my relationship with Pete. There was a time after Parasols ended when I had been spending a lot of time with Pete and he had been spending a lot of money on me. She was standoffish with me whenever I mentioned his name, and although she never stopped me from visiting him for my "acting lessons," she made it clear to me that she didn't approve of our relationship. I thought at the time that she might have been jealous of us, and of course she was going through her own problems.

Over time, however, things had changed, and she now seemed to accept Pete's role in my life and even follow his lead on the direction it would take. After all, the acting and modeling was not her idea at all, and even with the promise of me bringing extra money into our household and creating a college fund for my future, I don't think she ever was fully behind the effort. But she deferred to Pete on that, and she allowed me to see him for hours and hours every day. Even when she was working, she knew where I was. She also knew that I didn't have any friends my own age and that I was spending all my free time with a grown man who was five times my age.

Over time I am sure she must have wondered if anything went on, particularly when more and more stories came into the public about abuse, but she never once asked me. I'm also not sure I was as successful as I would have liked to be in hiding from her the physical evidence of my sexual activities with Pete. Usually, I showered at Pete's house before I came home to clean the scent and traces of sex from my body. Pete was a big man, and he tended to sweat a lot when he exerted himself, including when he fucked me. I also got his sweat and other scents on my face when I rimmed him. Not all his semen ended up neatly in my mouth or bottom either, and the spunk he did deposit in my bottom had a tendency to leak out into my underwear after I went home.

My mother still did all the laundry at our house, and while no kid my age wanted to think of his mother inspecting his underwear, I'm not sure how she could have missed the sight and smell of Pete's cum in my white-cotton briefs. Not to mention that the wash didn't always get the cum stains out, and most of my undies had a uniform, yellowish patch of discoloration on the seat, which looked very different from a pee stain, although she probably put it down to me growing up and doing what all adolescent boys did. As I said before, my mother was not stupid, but she never said anything to me, nor to my knowledge to Pete, about what we were doing together. Consequently, whether it was due to unawareness or her choosing to ignore the signs, the topic never came up. Not even later, when at times she was drunk and said some hurtful things, did she ever accuse us of having sex together.

I think she tolerated my relationship with Pete for a few reasons, not the least was that she could tell that I was happy being with him. The man was a good mentor and father-figure for me. My mother probably could tell that I was happier and more confident being under his wing. I had broadened my horizons working with the Players and having a major role in Parasols. I had traveled. I had seen things. I had gone to a Cubs game. I had modeled for Sears. I was growing up, and my mother knew that Pete was filling a role in my life that despite everything she had done to raise me and give me a good life, she would not be able to fill on her own. Of course, at that time she was having enough difficulties looking after herself, so subconsciously at least I think she was relieved to let someone else take on some of the responsibility.

She knew how happy I was to be with the man, and maybe she sensed something that was different about me long before wokeness made it okay to be gay. I never was very good at making friends my own age, and I had no interest in girls whatsoever. In later years I suspect that she may have known which way I trended and just accepted it. Whatever it was, she grew to accept Pete and his presence in my life, and I am grateful that she never made the situation uncomfortable for me. They couldn't marry and have Pete officially become a parent to me, but unofficially, that's exactly what he was in my life. He was the parent I didn't have, the friend I needed, and the partner who taught me about sex in all its different forms.

The one thing I am confident she didn't know about was my extra-curricular activities in Chicago with other men and boys beyond Pete. I don't think she would have tolerated that for a moment had she known, but Pete and Aaron did an excellent job providing the necessary cover for my activities. Pete may have been new to all that and I think he was, but Aaron had done it before, and he knew just how to deal with the parents and guardians of the boys in his stable. I had learned from Mr. Emerson that most of the kids involved in "the industry" came from foster homes whose parents were more than happy to have their charges generate even more than the usual monthly income that the Department provided to them. Aaron made it easy for everyone to look the other way, but in my mother's case, I don't think she knew. She wasn't stupid by any means, but she certainly wasn't sophisticated, and nobody would call her worldly. She displayed that photo from my first (and only) Sears shoot proudly and never asked why there wasn't another.

The rest of the party was fantastic fun. I changed into my swim trunks and Benny, Ellen, and I spent the better part of an hour slipping and sliding our way across Pete's backyard on a sheet of plastic, slick with cold water from the garden hose. Ellen stuck to her own style, but Benny and I tried every way we could think of to hurtle our bodies down the Slip N' Slide, only to jump up at the end and run back to do it all over again. By the time we sat down to eat with the adults we were covered with mud and grass, and our skin was pink and abraded from all the sliding we had done.

My birthday dinner that year was barbeque chicken and hamburgers, potato salad, pasta salad, and a Jell-O mold with mandarin oranges floating in it. Everyone sang happy birthday to me as I sat dressed in my swimsuit before the chocolate layer cake with 12 little candles burning brightly. It looked like a lot of candles to me, and I thought I was very grown up to warrant so many. I blew them out to a round of applause. Afterwards, my other gifts sat neglected as Benny and I returned to the Slip 'N Slide and Ellen chatted with the adults. It was almost seven o'clock when the kids' mother came into the backyard and was introduced by her father-in-law to my mother and Pete. After taking a few moments to visit, she told Ellen and Benny it was time for them to go.

Mr. Chambers left soon afterwards with a final happy birthday wish and a fatherly squeeze to my shoulder. He was a nice man, and I was glad that he had come and even happier that he had brought the Slip N' Slide and his grandchildren. Although Benny was 18 months my junior, we had gotten along very well, and I was starting to think that we might be friends. Indeed, we traded telephone numbers with each other before he departed, although I knew that he lived some distance across town that was too far for kids to travel even on bikes.

"Let me help you clean up, Pete," offered my mother when the others were gone and it was just the three of us once again.

"There's no need, Sharon," Pete demurred. "I'll get everything, and what I don't get tonight, I'll get tomorrow morning. I hope you two had fun."

"It was amazing," I told him with genuine affection in my heart. "Thanks, Pete. For the presents and everything." I walked to the table again, where my goggles, game, and necklace were neatly arrayed. I picked up the box with the necklace and opened it once again.

"Of course you can," said Pete as he approached and took it from my hands. "It wouldn't have been a good idea to wear it while you were playing with that thing, though," he said as he motioned to the Slip N' Slide.

I stood still as Pete slipped the chain over my head and settled it around my neck. I looked down and saw that the St. Genesius medallion hung halfway down my chest between my nipples.

"You should wear that whenever your costuming permits it, Davey," explained Pete. "If you can't wear it, make sure you have it in your pocket. Keep St. Genesius close and he'll give you could luck whenever you're acting or modeling."

"I will," I said with a nod as I rolled the medallion between my fingers. It was a vow that I meant to keep.

"Pete, can I help," offered my mother once again as she surveyed the carnage that was Pete's backyard.

"Hmmm, I tell you what," said Pete. "Sharon, why don't you head out? You've been working hard with all the preparations. The birthday boy can stay and help with the cleanup, and afterwards, he can ride his bike home." He turned to me with a big smile. "You'd like that a lot, wouldn't you, big guy?"

I sure would like it. Staying behind after my mother left would give me some alone time with Pete, and I wanted to thank him properly for hosting the most amazing birthday party I'd ever had.

"Yes!" I said with huge up-and-down nods of my head that I alternated between him and mother.

"I guess that's fine," agreed my mother who was clearly wanting to get away. I suspected she wanted to get home for a drink, as there had been no alcohol for the adults at the party.

"But don't stay too late," she added. "I don't want you riding on the street after dark."

"No, Pete, you've already done too much," replied my mother. "Aren't you exhausted?"

"I'm a bit tired, but not too bad," said the man with a chuckle. "I'm just glad everyone had a good time."

"Davey, make sure to help Mr. Volcker clean up, but don't shilly-shally," said my mother. "I want you home well before dark."

"Tell you what, Sharon," said Pete. "Why don't you let Davey stay overnight with me? That way we can get the cleanup out of the way without being rushed, and he can ride his bike back home tomorrow morning."

I could see my mother hesitate, but Pete's proposed solution was a good one and it seemed to check a lot of boxes. If I stayed over, I would be able to help fully with the cleanup, I wouldn't have to risk riding home at dusk, nobody would have to drive me home if it became too dark, and I could ride home tomorrow in daylight at my leisure. It also meant she could relax this evening on her own.

"Davey's never a bother," replied Pete, "and besides, I'll be going to bed. He can curl up on the couch downstairs and watch TV until it goes off the air for all I care."

My mother nodded and I knew that I was home free. I wanted to pump my fist and shout "Yes!" but I refrained. Sleeping over with Pete would only enhance what already had been an awesome birthday.

"Alright then," said my mother as she turned to me. "You can stay. But be good for Mr. Volker, do everything he tells you and don't overstay your welcome tomorrow, Davey. I'm sure that Mr. Volcker has things to do."

"I won't, mom," I replied dutifully. I watched as my mother stepped toward Pete and gave him a perfunctory embrace.

"Thank you for hosting – this was wonderful," she said before turning to me. "Davey, be sure to thank Mr. Volker for everything."

Oh, boy was I going to thank Pete for everything. I was going to thank him over, and over, and over again, with lots and lots of tongue, but I didn't tell my mother that, of course.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked me once we heard the Capri's engine start in the driveway.

"You know I didn't keep you here overnight just to slave over the cleanup, right?" he asked with a poke to my upper arm.

I grinned sheepishly in the knowledge that we both had the same thing on our minds. Sex with Pete would be the perfect cap to what already had been a perfect day, and I felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of it.

"Inside," commanded Pete. "Get naked and wait for me upstairs. Here – take this on your way," he said as he handed me the half-eaten Jell-O mold."

"You should see your back – you're completely covered in mud, Davey," he said as he shook his head at me. "Get your trunks off so I can hose you down."

I put the Jell-O mold on the table as Pete went to detach the garden hose from the Slip N' Side. Although his backyard was fully enclosed with fencing, it still was broad daylight out and I didn't relish being stark naked for the whole world to see me. What if anyone should happen to come for a visit? I stood there sheepishly as he went to the side of house and turned on the tap. He came back holding the running hose in his hand.

"I said off with it," he reminded me as he came close. "You're not going inside all covered with grass and mud, little slave."

I looked at him nervously. "Pete," I said as I looked around, showing with my eyes what my concern was.

I knew better than to argue so I did as I was told, peeling my swim trunks down my legs and stepping out of them. As soon as I stood back up, Pete held his thumb over the nozzle and hit me with the spray from the hose in a freezing, arctic blast.

"Ohhh, ohhh," I gasped and danced in place as the freezing water hit my chest and dribbled down my body. I gasped and shivered as he sprayed up and down my body and legs for far longer than I thought was necessary.

I turned around, hunching my shoulders and clenching my butt cheeks together as I shivered. The day was warm and sunny, but the temperature of the water coming from the garden hose somehow seemed sub-artic. I hadn't noticed it so much on the Slip N' Slide, but the water was frigidly cold as Pete blasted the mud from my shoulders and lower back.

"Bend over!" he ordered, before turning the hose on my butt. After spraying my cheeks down, he placed his thumb over the nozzle to narrow the stream and squirted me hard directly on my butt hole. The freezing water caused me to squeal and shriek.

"Okay," he said as he stopped drenching me. "I guess we don't have a towel out here for you. In the house with you and try not to drip all over everything. Wait for me."

Freezing to death and eager to be inside and out of view, I took off toward the back door, clutching my arms to my chest.

"Get back here and take the Jell-O mold!" I heard Pete say as I raced across the grass. I slipped and stumbled to a stop, turned around, and scampered back for the Jell-O mold.

"I swear you would forget your own head if it wasn't fastened to your shoulders, little slave," said Pete as he shook his head at me and went to turn off the hose once again.

I made it back into the house this time and placed the Jell-O mold in the refrigerator. Sill freezing and shivering, I used a much-too-small kitchen towel to dry myself off as best I could. I was cold and excited as I waited for him in his bedroom, and I also was quite pleased that we had had the same idea once my mother left. I would much rather spend the evening having sex with Pete than cleaning up. As far as I was concerned, cleanup could wait until tomorrow morning.

It wasn't long before I heard Pete's footsteps trudging up the stairs. The sound alone thrilled me, and I could feel that strange, full-body tingle of excitement race through my veins. I wasn't sure what it was, but it made me eager for sex, and I liked the feeling. My penis liked it too, as I could feel it coming to life despite how cold I still felt. I was standing there shivering with my arms around my chest as Pete entered the bedroom and began to disrobe.

"Take the chain off, Davey," he said as he plucked his socks from his feet. "I want you completely naked and kneeling for what we're going to do next."

I wasn't at all sure what he had planned, but I carefully snaked the St. Genesius chain from around my neck and placed it on the bedside table. I gladly would have had sex with it on because it had come from Pete. I treasured it for that reason.

"Kneel on the floor, slave," instructed Pete as he unbuttoned his short-sleeve shirt. "Back straight, arms at your sides."

I wasn't sure what this was all about, but I went to my knees obediently and assumed the position that he had specified. I tucked my arms against my sides as I knelt ramrod straight. I assumed that we were going to roleplay as we so often did. Indeed, Pete seemed to be in a master-and-slave kind of mood. I watched the man's every move as he removed his pants and then slid his boxers down his legs and stepped out of them. The big, hairy, manly body that I had become so used to came into naked view in all its glory, complete with a familiar cock that already was nearly fully erect.

"We're going to do a little ritual now that's super important, Davey, so I want you to take it seriously, okay?" Pete said.

A ritual? Super important? It sounded exciting to me. Pete had even called me Davey, which he only did in private when we were having a Very Serious Conversation, so I knew that something important was afoot. I watched as he retrieved the St. Genesius necklace from the bedside table.

Pete came closer with the necklace in hand until he was standing just a foot away from me. His erect penis was at the same level as my face.

"I bought you this not only because the St. Genesius medallion can bring you luck as a thespian and a model," Pete explained, "but the chain itself is symbolic of our relationship. Do you know why?"

I really wanted to know why, but I wasn't sure what he meant. I racked my brain but couldn't come up with an answer.

"Not … really," I reluctantly admitted after a few moments of hard thinking. I felt so stupid sometimes.

"This isn't just a necklace, Davey. When you're wearing it, it's a collar, and it means that you belong to me. It's a slave collar just as much as the one you've worn here, but this one you will wear in public, and at school, and even at home with your mom. Even when you're not with me, it will remind you that you're my little slave boy, capiche?"

I began to nod even before I fully capiched. The meaning of Pete's words sunk in as I reviewed them in my mind. The chain was a collar, and it symbolized my relationship with him. It meant that Pete was my master, and I was his slave, and in that moment, at that age, I wanted to be his slave more than anything in the entire world.

"Capiche," I said with a solemn nod. This seemed serious and real, and I was treating it that way. I didn't think we were roleplaying, nor did I think that Pete was acting.

"I need you to repeat after me, Davey," said Pete as he spread the chain out between his fingers and held it over my head.

I repeated all the words as clearly and firmly as I could. My body was shaking, and I couldn't tell whether it was from the lingering cold of the garden hose, my excitement just from being with my friend, the tingles I had from the prospect of sex, or the solemnity of the ceremony that had made me his slave.

"Bow your head, Davey," instructed Pete, and as I did so he slipped the chain over my head and around my neck. When I felt it in place, I looked up at Pete once again.

"I now pronounce us master and slave," he said with a solemnity. "You may kiss my cock."

I felt a tingle in my loins as I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his glans.

Leaning back toward his penis and tilting my head, I eased the man's cockhead into my mouth then knelt up straight once again as Pete inched his hips a bit closer to my face. I looked up as he reached down and grasped my head in both hands.

"Just as you have given your vows to me as my slave, I will now give you my vows as your master."

"I, Peter Volcker," he began, speaking very slowly and methodically, "promise to advise, train, mentor, educate, and discipline my little slave, Davey Pierce, teach him everything I know, love him, cherish him, help to raise him, keep him on the straight and narrow, give him opportunities to succeed in life, lift him up, brighten his days, care for him in sickness, find joy with him in health, revel in his company, take pleasure in his companionship and his body, and treasure him like the son I never had."

I was amazed by the force of Pete's words. I had tears in my eyes by the end of his recitation and felt nearly overcome. I hadn't expected any of this to happen, and I don't know how he pulled it off, but Pete's little ceremony had full buy-in from me from the moment he had sent me to my knees. The collar, the words, and the solemnity of the occasion had me hook, line, and sinker. Call it silly if you will, but to this day, the words he said to me with his cock in my mouth were among the best, most uplifting and joyous words that I ever heard spoken in my entire life.

It seemed to me that Pete had memorized the words to our oaths from some script or slave manual, and maybe he had. Or perhaps he had come up with them on the fly, as I knew from personal experience that he could ad lib with the best of them. Whatever the case, the words he spoke held deep meaning for me. He had used the word love, and even if he hadn't come right out and said he loved me, it was close enough for me. I craved his love and attention like noting else.

With his cock still in my mouth, and his hands still gripping my head, Pete used his thumbs to wipe the tears from my cheeks and eyes.

"We're now going to end this ritual and seal our oaths to each other with a symbolic act that will demonstrate your loyalty and obedience to me as my slave. Nod if you understand."

I nodded, and just to be sure, I gave his cockhead a little lick with my tongue.

"Good slave," said Pete. "Now, I'm going to feed you my pee a little bit at a time, and you are going to drink it down. This will demonstrate your obedience to me and my mastery over you. Nod if you understand."

I nodded again. I did understand. I didn't think Pete knew that I had already done something like this with Mr. Tal. He hadn't made me drink his pee, but he had peed on me and in my mouth, and I had tasted his urine and probably even swallowed some. I sensed that Pete was trying to come up with something that we hadn't done before, and I understood the symbolism of it. I just hoped Aaron hadn't said anything as for some reason it was important to me at that moment that Pete didn't know what I had done with Mr. Tal.

With that, Pete released his urinary sphincter and let a flow of warm, bitter urine enter my mouth. It tasted even worse than I thought it would, but I dutifully swallowed it down.

"Good slave," Pete encouraged as he waited until I had finished swallowing and slowly gave me some more.

Over the next several minutes, Pete kept peeing in my mouth in manageable little spurts, and I kept right on swallowing it down into my tummy. He was quite patient with me, never letting his stream overfill my mouth and never starting up again until he sensed I was fully ready. He demonstrated truly remarkable control over his sphincter, as once I started to pee, I couldn't stop my flow with my sphincter muscles alone for all the tea in China.

It took a long time, and Pete made me drink the entire contents of his bladder. I didn't like drinking his urine and my tummy was objecting before the end of it, but I think that was part of Pete's point. He wanted me to remember this ritual and have it sink in, and he certainly accomplished his goal. Over those five full minutes, I learned that an adult human male makes a lot of urine. I also confirmed that it is bitter, vile, and nasty stuff – although I already knew that from Mr. Tal. What I also learned, however, was that the extent and depth of my love and dedication to Pete Volcker knew no bounds. There was nothing I would not do for him. That was not the last day he made me prove it to him, but it was a very important step in that process.

After the ritual and for the next couple of hours, Pete and I had sex. I sucked him with a drawn-out, delicious, deep-throat thank-you blowjob, rimmed him for a long time while he recuperated, and then lay on my stomach and spread my legs as he took me from behind. In between those activities, we chatted and frolicked naked on the bed, touching and caressing each other's naked bodies, reveling in each other's company as much as the physical contact.

"You kids really had me going watching you sliding half naked on that contraption," Pete confided during one of our rest periods.

"Well, Benny is awfully cute," replied Pete as he flicked my nose, "and even Ellen looked pretty good in that one-piece, didn't you think so?"

I didn't so "think," and I suspected that Pete didn't so "think" either. I was pretty sure by now that girls held no interest for Pete, nor did they do anything for me. But Benny was a boy, and it was at least possible that he could be a rival.

"Oh, yes he was. You made quite a sight out there in your tight little swimsuit little slave, although the Speedo would have been even better. Milton couldn't take his eyes off you."

"Want to bet?" asked Pete with another flick to my nose and another one after that.

"Quite," Pete replied. "It's an open secret for those who need to know, but I don't want you to say anything about it to anyone else."

"Oh, little slave," he sighed. "You have so much to learn about life," he said as he stroked my back.

"Was Mr. Chambers really looking at me?" I asked as I aimlessly combed my fingers through his chest hair. I liked to do that. Pete was a hairy man.

Pete's response took me aback. Notice? How was I supposed to notice? I had been playing nonstop with Benny and Ellen the entire time. I must have slid down the Slip 'N Slide over one hundred times. I wasn't sure that I had looked at Mr. Chambers even once the entire time.

"Didn't you notice the looks you got at the party in Chicago?" asked Pete. "Aaron said you were quite the hit there. And don't tell me you had any trouble picking up on what those guys liked."

"Little slave, you need to pay more attention to the world around you," admonished Pete. "You are 12, right?"

"For starters, did it even occur to you that when you went to that party, Aaron was introducing you to people he knew? To his friends? To people he could trust?"

"What about the party? Did you detect any themes there? Did it seem like a bunch of like-minded people to you?"

I nodded again. I was starting to feel a little bit stupid under his interrogation, which was not uncommon for me.

"Why do you think I invited Milton to your party?" asked Pete. "And more importantly, why do you think he agreed to come?"

"Of course he's like that," said Pete dismissively. "His passion is theater. He's been divorced for 40 years. Being gay isn't even something he tries to hide anymore. But do you know what he does try to hide, at least from some people?"

"Do you really need a billboard?" asked Pete scornfully. "What have I already told you?"

"I said he was staring at you. He's into boys, Davey. He got you that slippy-slide thing so he could ogle you in your swim trunks."

"Benny's his own flesh and blood," replied Pete dismissively. "Have you ever heard the expression 'Don't shit in your own backyard'?"

I hadn't heard anyone say that and I didn't know what it meant, but I was tired of being treated like I was stupid, and I wasn't about to ask Pete for an explanation.

I sensed danger immediately. I knew instantly that I shouldn't have said that. Not to Pete.

"No, Pete- master … I didn't mean it that way," I said as I leaned over and kissed his nipple as a peace offering.

"Oh, you meant it," replied Pete as he shifted away from me on the bed and swung his legs down. His movement was casual, but that didn't stop my danger meter from spiking into the red and beginning to smoke with warning.

"Get up," he said as he stood himself and turned to face me. "Get in the shower."

I felt exactly like I was going to have a heart attack. The one thing I had learned never to do was challenge Pete. It seemed like an even worse idea after what had happened in the hotel room and especially now that I officially was his slave.

"Pete, I'm sorry," I said in a desperate voice. I already was on the verge of tears. "I believe you that he was looking at me. I really do."

"No, you don't," he replied dismissively. "That's okay. Hop in the shower and get yourself clean. Don't make me tell you a third time."

I didn't dare make him tell me a third time. Tears came to my eyes then as I rose from the bed under Pete's stern gaze.

I knew I had messed up. My heart rate went through the roof as I racked my brain trying to figure out a way to fix the situation. Nothing came to mind. The only thing I could think to do was to obey the man. Anything other than that was just going to make things worse.

It was the worst shower of my life. I was devastated and upset. Was Pete going to throw me out? Send me home? Drive me home with my bike in the trunk and dump me? Every horrible outcome that I possibly could imagine raced through my mind. I was overcome with a sense of doom as I washed the scent and residue of sex from my body. I wished I could rewind time. I had managed to do what was for me unthinkable: I had angered Pete again despite all the vows I had made to myself.

Pete was fully dressed when I emerged from the shower and re-entered the bedroom, and I could tell just by looking at him that he was going to take me home. I began to sniffle and cry once again. I desperately wanted to apologize and make things better, but I didn't know how.

"Get dressed," instructed Pete as I stood there in tears. "Actually … wait," he said as he approached me and reached for the St. Genesius chain and lifted it over my head.

It was as if he had removed the lifeforce from my body and I reached for it desperately as he pulled it away, but I was too late.

"Get. Dressed," he repeated as he grasped me by my shoulder and steered me to the bed with a hard slap to my butt. Lying there in the middle of it was my pouch, which he had been safekeeping for me ever since my return from Chicago. I had worn it several times for him since then. The shorts and t-shirt I had worn to my birthday party were nowhere to be seen. Indeed, I wasn't even sure where they were.

Sobbing and sniffling, I stepped into the pouch and pulled it into place. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew better than to question Pete, much less argue with him. It seemed to me like he was giving me the pouch to divest himself of my things, just as he had taken the chain from me, divesting me of him.

I couldn't think of anything I could say to make the situation right again, so I kept my mouth shut. I was hoping that he would relent or give me a second chance, and I didn't want to make things worse than they already were. I didn't think that I had committed a capital offense by challenging his perception of Mr. Chambers, but I had learned not to underestimate Pete's anger and mood swings.

We walked down the steps to the first floor in silence, save for my sniffles and muffled sobs. I assumed that he would have me put my shorts and t-shirt back on once we found them, but he walked straight to the front door and held it open for me.

I was shocked. I had nothing on but my pouch, and that barely covered anything. Although it was dark out by now, just walking to the car would leave me exposed for several seconds to any neighbors or passersby who happened to be looking.

Gathering my courage, I stepped out of the house and quickly scampered to the Grand Marquis parked in the driveway. I didn't see anyone out and about, so I hoped that I hadn't been seen. I lifted the door handle only to find the vehicle locked. I crouched, pressing myself against the side of the car as I waited desperately for Pete to go around to the other side and unlock the door with his key.

When my door finally unlocked, I opened it quickly and jumped into the car. I felt extremely naked and exposed as I sat on the seat essentially bare-assed. I wasn't sure where we were going, and that was very disconcerting to me. I knew that the mere fact that I was leaving my clothing and birthday gifts at Pete's house probably meant that he wasn't throwing me out for good or taking me to my mother, and while I was relieved by that, I still was nervous as to what he had planned.

Pete started up the car and put it in reverse. He turned toward me to look behind him as he began to back the car out of the driveway. I couldn't take the stress any longer.

"You're going to visit Mr. Chambers," Pete replied matter-of-factly and without hesitation, as if he had been willing to tell me that all along.

His response stunned me. I was going to see Mr. Chambers with me dressed like this? My heart started to race in my chest. It took every fiber of my being not to argue or beg, as I knew that would not end in my favor. I had learned from experience not to challenge Pete's authority or decision-making, especially when he was angry, and when he had the type of determined look on his face that he had now.

My head started to spin. My vision clouded over. It felt like I was in a living nightmare. Although I liked the man just fine, I barely knew Mr. Chambers. I hadn't interacted with him much during Parasols and knew him pretty much exclusively from the cast party and my birthday party today. We did not have the type of relationship that was conducive to me showing up at his house unannounced after 9:00 p.m. dressed in a skimpy little pouch.

"I believe you that he was looking at me," I whimpered. I was trying desperately not to anger Pete any more than I already had, but the words slipped out before I could even stop myself.

"No, you don't, but you will," replied Pete. "When we get there, I'm dropping you off. You're spending the night there, and you're going to take care of him, capiche?"

My head was spinning. What if Pete was wrong about Mr. Chambers? What if I showed up in my pouch and he looked at me like I was a visitor from outer space? It was after 9:00 p.m. As far as I knew we were showing up at his house after dark completely unannounced. I felt like I would die from embarrassment.

I wanted to ask him how he could be sure. I wanted to beg him to take me back to his house. I wanted to ask him to at least call Mr. Chambers first to see if I could sleep over, but I did none of those things. I knew instinctively that anything I said now would be taken by Pete as a challenge to his authority and it would not go well for me. I already was in hot water because of the way I had questioned him earlier.

We drove the next five minutes in silence. Pete wore a determined expression on his face and was not in a talkative mood, while I was in the process of panicking on the seat next to him. I was very worried about this. If Pete had misjudged Mr. Chambers, the resulting scene was going to be one of the worst experiences of my entire life. I wouldn't be able to lay eyes on the man ever again without dying of embarrassment. What if he told Benny?

I'd had some recent experience taking care of other men, but surely he didn't mean doing that for Mr. Chambers? The man was old. He looked like a kindly grandfather. He just didn't seem to me to be the type who would appreciate being taken care of in the way Pete meant for me to take care of him.

Pete spoke again when we were just a few minutes away from Mr. Chambers's house.

"When we get there, you get out of the car, walk to his front door, and ring the doorbell," said Pete. "When Milton comes to the door, the only thing you say – and I mean this, Davey, so listen very carefully – is 'Mommy, may I please spend the night with you?' Capiche?"

I turned to look at him in confusion. 'Mommy'? What did he mean? Had Pete misspoken? Had I misheard?

I cleared my throat. "M-mommy, may I please spend the n-night with you?" I said in a shaky voice.

"You can thank him once you're inside," replied Pete, "but you don't say another thing until you are. If you are asked a question, you answer it, but otherwise you keep your trap shut until you're in the house. Capiche?"

"Yes, master," I confirmed with a confidence that I did not feel. My head continued to spin as I tried to figure out what was going on.

"For the entire time you're there, you only say Mommy," said Pete. "Not Mr. Chambers, not Milton, not sir, not anything else. Mommy. 'Yes, Mommy,' 'I'd like that very much, Mommy,' 'thank you, Mommy.' Capiche?"

"You're not to break character," said Pete. "And by that, I mean the entire time you are there. From the moment you are standing on his front porch until the moment you leave, you are Mommy's little boy. Not one word out of line from you, Davey. If I find out that you broke character and ruined the experience for Milton, I'll take the skin off your backside with the belt. Do I make myself clear?"

"You're Mommy's little boy," clarified Pete. "Not him or her, just Mommy. You do as Mommy tells you and make Mommy happy. Be sure to thank Mommy properly for your birthday gift. Give Mommy a nice backrub. Give Mommy a nice rimjob. Give Mommy lots and lots and lots of oral, the best you know how to do. Be a good little boy for Mommy."

"I'll pick you up in the morning," said Pete as he pulled onto Mr. Chambers's street, then into the driveway of the second house on the left.

"Go," Pete commanded as he put the car in park. "Don't fuck this up, Davey," he warned me. "Keep in mind that Milt Chambers is an old, old, old friend of mine. You don't want to disappoint him or me."

"I w-won't," I said as I unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped from the car.

I wasn't sure if Pete would just back out again and pull away, but he remained parked and idling as I made my way in the semi-darkness to Mr. Chambers's front steps. The porch light was on, and my nearly naked body was fully illuminated as I climbed the steps onto the porch. From behind, I would appear completely naked to any neighbors or passersby who happened to be looking my way.

I rang the doorbell and it chimed inside the house. I waited for any sign of life within the house. It occurred to me then that there was a possibility that Mr. Chambers wasn't home. There was no car in the driveway when we arrived, but the house had an attached garage, and I knew it was likely that Mr. Chambers's car was parked inside.

After what seemed like an eternity, a light came on in the front foyer and I saw a shadow move in the inside hallway. I wasn't tall enough to peer through the window of the storm door, but I knew someone was coming. The door swung open a moment later to reveal Mr. Chambers. He was dressed in a bathrobe with pajamas underneath. He looked surprised and a bit confused as he saw me standing on his porch. Either he was a very good actor – which was entirely possible – or he truly was surprised to see me. He opened the screen door as he scanned my nearly naked body up and down with his eyes.

"Davey?" he asked, as I saw his gaze redirect to where Pete's Grand Marquis was parked in his driveway.

"Mommy, may I please spend the night with you?" I asked him in what I hoped was a soft, angelic voice.

The man looked back down at me, then at the driveway once again. He gave Pete a little wave of acknowledgment, then gave me his undivided attention once again as a look of pure bliss crossed his face. Behind me, I heard the gentle whine of the Grand Marquis's transmission as the vehicle began to back out of the driveway.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," he said with a smile as he reached with his right hand, clasped my bare shoulder, and ushered me into the house. "Come right in, Davey. You must be cold. Mommy will take care of you and make you feel all nice and warm."

Chapter 19

I was very nervous as I walked into Mr. Chambers's house and heard the door click shut behind me. Although I had been with several different men by that point, this seemed different and had me unsettled. Mr. Chambers was a man I knew who lived in my hometown. It was one thing to meet up with men from Chicago I didn't know and who didn't know me, but it was quite another to be with a man I knew from St. Clair who also knew me, my mother, and my best friend. He probably already knew or easily could find out where I lived and went to school. Adding to that was the fact that I had interacted with Mr. Chambers at least a little bit through the Players. He wasn't just some anonymous, older man like the others, and I knew that after whatever happened tonight, I was very likely to see him again in a different setting.

His hand gently massaged the back of my neck as we walked together into the living room. He was dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe with slippers on his feet and in that regard, apart from the pajamas, he would have looked very much at home at Mr. Stone's party. I tried to tell myself that being with Mr. Chambers at his house wasn't really any different from being at the party with Mr. Stone and his friends.

When we arrived at our destination, he turned and sat down on the edge of the couch, then drew me close between his legs and wrapped his arms around my lower back.

"Yes, m-mommy," I replied with what I hoped was a happy little smile and a nod. Mr. Chambers looked very pleased with my response.

"Did you like your presents, sweetheart?" he asked as he removed his right hand from behind my back and used it to draw his index finger slowly down the center of my chest to my belly button.

"Yes, mommy," I confirmed with another nod. "Thank you for getting me the Slip 'N Slide."

Mr. Chambers gave me a gentle poke on the nose as he smiled broadly. His eyes almost seemed to be twinkling as he spoke.

"You're very welcome, Davey," he said as he first grasped my upper arms in a gentle grip and began to caress them and my shoulders. His touch caused goosepimples to form along my triceps.

"Such a big boy you are now," he said with an indulgent nod as his hands slid down my back and alighted on my bottom. The pouch was nothing more than a string between my butt cheeks, so he had almost unimpeded access to my buns. His fingers danced lightly across the bare skin there, bringing more goosepimples in their wake. Then he gripped my cheeks and lightly squeezed them in each hand as he gazed into my eyes.

"Are you ready for your milkies, Davey?" he asked me with a reassuring nod and a slight hitch in his voice.

I wasn't entirely sure what was going on at that point, but I knew we were playing roles and I thought I had figured out what they were. Between being told by Pete to call Mr. Chambers mommy, and the sing-song and baby-talk voice he was using with me, it was evident to me that I was to play the man's little boy for him. What I didn't know and was trying to find out from the available cues was how old a boy I was supposed to play, but it didn't take me long to figure that out.

"Yes, mommy," I replied dutifully in what I hope sounded like a little-boy voice although I didn't really know what I was agreeing to.

"Good boy!" Mr. Chambers gushed. "You must be a very hungry boy after such big, big day today! Climb up here on mommy's lap," he said as he sat back a bit further on the couch and motioned me up with a smile.

Awkwardly, I placed a knee on the couch and tried to lift myself up to sit in his lap, but as soon as my feet left the floor, Mr. Chambers grasped me around my torso and repositioned me so that I was lying across him on my right side, facing him with my head and upper body positioned on his lap, and my hips, legs, and feet sprawled on the couch to his right. His left hand cradled my head to his stomach as his right hand drew my body closer to his and began to caress my bare back and bottom.

"There's a good boy," he said with a smile as he gazed down at me indulgently. "Mommy will get you all warmed up for your milkies now, sweetheart," he said in a voice that sounded gravelly with excitement.

I watched as his right hand pulled his bathrobe open and began to unbutton his pajama top. One after another, he undid the buttons most of the way down. When he was finished unbuttoning, he pulled the pajamas and his robe aside, exposing much of his chest.

Mr. Chambers was in his 60s, and his upper body no longer had any tone or definition to it. He wasn't fat by any measure, but his pectorals sagged slightly, forming a pair of breasts the size of which a 13-year-old girl would have been proud. The middle of his chest was quite thick with grey and white hair, which also adorned his pectorals and formed a happy trail that descended into the folds of his bathrobe.

"There's a good boy," he said in his hitched, gravelly voice. Lifting my head to his chest in the crook of his left arm, he grasped his left pectoral in his right hand and brought it to my mouth.

"There we go, sweetie," he said as he drew his nipple across my lips. "Suck mommy's breast."

With little choice in the matter, I opened my mouth to take his hairy nipple between my lips. It was firm and erect, with a pencil-eraser-sized nipple on the end. I gave it a quick wash with my tongue and began to suck.

"There's a good boy," said Mr. Chambers as he left his nipple in my mouth and used his right hand to smooth my hair behind my ear as I did my thing. "Such a good boy, Davey," he cooed.

I alternated sucking and tonguing the man's nipple, trying to pleasure it and keep it erect. As I looked up from my position across his lap, I could see Mr. Chambers smiling down at me indulgently. Playing the role of a suckling toddler to the best of my ability, I blinked my eyes a few times, feigning fatigue, and finally closed them as I continued to work the man's nipple with my mouth.

"There's my good little boy," said Mr. Chambers soothingly as his right hand played down my arm, across my hip, and grasped my bare bottom once again. He gave my cheeks a little squeeze before noticing the hand mark that was still there from Pete's smack of my butt.

"Oh, was mommy's little boy naughty earlier?" he asked as his hand moved on, tracing his fingers across my butt crack.

I continued to suckle his nipple as I lay across Mr. Chambers's lap like a toddler. My eyes were closed as I imagined myself breastfeeding from a real mommy. Aside from the fact that Mr. Chambers could not make milk, the only difference between his nipple and that of a woman was that his had some sparse grey hairs growing from it that I could feel in my mouth as I sucked and licked at it.

Mr. Chambers removed his right hand from my butt for a moment, and when it returned it was wet, I imagine with his saliva. Pushing the thong of my pouch out of the way, he pressed his wet digit between my butt cheeks, evidently searching for my anus. After poking and feeling for a bit, his hand withdrew once again, only to return once more freshly wetted to resume poking and prodding between my cheeks.

The way I was lying on the couch made it difficult for Mr. Chambers to get at my hole because my legs were stacked atop each other, which caused my butt cheeks to be rather firmly pressed together. The man couldn't use his other hand to help pry them apart because it was supporting my head and cradling it to his chest. I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to or not but I decided to help him by spreading and lifting my top leg like a scissors to allow him access between my buns.

"There's a good boy," Mr. Chambers cooed as his wet finger immediately homed in on my anus and began prodding at my sphincter. "Stay just like that for a moment, sweetheart," he instructed as his finger left my bottom and returned to the same spot a moment later even wetter.

Still sucking and tonguing his nipple, I moaned in what I hoped was an in-character way as the man slid his finger into my rectum. I slowly lowered my leg to its original position as Mr. Chambers began to work his finger gently in and out of my bottom. I'd had much bigger things in my butt than the man's finger, including Pete's cock not all that long ago, so he wasn't hurting me back there even using spit as his only lubricant. I suspected that the remnants of some of Pete's recent load also was helping in that regard, because even when I wiped and cleaned after having butt sex, cum usually leaked out for a while afterwards, and Pete hadn't fucked me all that long ago.

"Does that feel good in your bummy, sweetheart?" asked the man as he slowly finger fucked me.

"Yes, mommy," I replied. "Please keep doing it, mommy, it feels so good," I added, taking a page out of Pete's playbook. I then returned to his nipple, nursing it back into my mouth and continuing to suck.

Mr. Chambers apparently was in no hurry as this went on for a while. I continued to suck and tongue his nipple as he slowly finger fucked me and cradled me in his lap. His idle left hand gently rubbed and caressed the middle of my back as I nursed from him.

I'm not sure how long I sucked on his left nipple before he turned me around on his lap and replaced it with his right one. When he had me properly readjusted, he was ready to resume fingering my butt hole with his other hand.

"Lift up again, sweetie," he said. As soon as I did so he inserted his digit and began gently finger fucking me once again.

Everything he did was slow, calm, and unhurried. It really was like he was feeding me from his nipples. I kept my eyes closed almost the entire time, finding the activity surprisingly relaxing and peaceful.

"It's time for your milkies, sweetheart," he said. "Sit up at bit and let mommy get ready for you."

I eased myself off his lap and sat up. I had thought that his nipples already were providing me with my milkies, so I was surprised to hear that I had not yet received them. My confusion didn't last long. I watched as Mr. Chambers untied his bathrobe and pulled the flaps apart, then lifted his hips up and lowered his pajama bottoms and underpants down his legs, causing his mostly erect penis to flop into view.

His member wasn't all that big, perhaps a little over six inches [15cm]. The skin of his genitals was darker than that of his groin area, contrasting starkly with the silvery grey of his pubic bush.

Reaching for my upper arms, Mr. Chambers drew me back to his lap, this time with me facing away from his body with my head resting not in the crook of his arm, but directly on his abdomen. He positioned my body so that my mouth was aligned with his cock, and once I was in position, he grasped his penis at the base of his shaft and held it for me expectantly.

Without hesitation, I took his member between my lips and adjusted my position a bit so that the angle was correct, and I could keep it there comfortably.

I had thought that I would be doing the work of sucking Mr. Chambers's penis, but as soon as I had it in my mouth, he began a very slow thrusting motion with his hips that moved his member gently back and forth between my lips. With his cockhead and the first inch [2.5cm] of his shaft in my mouth, he proceeded to do the work of the blowjob for me, his gentle undulations sliding his shaft about half an inch [1.25cm] in and out. His right hand caressed the side of my face as he gently fucked my mouth.

"There's a good boy, Davey," he sighed as he slowly flexed his hips back and forth.

There wasn't much for me to do except purse my lips around his cock for some extra friction and apply some swirls of my tongue on the side of his penis, but Mr. Chambers seemed content to rock his member in and out of my mouth slowly and languidly a tiny bit at a time. It was unlike any blowjob I ever had given, but I was fine with having the man do all the work. It was so easy that I closed my eyes again and concentrated on using my lips and tongue to please him. I tried to think about being a little boy for mommy. The whole thing seemed strange to me, but Pete's instructions had been crystal clear, and I was not about to violate them.

At just turned 12, I didn't know much about sexual kinks and fetishes. I thought that people had sex together because it felt good. I didn't realize that what Pete and I did together was fetishistic, nor did I have any clue that being his little slave and submitting to being spanked by him was part of a much larger lifestyle that was shared by many other people. Aaron had tried to explain the concept of dominance and submission to me, and of course I had seen the magazines that Pete had with boys in bondage, but I still hadn't put two and two together about kinks and fetishes at that point. In Pete's case, I chalked our roles up to him being the bigger, older, and stronger partner. He was an adult, and I was a kid, and because of that, he called the shots and made the decisions for both of us. I didn't question it. It seemed natural to me. I didn't find it kinky or odd at all.

Even Mr. Tal's act of peeing on me and his obsession with pantyhose hadn't registered with me as kinky, either, but just as things that the man liked to do. Similarly, in my mind, Mr. Chambers and I were just roleplaying parts with each other, albeit odd ones. He was my mommy, and I was his little boy. The "why" aspect of this was lost on me. I didn't even really think about it, and even if I had, I'm not sure I would have figured it out. I thought it was a bit strange, but I didn't think about it much beyond that. I had my instructions from Pete not to mess up, and that was all that really mattered to me.

I continued to use my lips and tongue to pleasure him as Mr. Chambers gently rocked his penis between my lips. I had sucked more than enough penises by this point to know what made men feel good. I still had my eyes closed as I pursed my lips around his shaft and applied some suction to increase the friction. I knew that things were progressing nicely when I tasted the tangy, almost sweet flavor of his precum on my tongue.

"There's a good boy, Davey," the man cooed as he tucked a tuft of my hair behind my ear and caressed my cheek. "Such a sweet, sweet boy for mommy."

His left hand continued to rest on the back of my head as his right hand returned to my butt and squeezed my cheeks. I lifted my leg for him as before, and his finger once again found my butt hole and eased inside. As I lowered my leg, he began to finger fuck me anew, this time to the same, languid rhythm he was using to ease his cock gently in and out of my mouth.

His flow of precum became more copious over time but his gentle, in-and-out undulations never changed. His breathing became more erratic as he came closer to orgasm and was now punctuated with little gasps and sighs, but he never once altered the pace or depth of his insertion. Removing his finger from my butt, he returned it to my face and began caressing my cheek, lips, and nose as his cock slid in and out of my mouth.

"Milkies are coming, sweet boy," he finally gasped as both hands grasped my head, pressing my cheek hard to his abdomen. He eased his cock in and out of my mouth a few more times, never altering his approach until he pressed inside one last time and stopped moving altogether, then began to feed me his cum.

Mr. Chamber's load didn't spurt so much as it oozed, his cum entering my mouth like a slow lava flow. I could feel his penis flexing between my lips as he orgasmed. Without hesitation, I began to swallow his stuff into my tummy with exaggerated little gulping sounds as the fingers of his right hand moved to my throat to feel me swallowing. His load wasn't that big compared to others I had experienced, so I was able to drink it down without difficulty.

After he finished cumming, I continued to lie on his stomach with my eyes closed and his cock in my mouth as Mr. Chambers caressed my head and hair. Knowing how sensitive a man's cockhead becomes after orgasm, I didn't give him any sensation whatsoever. I simply lay there as his cock slowly softened in my mouth and the last droplets of his semen dribbled onto my tongue.

It was very peaceful and relaxing, and I stayed that way for a while – at least several minutes – as I waited for Mr. Chambers to decide what to do next. Given the big day I had had, with my eyes closed and the late hour, it wasn't long before I dozed off.

I still had his penis in my mouth when I awoke sometime later to the sensation of a hand and fingers fondling my genitals. Mr. Chambers had eased his hand inside my pouch and was gently caressing my penis.

"There's a sweet boy," said Mr. Chambers as I lifted my head, causing his soft penis to slip from my mouth. "Did you have a nice little sleepy?"

I had no idea how long I had been out, but it must have been at least several minutes because the left side of my head was warm and a bit sweaty from lying on his abdomen and the left corner of my mouth was wet from drool. I wasn't disoriented and I knew where I was, but it still took my brain a few seconds to clear. I wiped the drool from my mouth as I sat up. Mr. Chambers gently rubbed my back with his right hand as I regained my senses.

"I think someone is a very sleepy little boy and needs to go to bed," suggested Mr. Chambers. "That means it's time for your bathy, little fellow," he added as he nudged me from the couch.

I stood up and turned to watch as Mr. Chambers pulled his pajama bottoms up and tucked his penis back inside. He stood up from the couch and took my hand, leading me upstairs to the bathroom.

"Get all nakey now, Davey," he said as he leaned down and got the water going in the tub.

It didn't take me long to comply, as my pouch was the only garment I was wearing. As I slid it down my legs and off, I considered how much use I had gotten from the thing since Mr. Stalteri had made it for me several weeks ago. It had been a big hit at Mr. Stone's party, and I had worn it several times since for Pete. Now I was getting mileage from it with Mr. Chambers. It would be several years before I heard of a male G-string, but I had owned an even skimpier, made-to-measure undergarment by the age of 11.

I stood there naked as Mr. Chambers opened the cabinet under the sink and extracted a bottle. He opened it and poured some of the contents under the tub's running faucet, instantly causing a cascade of bubbles to form that spread out across the water. Apparently, I was to receive a bubble bath this evening. I didn't mind that at all. I guess I was still enough of a little boy that it looked like fun.

Mr. Chambers shed his bathrobe and hung it on a hook on the bathroom door. He finished unbuttoning his pajama top and added that to the hook. He gazed down at me and gave me a smile.

Kneeling at the side of the tub, I reached my hand into the bubbly water and checked the temperature. It was lukewarm.

"It could be a little warmer, mommy," I said with a nod as I looked over my shoulder at the man.

"There's a good boy," the man replied as he bent down and adjusted the water taps. I continued to feel the water and stir it around a little bit as the tub slowly filled.

"It's nice now, mommy," I reported as the water level and temperature inside the tub rose at the same time.

"Let it get a little warmer so you're all comfy," replied Mr. Chambers with a smile. He reached under the sink once again and extracted a little foam pad that was about 12" [30 cm.] square and placed it on the floor beside me. He waited another 30 seconds before reaching down and turning off the taps.

"In you go, sweetie," he said with a smile as he tapped my head. He held my left arm for support as I stood up and stepped into the tub with my right foot, followed by my left. I turned to my side as Mr. Chambers knelt on the cushion beside the tub and placed his hands on the edge.

I crouched down and eased myself into the warm water. The bubbles cascaded around me as I settled down on my behind and sat Indian style in the center of the tub. I looked over at Mr. Chambers.

"There's a good boy, Davey," he said as he moved himself and the cushion a bit closer to me. "All comfy?" he asked.

"Yes, mommy," I said with a nod as I swirled the water a little bit with my hands. It was the perfect temperature, and I did feel comfortable.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" exclaimed the man getting to his feet. Mr. Chambers was older, so the process of standing involved him pushing up from the tub edge with his hands and arms, placing his right foot underneath him, and grunting with effort as he forced himself upright.

I watched as he went to the cabinet behind the bathroom door. Opening it, he extracted a medium-sized nylon bag with a string tie. Returning to the tub, he untied the string, upended the bag, and poured about a dozen colorful, plastic and rubber bath toys into the tub. They splashed down almost in my lap, sending bubbly bathwater onto my chest and chin. The toys included a yellow rubber ducky, a tugboat, an elephant, rings in different sizes, and a rocket ship.

I picked up the tugboat and slid it through the bubbles while making an engine sound as Mr. Chambers knelt beside the tub once again. Smiling, he watched me play with the tugboat for a moment, then reached across to the soap dish and retrieved the green-colored bar that looked big enough to be almost new.

"There's a sweet boy," he cooed as he used his cupped hand to slosh some water down my back. I continued to play with the tugboat, then added a submarine to my little fleet as he lathered his hands with the soap and applied them to my shoulders.

"Does that feel good, sweetie?" he asked as he began to massage and rub my shoulders and upper back with his slippery hands. His fingers danced lightly across the back of my neck as he worked the soap in.

"All little boys are ticklish," Mr. Chambers replied in a teasing voice as his hands slid down my sides and moved across to my tummy. I grinned and moved my own hands under the water to defend, leaving the tugboat and submarine to topple onto their sides on the surface.

"Just relax, sweet boy," encouraged the man. "Mommy won't tickle. Mommy needs to get Davey all clean."

He really wasn't tickling, so I removed my hands and went back to playing with the little ships. I wasn't all that many years from playing with bath toys in the tub, so I found it fun to swish them through the water and play a pretend naval battle. As Mr. Chambers lathered his hands once again with the soap, the submarine rammed the tugboat from below, sending it straight to the bottom.

I continued to play in the tub with the bath toys as Mr. Chambers thoroughly cleaned my body with his soapy hands. He took his time and was very thorough, doing each of my arms from my shoulders and underarms all the way to my individual fingertips. He didn't use a washcloth, but instead slid his hands and fingers all over my body, touching me everywhere.

When he was finished with my upper body, he had me stand up, then did my legs and feet one at a time. His slippery hands felt good as he washed my calves and thighs. Holding onto the top of the soap dish for support, I lifted my feet one at a time as he cleaned them top and bottom, even working his fingers between my toes.

Then it was time for clearly was the main event for him as his soapy hands slid up my legs to my bottom and alighted on my butt cheeks. He gave them each a little squeeze, then removed his hands to lather up with the soap once again. His fingers were slippery as they spread my cheeks and worked their way gently across my cleft and butt hole.

"We need to get somebody all clean down here," he said as a couple of his fingers pressed against my anus. "Somebody was all wet and messy when he was getting his milkies."

I knew what he meant. Pete had fucked me after my birthday party, and I was sure that the wetness Mr. Chambers had felt was from his cum. No matter how many times I wiped down there and tried to clean myself up after anal sex, Pete's semen ended up slowly leaking out of my butt hole for the next couple of hours, especially if I did anything strenuous. Pete's cum had stained all my underwear in a telltale way, always in the same spot, and the stains didn't come out even after my mother had washed them.

Of course, if Mr. Chambers had detected Pete's cum in my bottom, that meant that he knew what Pete and I were doing together, and he probably could surmise that we had been doing it since the days of Parasols at Night. It bothered me a little to know that my secret life with Pete had been outed to someone I knew from my hometown. It was one thing for a few people from Chicago to know, but it was quite another to have somebody in St. Clair be in on my secret. While I didn't have any real worry that Mr. Chambers would say anything to anyone given what we were doing together ourselves, having my private life with Pete out in the open like that – even to just one person – was a bit unsettling to me.

Even then, at the age of 12, I knew that my life would be over if what I was doing and what type of boy I was became known at my school. It was 1978, and being gay wasn't accepted at all. Not only wasn't it accepted, but the mere suspicion that a boy was queer could result in relentless teasing, taunting, and bullying. I had learned that firsthand when I fell for the "Are you a homo?" joke that couldn't be answered without ridicule. Either you weren't a homo sapiens, or you were a homosexual – the person asking had you either way – and I had fallen for both ends of it. After the second time, when I stupidly said yes and effectively admitted that I was a homosexual, I found out just how horrible the taunting could be.

I already had enough concerns about my short stature and babyish looks, so I wasn't eager to add to my troubles by risking being outed as gay. It also wasn't lost on me that my sex play wasn't just curious exploration with a same age boy but was instead full-on gay sex with men. Pete had essentially become my boyfriend, if not my de facto husband. More and more of the time, he was being my master, and I his sex slave. The recent ceremony confirmed that this was now the full-time basis of our relationship. I knew that there would be no possible way for me to survive any of that being outed in St. Clair or at my school, and I meant that almost literally. It was so unthinkable that I hadn't done all that much worrying about it, but I knew that if my secret life with Pete ever were exposed, my life would be over.

I pondered all this as Mr. Chambers repeatedly ran his soapy hands and fingers all over my butt cheeks, crack, taint, and genitals. He took his time as I knew he would, stopping to soap his hands several times as I stood in the tub, moving this way and that to give him whatever access he needed. He gently cleaned my butthole in and out, although I knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to get far enough inside to reach the place where Pete had deposited his cum. On the other hand, it had been long enough since Pete fucked me that by that point, most of his cum probably already had leaked out or been absorbed.

When he finally was finished cleaning my butt hole, Mr. Chambers turned his full attention to my penis and balls. His soapy fingers felt nice on my genitals as he massaged my cockhead and frenulum. Still holding onto the top of the soap dish for support, I closed my eyes as he began to masturbate my penis between his slippery fingers. It felt good, and my penis started to react, stiffening and lengthening as he did his thing. It wasn't long before I was sporting a boner, my three-inch [7.5 cm] stiffy jutting like a flagpole from my loins.

"There's a sweet boy," said Mr. Chambers in an encouraging voice as he turned me to face away from him and proceeded to jerk me off, his right arm circling around my hip to grasp my penis in the traditional way. Unlike the slow, undulating motion he had used when he fucked my mouth on the couch, his soapy hand was moving quickly on my penis, working my boner with intent.

With my eyes still closed, I settled in for the long haul. My left hand joined my right on the soap dish as I spread my feet a bit further apart for balance. I could feel the beginnings of a tingle in my loins from Mr. Chambers's soapy ministrations and I didn't want him to stop.

He didn't stop, but instead kept at it with steady determination, working my stiff penis with his firm, slippery hand. It felt very nice, and I moaned softly with pleasure.

"There's a sweet boy," said Mr. Chambers as he leaned in and planted a kiss on the top of my butt crack between my cheeks. He continued to masturbate me as I felt his tongue and lips began to kiss and lick the tops of my globes.

My breathing became a little erratic as the tingle in my loins began to intensify from the sensations I was feeling from my penis. The tingle part was relatively new, and I still was getting used to the sensation, but it was happening more and more, and I really liked it. The tingle intensified my enjoyment from being touched. When it came on, it made me eager for sex. Mr. Chambers's soapy hand and fingers were making me feel very good.

"Lean forward and stick your bottom out, sweetie," said the man. His face was so close to my butt as he spoke that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheeks.

I immediately complied, removing my hands from the soap dish, and placing them against the tiled back wall of the tub. Spreading my legs even farther apart, I leaned my upper body forward and thrust my backside out at Mr. Chambers. I had a feeling I knew what he wanted to do.

I was proven right a moment later as Mr. Chambers brought his face to my bottom and immediately began to lick between my cheeks and into my cleft. He licked lower and lower toward my anus, but to what I think was the chagrin of both of us, the angle of my lean did not quite allow his tongue to reach my butt hole. He continued to jerk me off as he tried to get there, but even going up on my tip toes I simply wasn't tall enough for him to lick that part of me. I was disappointed, and I think he was, too, but fortunately my disappointment didn't last long.

"Stay right there, sweetheart," said Mr. Chambers as he unhanded my erection and rose to his feet once again. I remained in position while looking back at him over my shoulder as he returned to the cabinet behind the bathroom door. Reaching down to the bottom shelf, he extracted a little plastic stool of the type that a toddler would stand on while brushing his teeth at a sink. Smiling, Mr. Chambers knelt on the cushion beside the tub and slid the stool into the water between my legs.

"Stand up on that, sweet boy," he encouraged as he reached for my penis once again.

My boner hadn't softened in the slightest from the interruption as I stepped onto the stool, spreading my legs as far apart as I could. Mr. Chambers resumed masturbating me as I leaned toward the wall and thrust my bottom out in his direction.

Still stroking me with his right hand, Mr. Chambers placed his left hand on my hip and leaned in with his mouth to resume licking my cleft. The added six inches [15 cm.] from the stool raised my butt and improved the angle, allowing the man's tongue to reach my hole. I sighed contentedly as he began to lick and probe me there, bringing almost instant pleasure and adding to my tingles.

I think I decided then and there that I liked being rimmed quite a bit. Early on in our relationship, Pete had rimmed me from time to time, but only after I had taken a shower and never for very long. After I had gotten over the weird feeling of having a tongue in my ass, I had come to like it well enough, but it never felt quite like this for me. I think Pete didn't make much of an effort and only did it a few times to normalize the behavior for me, because he really enjoyed being rimmed himself. Once I became his slave and began to rim him on command, he had stopped doing it to me altogether. These days, when it came to rimming, Pete only received.

Mr. Chambers, on the other hand, seemed to like to give. With his angle of attack improved by the little stool, his tongue attacked my hole, licking, worming in, and slobbering hungrily at my pucker even as he continued to jerk me off. His left hand pulled at my hip, forcing my butt out even farther as he licked away. Then his right hand left my penis and alighted on my right hip, pulling me even closer to his face as he pressed his tongue all the way inside my hole and began to worm it around inside.

I really liked the sensation of having the man's tongue work my hole. I guess by that point in my life I had become a sexual bottom, as I enjoyed having my hole played with and didn't mind being fucked when the men weren't too rough. Indeed, I mostly liked it. While I still felt some pain from the initial penetration, once I had a cock deep in my ass fucking away, it usually felt good. I liked the sensation of being full down there. I liked feeling something big, warm, and hard sliding deep into my bowels. I liked the feeling of having my legs spread and a big, warm body leaning over me or on me while we did it.

Looking back on it, I think that even then I also liked the psychological aspects of being a bottom. I was a small kid, somewhat shy, and more than a little bit insecure and immature for my age. I wasn't very sophisticated – although I seemed to be making strides in that regard – and there were a lot of things I didn't know. I wasn't good at making friends my own age and felt more comfortable in the company of adults. I needed a lot of guidance, and they provided it, especially Pete. Aaron had explained that my nature as a kid was to be deferential and submissive, and he was right. A boy my size wasn't ever going to be the leader of the pack, and I think that by the time I was 12 years old, I had internalized that. I knew my place, and it was underneath, on the bottom.

Which is part of the reason, I think, that I liked the feeling of Mr. Chambers rimming me. I was very anally focused and sensitive down there, and his tongue felt good inside my butt hole where it wormed, snaked, moved, and worked its way inside my rectum. Meanwhile, the man continued to jerk my stiff rod. His hand was slippery and nice from the soap, but as he continued, his fingers became a little tacky and that made what he was doing feel even nicer.

My eyes were closed, and I was in boy heaven as Mr. Chambers worked both of my most sensitive, erogenous zones at the same time. I never had experienced anything quite so nice before. I had been blown and masturbated to orgasms by men before, but never like this – never with both things I liked so much happening at the same time.

I was more than a bit surprised to find that Mr. Chambers – friendly, kindly, grandfatherly Milton Chambers – was the man who knew how to pleasure me like no other man had ever managed to do before. Of course, I was getting older and even if I didn't know it then, the tingles that I was experiencing with ever greater frequency and intensity were signaling the onset of puberty. While that may have explained some of why what Mr. Chambers was doing felt so good, there was no question that he was doing it better and nicer than I ever had felt it done before.

I thought at the time it was because Mr. Chambers was older, wiser, and had been around the block longer than just about any of the men I had had sex with before, but eventually I learned that age and experience were only one part of the equation. The other part was the degree of interest one's partner had in giving pleasure, and that factor was even more important. Like Mr. Stone, Mr. Chambers was interested in giving me pleasure, but many of the men I had met, unfortunately including Pete, had no such interest and just gave the minimum they felt they had to.

Mr. Stalteri had been just as old as Mr. Chambers when I had sex with him, but on that occasion, I had been thanking him for making the pouch for me and setting me up with my other clothes for the party. We hadn't had the time then for me to learn whether the man's advanced age had given him advanced skills at providing sexual pleasure to boys, or even if that was his thing.

Mr. Chambers, on the other hand, clearly possessed those skills. He had taken his time earlier when he had slowly mouth-fucked me, but now, when he was giving me pleasure, his actions were anything but slow and languid. He had kept up a nice pace with his hand on my boner, and now he was eating my butt hole out like there was no tomorrow. His tongue felt amazing worming around inside my rectum. It was giving me the feeling of fullness and the anal stimulation that I craved and bringing even more tingles, even with him no longer masturbating me at the same time.

Needing more of that kind of stimulation, as well, I removed my right hand from the wall, reached between my legs, grasped my penis, and began to jerk off. I think Mr. Chambers could feel me moving or doing it somehow because he immediately removed his face from between my butt cheeks and covered my right hand with his.

I allowed his request and returned my hand to the wall as he resumed stroking me with his firm, no-longer-all-that soapy hand. It felt good, and I relaxed once again, closed my eyes, and concentrated on the tingles in my loins and sticking my butt out as far as I could to encourage the return of his tongue. I was not to be disappointed, as he pressed his face back to my cleft and resumed licking and probing at my sensitive hole. He couldn't press quite as deep as before with his right hand occupied and unable to assist in spreading my cheeks apart, but I soon fixed that, reaching back with my own hands, and prying my cheeks apart in my enthusiasm to enhance his access.

With his hand pleasuring my penis, it didn't take much longer before the tingles began to build in a way that I knew would lead to orgasm. I still had my eyes closed as I usually did when I was in the throes of sexual pleasure. Mr. Chambers hand worked my boner relentlessly as he continued to dine on my hole. I moaned with the pleasure of it all and then began to quiver as my orgasm overtook me, causing me to rise on the stool on my tip toes as my cock spasmed with a dry cum.

"Oh, ohhh," I gasped as the tingles overcame me, washing over my body in successive waves of pleasure. It felt so nice, and yet it had come somewhat unexpectedly from a rather unexpected source. I hadn't anticipated that "mommy" would be capable of providing so much pleasure, but I guess that goes to show what I knew at that age. You simply can't judge a book by its cover. Old, kindly, friendly Mr. Chambers had just delivered one of the finest orgasms I had ever felt. Who knew?

"There's my sweet boy," he cooed as I shook with pleasure, my hips bucking as he slowed his motion and gently brought my handjob to a close. "Did you feel the tingles inside your tummy?" he asked, inadvertently using the word that I used to describe the sensation – or perhaps advertently, as I wasn't sure how commonly the word was used to describe what I had just felt.

I wasn't much for conversation right after sex, but I didn't want to be rude to mommy, especially after … he had given me so much pleasure.

It really had been wonderful, and sometimes when I look back on everything that happened in those years of my life, I still remember just the way it felt. Very few of the men I had met or was going to meet would prove to be as skilled as Mr. Chambers was at providing sexual pleasure to boys, especially considering that most of them didn't even try. My experience with Mr. Chambers that evening was a one off, and I don't think I ever received another combined bathtub rimjob/handjob from anyone else ever again. If it did happen again, I've forgotten it, and it certainly never happened from such a nice, maternalistic individual who was so singularly focused on my pleasure, as I am sure I would have remembered that.

"I'm glad," he said with a pat to my bottom as he reached into the water and grasped my right foot. "Lift up, and let's finish Davey's bathy before the water gets too cold."

I stepped off the stool before he removed it from the water altogether. He then had me kneel on all fours as he activated the faucet and scooped warm water on my head and hair. I kept my eyes tightly shut and my head down as he gently massaged my hair with shampoo and gave me a wash. After rinsing my hair thoroughly with more scoops of warm water, he had me kneel up, still with my eyes closed, as he gently washed my face.

"There's a sweet boy," he said as his fingers slid across my cheeks, ears, nose, and forehead. "We'll get you all clean for beddy-byes, won't we?"

"Yes, mommy," I replied as I kept my eyes tightly shut. Mr. Chambers was taking his time and I had soap all over my face. I had experienced the sting of getting soap in my eyes more than once, and I had no desire to have it happen again.

Using his hands once again as water scoops, Mr. Chambers rinsed my face and then stood up from beside the tub. I still hadn't opened my eyes when I heard the water begin to drain and felt a warm, fluffy towel press to my face. Mr. Chambers used it to dab and wipe my face dry, paying particular attention to my eyes in case there was any soap remaining.

"Here we go, sweetie," he said as he took my left hand and guided me to step out of the tub.

Somehow the act of stepping from the lukewarm tub water had the immediate effect of lowering the air temperature in the bathroom considerably, and as my feet hit the tile floor I shivered and clutched my arms around my chest. Mr. Chambers immediately wrapped me in the fluffy towel and began using the edges of it to pat my body dry. Leaving me wrapped and huddled in the towel, he went to the cabinet for another and then knelt on one knee to dry my legs and feet.

I was dry and feeling warm again when he placed the stool in front of the sink and bade me to step up on it. As I did so, I felt the slightest pang of something I knew I wasn't supposed to feel. Despite my diminutive stature, I was too tall and much too old to need a stepstool to access a sink, and the act of stepping up on it – oddly, unlike any of the baby and toddler things I had done with Mr. Chambers since the moment I arrived at his house – made me feel sheepish and embarrassed. It was the same feeling that washed over me whenever someone underestimated my age. It was the same feeling that had gotten me in trouble on multiple occasions with Pete.

Immediately, I tried to banish the feeling from my mind, just as I did when I was with Pete and felt it coming on. The episode in the Chicago hotel room with Pete still haunted me, and I had resolved never, ever to react when someone treated me like a younger child. I had been getting good at suppressing it, too. I had even learned to tell myself – at least to the extent that I could do so consciously – that being small for my age was a good thing that would help me in the industry. I reminded myself continually that I must not become upset or morose no matter what anyone said or no matter how they acted around me. If they thought I was nine years old, I would be nine. There would be no repeats of the hotel incident or the Sears-shoot incident ever again.

It made even less sense that I should feel that way with Mr. Chambers. I had been playing the role of a very little boy with his mommy since the moment I arrived at his house, and it hadn't bothered me in the slightest. I didn't know why the act of stepping onto the little stool had set me off, but it had.

I fought the feeling and successfully suppressed it, and I don't think Mr. Chambers noticed a thing. I don't think that even Pete would have noticed had he been there, but there was always that risk. I couldn't afford any reactions like that around Pete, not if I wanted to avoid his belt and the risk of him abandoning me. I still had anxiety about that and never wanted it to happen again.

I watched in the mirror as Mr. Chambers returned to the cabinet once again, this time extracting what looked like a cardboard package, which he brought to me. It was a brand-new, battery-powered Superman toothbrush still in its plastic blister pack. "SUPER Battery Powered," screamed the packaging, along with 2 'C' CELL BATTERIES REQUIRED." Superman was dressed in his formfitting costume, complete with blue tights and a black speedo, and he had a toothbrush extending out of the back of his cape. "FOR CHILDREN 4 YEARS & OLDER," said the packaging, so I guessed it was safe for me. "ONE EXTRA TOOTHBRUSH INCLUDED."

"Mommy doesn't have any batteries, sweet boy, but this should still work just fine, don't you think?" asked Mr. Chambers.

I was sure that it would, so I nodded and reached for Superman as soon as the man tore the package open and extracted him from his plastic blister.

"Mommy will help you brush, sweetheart," said Mr. Chambers as he gently pulled Superman from my hand and activated the faucet. Wetting the brush and applying a little dab of Crest toothpaste to it, he brought the superhero to my mouth and waited for me to open.

It had been years and years since I last needed help brushing my teeth, but we were playing roles and I opened wide for mommy. Mr. Chambers proceeded to give my teeth a very thorough but gentle brushing, doing a much better job of it than I ever did. I suspect that I never would have had a cavity again if I had let Mr. Chambers take care of my oral hygiene from that point on.

Holding my jaw in his left hand, he carefully brushed every tooth in my mouth, seemingly individually. My mouth was making saliva like a leaky faucet as Mr. Chambers did his thing, and by the time he was finished, I was holding a bunch of spit and toothpaste in my mouth like a load of cum. It wasn't the first time that a Man of Steel had filled my mouth with liquid, but this stuff I didn't plan to swallow into my tummy. Indeed, I spat it into the sink just as soon as I was able.

"Good boy," gushed Mr. Chambers as he filled a little plastic cup with water and handed it to me. "Rinse, sweetheart," he instructed.

I rinsed a couple of times, refilling the cup and drinking the last refill down. I was thirsty.

"Not too much, sweetheart," cautioned the man. "We don't want to have an accident overnight, now do we?"

I waited for the pang to come, but it didn't. Somehow – I guess because we were acting parts – I didn't mind that Mr. Chambers was treating me like a toddler.

"Let's get you ready for bed, Davey," said the man as he took my hand and assisted me in stepping down all of six inches [15cm] from the stool. We walked together into his tidy bedroom, where his fully made, queen-sized bed greeted me. Extracting the towel from around my shoulders, Mr. Chambers placed it in the center of the bed and bade me to lie down on it on my back.

I watched as he went to his dresser, opened the top drawer, and extracted a few items, including a tub of Vaseline and a blue-colored plastic container, the label of which I could not see to read. Returning to the bed, he placed the tub of Vaseline on the mattress and sat down beside me. Twisting the top of the plastic container open, he proceeded to sprinkle baby power on my genitals and groin area.

"This will feel all nice and dry, sweetheart," he said as he sprinkled a bit more and then used his hands to rub it into my skin. "Spread your legs, little man," he said as he picked up the container once again and snowed it down on my already white-tinged penis.

"Let's get you moved over here," he said as he leaned over and tugged the towel on which I was lying a bit closer further down the mattress toward the footboard. I slid right along with it.

"Be a sweet boy and hold your legs back for me, Davey," he said with a smile as he sat down on the bed and reached for the tub of Vaseline.

Reaching with both hands behind my knees, I pulled my legs back toward my head, exposing my butt crack. I watched as he dipped the first two fingers of his right hand in the yellow-colored goop and brought them to my hole.

"This may feel a bit cold, sweetie," he said apologetically as he proceeded to press his fingers to my anus. It was cold, but his touch was gentle as he worked the stuff in and around my hole. He went back for more Vaseline twice more before slowly working his middle finger inside, pushing it into my rectum to the second knuckle.

"There's my sweet boy," he cooed as he worked his finger gently in, out, and around my butt hole. He went back to the Vaseline twice more before finally screwing the cap back on and standing up from the bed.

"Keep those legs up," he encouraged as he placed the Vaseline and the baby powder on his bedside table, then reached down and pulled his pajama bottoms and underwear down. He was fully erect, and I watched as he stepped out of his clothes, making him just as naked as I already was.

"Oops," he said as he smiled and reached for the Vaseline once again. "Mommy's out of practice," he said as he unscrewed the cap for the second time and dipped back into the substance. This time, he applied the gel to his erection, smoothing it over the dark skin before grasping his member in a handjob motion and massaging the goop in the entire length of his shaft and over his mushroom-shaped head. Soon, his entire length was glistening with the stuff.

"There's a sweet boy," he gushed as he screwed the cap down once again, wiped his hand on the side of his thigh, and climbed back on the bed on his hands and knees. "Such a good boy for mommy," he said as he knee-walked onto the towel.

Grasping my hips, he pulled me toward him while simultaneously rotating my pelvis back a little. This had the effect of tilting my exposed butt cheeks and anus a bit toward the ceiling. Still holding my left hip, he grasped his shaft and placed his tip at my opening, then gazed down at me and smiled.

Pushing down with his hand and using his hips for added leverage, Mr. Chambers popped his cockhead inside my rectum. His cock was smaller than Pete's and Aaron's, so his entry barely hurt. I felt the usual twang of complaint from my anus but that was all. I didn't make a sound.

He placed his right hand back on by left hip and sidled a bit closer to me on his knees before pushing the rest of his cock slowly into my bowels. He bottomed inside me, his silvery pubic hairs enveloping my balls as our groins met.

"How does that feel, sweetie?" he asked as he paused with his full length inside.

"It feels good, mommy," I whispered. I wasn't lying, either. I liked having a cock inside me, and I was ready to be fucked.

"Good boy," he replied with a smile. With his hands still holding my hips, he slowly withdrew most of his length before reversing course and pressing back inside. In short order he settled into a rhythm, using his hips to ease his cock in and out of my butt. He took his time, giving me most of his length with each entry, but sliding smoothly inside me as opposed to jabbing or thrusting.

"Do you like that, Davey?" he asked with a smile as he worked his cock in and out of my ass.

"Such a sweet, sweet boy," he gushed. "Pete's a very lucky man to have such a wonderful boy like you as a friend."

I thought I was a very lucky boy to have such a wonderful man as Pete as a friend, but I nodded, nonetheless. Mr. Chambers obviously was aware by now of the parameters of my friendship with Pete, but I no longer had any real concern that he would reveal our secret. He seemed like a very nice man, incapable of hurting a fly. Even the way he fucked me was unselfish and indulgent, focusing on my pleasure as much as his.

The fuck continued like that over much of the next 10 or 15 minutes. Mr. Chambers was an older gentleman and he had already cum once not all that long before, so I think it took him a bit longer to replenish his load and achieve an orgasm. Adding to that was the fact that he fucked me slowly, never changing his approach or his rhythm, never jabbing or thrusting hard until the very end, when he pushed deep inside me and held himself there as he pumped his semen into my bowels.

"Sweet, sweet boy," he gasped as his face contorted with pleasure. "You feel so good inside for mommy, Davey sweetheart."

Mr. Chambers was a nice man, and I was pleased to see him so happy. I still didn't understand why he wanted to be my mommy, but I didn't mind the roleplay at all. Until, that is, what happened next.

"Keep your legs just like that, sweetie," he said as he dismounted me and stood up from the bed. He scooped up his pajamas and was gone for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he was dressed in his pajamas once again and was holding a damp washcloth in one hand and a disposable diaper in the other.

"Let's get you cleaned up, and then it's beddy-bye time," he said as he placed the diaper to the side and climbed onto the bed. He began to dab the warm, wet washcloth at my anus and butt crack.

I didn't want to ruin Mr. Chambers's fun, but there was no way that I was going to let him put me in a diaper, not even for one night. It simply was not going to happen. The feeling that came over me when I saw the diaper was even more intense than when Aaron had shown me the pantyhose he had wanted me to wear for Mr. Tal. Pantyhose were for girls, but diapers were for babies and toddlers, and that just hit too close to home for me. I didn't care if we were playing roles; I simply could not, and therefore would not, wear a diaper to bed.

But then there was the issue of Pete – or should I say, the problem of Pete. Pete had made it very clear to me what he wanted and expected me to do for Mr. Chambers. "Not one word out of line from you, Davey," he had warned me. "If I find out that you broke character and ruined the experience for him, I'll take the skin off your backside with the belt. Do I make myself clear?"

The risk of a severe beating was bad enough, but I didn't dare defy Pete on anything anymore for fear of a repeat of the hotel incident. Ever since then, I had been anxious about being abandoned by the man, so much so that I didn't even like to be apart from him for too long for fear that he would stop liking me. Given his volatile temper, I never knew what might set him off, so I had gotten in the habit of not taking any chances. I simply did what he said, every time and without argument. Things had been good between us because of that. It made everything easier and gave me piece of mind.

Mr. Chambers continued to clean my butt hole, which gave me precious time to think. I did not want to wear a diaper to bed and the thought of doing so made me almost sick to my stomach. I was certain that I could do just about anything Mr. Chambers wanted me to do other than that, but I just could not handle wearing a diaper. On the other hand, the last words Pete had spoken to me before I left his car continued to echo in my ears. "Don't fuck this up, Davey," he had warned me in no uncertain terms. "Keep in mind that Milt Chambers is an old, old, old friend of mine. You don't want to disappoint him or me."

Pete's warning put me in a terrible quandary. If I balked at wearing the diaper and disappointed Mr. Chambers, I would have to face Pete's wrath. A whipping I could take, but if Pete decided that I was unworthy of his friendship and abandoned me again, I feared not just that my life would go into a tailspin, but that it would end altogether. In those days, being abandoned by Pete was an ever-present fear of mine. I worried about it constantly to the point where I had bad dreams and nightmares about being lost and left on my own.

Ever since the hotel-room incident, I had been in such a constant state of fear about being abandoned and rejected by the man that I had completely adjusted my attitude and changed my behavior to ensure that it never happened again. By the time I turned 12, I was perfectly obedient to Pete. I not only did whatever he told me to do when he told me to do it, but I tried very hard to think the way he wanted me to think, behave the way he wanted me to behave, and be the way he wanted me to be. I was trying to become his perfect boy so he wouldn't want to leave me ever again.

I had become even more dependent on Pete as the first day of class at my new school approached. My anxiety about going to the junior high was at a fever pitch, and I felt like I needed Pete's support and guidance on that topic more than ever. I had been speaking to him about it almost daily, asking him questions about his own school experience, picking his brain about how to make friends, and questioning him about the difficulty of junior-high schoolwork. He had been unusually patient with me, answering all my questions as best he could and even reluctantly taking me shopping for the extra school supplies on my list. He had become like a father to me in so many ways, and I relied on his advice and counsel.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I could not take the risk of disappointing Mr. Chambers about the diaper. On the one hand, he was such a nice man that part of me wanted to break character and explain to him my hang ups about things like that. I was sure that he would understand and not make me wear it – or so I hoped. But what if he didn't understand? What if me wearing the diaper to bed was important to him? What if Pete called him tomorrow and asked him how I had done? That seemed to be a real possibility. They were good friends, after all. What if Pete asked him point blank if I had done everything that he had asked me to do? What if Mr. Chambers wasn't even angry at me but simply answered Pete's question truthfully? If that happened, Pete would know, and then I would be dead.

"Do you need to go potty before beddy-bye?" asked Mr. Chambers as he finished cleaning my butt hole and looked up at me with a smile. "Let's go pee-pees so we don't have an accident in the night, sweet boy," he said as he climbed off the bed and offered me his hand.

I took it, and we walked together into the bathroom. I walked to the toilet to pee, only to have Mr. Chambers reach down and grasp my penis for me.

"Let mommy help," he said as he held my organ between his fingers and pointed the head at the toilet bowl.

It felt weird to have the man holding my dick, so it took me a while before my bladder relaxed enough so that I could pee. Mr. Chambers held and pointed it the entire time, and even nudged me closer to the toilet with his other hand on my bottom as my flow diminished to a trickle. When I was finished, he gently shook the last few droplets into the toilet and then used a square of toilet paper to dry my pee slit. Afterwards, he had me step up on the stool once again as we washed our hands together, his big hands enveloping mine as we lathered up and rinsed.

He held my hand as we walked back into the bedroom and motioned me to climb back on the bed. I lay down on my back and he had me bend my knees and spread my legs apart. He proceeded to sprinkle my groin and butt with the baby powder, then reached for the diaper.

"It's okay if you have an accident tonight, sweet boy," he said. "Mommy has this for you to wear."

The time I had spent thinking about it while Mr. Chambers cleaned my butt hole allowed me to give him a clear, immediate, and unequivocal answer.

"Thank you, mommy," I said with what I hoped was a smile, even if I wasn't smiling on the inside.

Mr. Chambers proceeded to slide the diaper under my butt, adjust it to his liking, and fasten the adhesive flaps on each side. It took only a few seconds for me to be fully diapered. As I had feared, I felt completely ridiculous, but I already had reconciled myself to that and the feeling wasn't as intense as it could have been.

I remained in bed as Mr. Chambers removed the towel from the bed, turned on the lamp on his bedside table, and flipped off the overhead light by the wall switch near the door. He crawled into bed and propped both pillows behind his back before sitting down and leaning back against the headboard.

"Climb up on mommy's lap, sweet boy," he said to me with a welcoming smile as he began to unbutton his pajama top. "Mommy made more milkies for Davey."

Resigned to my fate, I climbed aboard to nurse from the man's chest once again. I didn't balk at it, and because I was tired, it wasn't long before I started feeling very sleepy cradled in his arms with his nipple in my mouth. I'm not sure what happened after that, but I know that I was only just barely still awake when he eased me down to the mattress and popped a pacifier into my mouth before turning out the light and spooning and snuggling me from behind.

"There's my sweet boy," he cooed over and over as I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 20

Pete picked me up early the next morning and even brought my clothes with him for me to change into. He and Mr. Chambers must have spoken by telephone because the older man had me up and dressed in my pouch eating a farewell cereal breakfast in the kitchen by 7:30 a.m. I was nearly done with the bowl when I heard a knock on the front door. Mr. Chambers went to open it and came back holding my clothes and sneakers.

"Thank you for visiting me, Davey," said Mr. Chambers, offering me the clothes. "You're a lovely boy and a very fine actor, to boot. Now move along, and don't keep Pete waiting."

Although the man's voice was much the same, there had been no mommy references this morning, and it seemed that our mommy-son roleplay had played its course. It would not be repeated, nor would anything else between me and Mr. Chambers ever again, but I learned a valuable lesson that day that has stuck with me all my life.

I had learned that everyone, no matter who they are and how nice and grandfatherly they look, could be harboring secret, sexual desires. If kindly, gentlemanly, friendly, old Mr. Chambers had a secret desire to be somebody's mommy, that meant that everyone else could have secret sexual desires, too. They didn't all necessarily have to involve boys or even children, but I was sure that everyone could have them. Since then, I have become convinced that all men do. That means that your next-door neighbor has them. So does your mailman. So does the mayor of your town, the clerk at the hardware store, and the manager at your local McDonald's. Your local priest or minister has them. So does the principal at the elementary school, the retired volunteer who reads to children at the library, the coach of the Connie Mack Little League team, and the Scoutmaster of Troop 6-whatever.

I learned another valuable lesson that day: Never, ever question Pete Volcker when he tells you something. There were a couple of reasons for that, the most persuasive was that he didn't take too kindly to it and would punish it as bad behavior. But the other reason that took me longer to learn was just as practical: The man was right far more often than he was wrong. Pete wasn't perfect, but he was smart, and more importantly, he was perceptive. He had seen a potential in me from the first moment he saw me perform in the role of Charlie Bucket in my school play. He had known instinctively that I was a kid he could groom and have a chance with. He had played his cards perfectly after that, and while there was little doubt that his plan had succeeded beyond even his wildest expectations, the fact of the matter was that he had picked me out of the crowd based on his perception and instincts alone. He had a gift in that regard, and it wasn't limited to kids. He was equally perceptive when it came to adults.

"Thank you," I said to the kindly man who had brought a brand-new Wham-O Slip 'N Slide to my birthday party, let me play with his grandkids, and fed me my milkies. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I went to him and gave him a hug. He still was in his robe. He hugged me back and gave me a little pat on my bare butt before I took my clothes and quickly stepped into them.

I bounded out of the house where Pete and the Grand Marquis were waiting for me in the driveway and jumped into the front seat.

"Morning," Pete said to me as the door clicked shut and I reached for my seatbelt. "Everything go well?"

"Yes," I replied. I was pretty sure it had. At least there hadn't been any episodes. Pete didn't like episodes.

"Any questions for me?" Pete asked as he looked over his shoulder and backed his battle tank of a car onto the street.

"No," I replied. I almost added master, but I wasn't sure whether Pete was in that kind of mood. I couldn't tell if he was still angry with me.

There was my answer. He still was angry with me, and my stomach instantly clenched with worry. I turned to him with a look of dismay on my face.

"Pete, I trust you all the time … with everything," I said in a distressed voice.

"It's not your job to think, Davey. When it comes to this stuff, you listen and you do what you're told, and then you keep your mouth shut about it. Capiche?"

"Yes, sir," I said contritely. My heart was racing in my chest as it always was when Pete was angry with me. I was beset with anxiety that he was still mad at me from last night, as that did not bode well.

"I hope you do, Davey, because I'm not going to put up with it, and neither is Aaron. When we tell you something, you listen, then you do it, and you keep your opinions to yourself."

"Yes, sir," I repeated. I wanted to melt into my car seat and ooze out the door crack onto the road.

"You're 12 years old and not a little kid anymore," Pete continued, "but you don't know a goddamn thing about how the world works. Not a goddamn thing. If you couldn't tell that Milton Chambers wanted to eat you for dinner yesterday, you're not even trying."

Pete was making feel depressed. My birthday party had been so much fun, but I had spent most of it playing with Benny. I didn't think that I had said more than a couple of words to Mr. Chambers the entire time. I didn't know that he wanted to eat me. According to Pete, the man had spent the whole day ogling me, but I hadn't noticed it even once. Maybe that was exactly Pete's point.

"I'll try," I said as we drove back toward his house. I felt dejected. Since everything had gone well with Mr. Chambers, I hadn't expected Pete still to be this angry with me, but he was.

"You have to pay more attention to the world around you, Davey," Pete continued relentlessly. He was calling me Davey, which he only did these days when we were having a Very Serious Conversation.

On the drive back to Pete's house I vowed to try to pick up on the cues that Pete said were so obvious, and as it turned out, from that moment on, I pretty much did, or at least I tried to. Just as Pete said, I found that some cues were easier to read than others, but lots of people gave them off. Lots of men, and plenty of boys – older boys, especially the ones who had reached puberty. The cues manifested in lingering looks, eye contact, over-the-shoulder peeks, occasional winks, and sometimes, although very rarely, the surreptitious tapping, touching, or squeezing of a certain part of the male anatomy. It could happen anywhere and at any time, whether from a clerk in a store or a passerby on the street. It certainly didn't happen every time with every man or older boy I encountered – probably no more than one in twenty, or 5% – but once I was savvy to it, it was amazing how often I saw it. It was as if a whole, secret world had been opened to me.

Pete was right about more than one thing he said to me that morning. He was right that I wasn't good at reading cues, but he was also correct that I was getting older. My body wasn't growing as I would have liked, but it was changing in other ways, and I was starting to feel the effects. The most important change for me was the onset of my sex drive, which was manifesting in an all-body feeling of tingly excitement whenever I thought about sex. The feeling would come over me the strongest when I thought I was going to have sex with Pete, but it hit me at other times, too. I didn't know what to call it then. It was just a feeling, but I liked it. It felt almost electric the way I would tingle with excitement.

My growing sexual awareness coupled with Pete's comments about the cues that people gave off made me much savvier and aware of my surroundings. In addition to all that, I of course had had more experience with actual sex than most boys my age. I knew better than most of them that men lusted after boys and had sex with them, so I knew what the looks and cues that some of them gave off most likely meant. Most kids came of age sexually through masturbation, but I had already had a lot of sex with grown men before my right hand first became acquainted with my penis in any serious way. When men and older boys looked at me a certain way, I understood what they wanted. Sometimes, as apparently it had been the case with Mr. Chambers, it was so obvious that it couldn't be missed if you were paying any attention at all.

Beyond starting to feel horny a lot, getting better at looking for cues, and having more experience with male-on-male sex than most kids my age, there was a fourth factor that I think must have contributed to the frequency with which I started to pick up on cues after my pivotal "chat" with Pete the day after my 12^th birthday. The truth was, I was a small, blonde boy, and there was no question that others found me cute. When I started paying more attention and looking for the cues that Pete had talked to me about, I ended up making more eye contact with men and older boys, which the interested ones seemed to pick up on right away.

I didn't do this deliberately at first, but once I realized that there were secret-code messages being transmitted by lingering looks, eye contact, winks, and even more obvious signs, I guess you could say that I started giving off cues of my own. I wasn't brave enough to wink or touch my crotch, but I got good at making eye contact and giving lingering looks when I passed men on the street or met them at other times. In the beginning, it almost seemed like magic, and I loved trying it out. I started locking eyes with men or older boys I encountered, and with about one in 20 of them our looks would communicate an entire conversation's worth of pick-up lines and chitchat in a matter of two or three seconds. There was no mistaking it.

As an adult, I've noticed that there are certain kids – boys and girls – who do the same thing that I did when I was their age, and it always makes me wonder. The ratio again is only about one in twenty, but 5% of kids from the age of about eight and up will lock eyes with an adult stranger and at least communicate their awareness that they are being looked at. A much greater percentage will catch you gazing and quickly look away, but those aren't the interesting ones. It's the 5% who hold your gaze as you pass by that always intrigues me. Are they active? Do they know? Has someone taken the time to explain to them how the world works as Pete did with me?

Pete took even greater pains to explain things to me once we got back to his house. Or I should say, the pain was all mine.

"Bedroom. Naked. Now," he said to me as soon as we pulled into his driveway. I could tell right away from his tone that the very least I would be in for was hard sex, but I had a premonition that it was going to be more than that.

Feeling dejected and nervous but also a bit tingly with the hope of sex, I mounted the stairs and stripped out of my clothes. It wasn't long before I heard Pete coming up the stairs himself, and by the time he entered the bedroom, he had his belt off from around his waist and was holding both ends of it in his right hand.

"You never got your birthday spanks yesterday, little slave," he announced with a cruel smile, "so we're going to take care of that right now. Put your hands on the footboard and bend over."

I swallowed nervously even as I went to the foot of the bed and did as Pete had instructed. Standing about two feet away from the end of the bed, I placed my hands on the footboard and leaned forward. Pete had used his belt on me plenty of times before, but his next words frightened me to my core.

"You're 12 years old and not a little kid anymore," he told me. "I'm getting tired of your attitude. When I tell you something like I did last night, I don't want any lip from you. Not a word. Even if you disagree with me about something, you say 'Yes, Pete,' 'Yes, sir,' or 'Yes, master,' and otherwise keep your trap shut. You're getting 13, and I'm telling you right now that they're going to hurt. You're a big kid now. If you don't think it's fair, you can walk out of here right now and not come back."

Pete paused for a moment to let me think about things, but I'm sure he was certain that I wouldn't leave. That didn't make me any less scared about what was about to happen. Pete had disciplined me before plenty of times, and he had often used his belt, but I'd never heard him talk like this before.

"You said that last night, too," he reminded me. "Are you staying? Because if you are, I'm going to make you sorry."

"Fine then," said Pete. "These are going to hurt, and if I hear anything negative from Milt about your performance last night, you might want to think twice before you come back here, capiche? Milt and I are having coffee tomorrow morning, so I'm going to hear all about how you did."

The first strike of the belt came seconds later. It made a resounding "WHAAAAAAAP!" sound that split the air in the bedroom. The force of it moved my hips forward so much that I had to move my feet further from the bed just to ensure that I could hold my position, which I did before the pain even hit me. Then the pain hit me, and when it did, it really hit me.

Pete hadn't been kidding about this at all. Apparently, 12 years old was his cut off between little kids and big kids, and that day I learned the difference between little-kid and big-kid spankings. It turned out that Pete had been going easy on me before, but he didn't go easy on me now. The only time he had come close to hitting me this hard was in the hotel room with the flogger after I had messed up with Aaron, and the first time he had used the belt on me at his house after I sassed him by responding "crystal" after he asked me if something he had said was clear. Those had been bad. Even though the beating at Aaron's house had gone on longer, the individual strokes were not as bad.

This one was worse. I think Pete was hitting me full force with his belt, and he was a big man. Each blow hurt like blazes, searing my backside and no doubt raising welts. The only saving grace was that Pete wore a dress belt, not a heavy jeans belt, so even folded over it wasn't as heavy as a strap. On the other hand, he was applying it to my bare bottom, he was giving me a full dozen, and he wasn't holding back at all. We weren't roleplaying. He was punishing me, and I felt every one of those 12 birthday spanks and the one to grow on. The lesson about challenging him was well and truly learned that day, and I never forgot it.

I was crying and carrying on afterwards, and I don't think Pete wanted to fuck me that way, so he had me stand in the corner until I had calmed down enough for sex. When he thought I was ready, he had me lie on my back on the bed and hold my knees up while he knelt between my legs and examined the welts on my bottom.

"I hope you learned your lesson," he said as he gently fondled my butt cheeks. I could feel the vibrations in his fingers on my skin as they passed over the raised, corrugated ridges left by the belt.

"Yes, master," I said in as sorry, contrite, and conciliatory voice as I could muster. I had learned my lesson, but I had learned it even before Pete took the belt to my backside. My visit with Mr. Chambers had done the trick. I wasn't going to challenge Pete ever again if he told me that somebody was looking at me or was "that way." I also hoped that by using the honorific term "master," Pete would at least go back to our default roleplay of master and his little slave. I much preferred that to playing Pete and Davey, especially when Pete was angry and unhappy with Davey and yelling at the poor kid.

"Good, then," replied Pete as he took the cap off a tube of lubricant and proceeded to coat his cock with it. "Because I'm going to fuck you now. What do you think about that, little slave?"

I was relieved to have Pete back as my master and eager to fuck me. I don't think the man had any idea how much trauma he put me through whenever he became angry with me. I had cut the frequency of those episodes down considerably since we had first met and was a much better-behaved boy than I had been, but I couldn't seem to eliminate them altogether, and when they still happened, they took years off my life. It may sound silly, but at that age I was absolutely terrified of being rejected by him. I had nearly had a nervous breakdown when he abandoned me in the hotel room in Chicago, and the next two days had been the most traumatic of my entire life as I worried and fretted about winning him back.

"I want you to, master," I replied as I held my legs up and pulled them even more apart for him, granting him access to my well-used hole. Pete had been fucking me every day during the summer holidays and occasionally more than once, so I was used to it, and more and more I was coming to like it. I still felt some pain, but what I enjoyed the most about sex was the sense of fullness inside me. When my mind wasn't off worrying about things, I looked forward to sex with Pete and even got excited tingles thinking about it. This wasn't one of those times because my butt still was on fire from my beating, but even without the tingles, part of me wanted to feel Pete's cock rutting inside me, filling me up. I felt complete when he was on top of me and in me like that. I never felt closer to him than when he was fucking me.

"Very well, then the little slave will get what he wishes," said Pete as he moved closer between my legs and placed his cockhead in my indent. Reaching down to grasp my hips between his thumbs and fingers, he simultaneously thrust in and pulled me toward him, forcing his cock inside me abruptly. I gasped aloud at the sudden intrusion, then grunted as my anus objected to being treated that way. Pete pushed deeper into my rectum and bowels, causing me to moan.

"You like that, do you little slave?" asked Pete with a smile as he forced his cock deeper into my bowls until his public bush was resting against my penis and the alabaster skin of my lower groin.

"Yes, master," I gasped as I tried to flex my anus around his shaft and grow accustomed to his size once again. He had entered me quickly and gone balls deep without giving me any chance to adjust, and I was in pain. I breathed in deeply and exhaled through pursed lips, trying to reconcile the discomfort. After a few more seconds, I managed to relax my sphincter, and things felt better. Pete hadn't moved when he saw me struggling.

I didn't go to see Pete the next morning, Monday September 4 which was Labor Day. That was a rarity that summer. There was no one thing that prevented it, but I was preoccupied with thoughts of school the next day, and my mother suggested that I stay home, clean my room, and get myself organized for the start of school and the week ahead. It seemed like a good idea, and I thought that Pete would understand if I didn't go to see him. I debated calling him to tell him I wouldn't be coming, but that wasn't how we did things. He knew how worried I was about the start of school, and I didn't think he would mind if I didn't come.

Was I ever worried about school! I obsessed about everything, from what I would wear, to how I would do my hair, to what I would do for lunch, to whether I had gym, to how to know which bus was mine. I thought briefly about trying a center part like Ramses had done for me in Chicago, but I didn't have the courage to go through with it. I packed and repacked my school supplies in my new backpack. Then I was sure I had forgotten something, so I unpacked them and packed them again. Then I was sure that I would need my pencils for math class and wasn't sure I would be able to get to them, so I repacked my backpack again, placing my pencil case on top, just under the twin zippers. I was about to start again, certain that I had forgotten something, when I forced myself to stand up and go outside to clear my head.

It was a beautiful day, this last, unofficial day of summer. The late-afternoon sun blazed hotly in the western sky on a mostly cloudless day. I decided to go for a ride and fetched my new bike from the garage. I loved that bike. It looked so menacing and cool to me. It looked fast, like a minibike. I loved the knobby tires and the thick, rectangular seat.

I hopped on and began to pedal for the pure joy of it, standing up out of the saddle as my legs drove the bike forward like a gazelle. I pumped the pedals hard, scooting down a driveway apron to the street, hitting the blacktop there and pausing to listen to the low rumble of my tires racing across the asphalt. Seated now, I pedaled for all I was worth as the air rushed by my face. I had no destination in mind as my t-shirt billowed around my midriff and my hair flopped about my forehead. I reached up to fold it back as I continued to pedal as fast as I could.

When I could pedal no more, I sat back in the saddle and enjoyed the fruits of my labor as the bike coursed down South Delano Street toward Cox Road on its own. My momentum carried me the full block before I started to slow. Pedaling hard once again, I swept wide to the right and swooped left onto Cox, staying low in the saddle like a motorcycle racer. It was only a half block to Clinton where I turned right, hugging the corner at speed as I flew past the high school and then the cemetery.

I felt free as a bird as I alternated pedaling and coasting down Clinton as it eased into Rattle Run Road. There, the slight incline took me out of my saddle once again, as I was damned if I was going to give up any speed on the uphill. I was too fast for that. The bike was too fast. It was built for speed, and the Rattle Run hill wasn't nearly steep enough to best it.

I was tired and would have been sweaty but for the wind coursing past as I drove the bike hard, cresting the first hill and coasting down again, before resuming the climb once again just past the intersection with Carriage Lane. My legs were starting to feel the strain as I eased the bike gently to the left at the fork with Trumble Road. Rattle Run continued its uphill run toward Wadhams, but Trumble leveled off nicely into a lovely, tree-lined street of modest, middle-class homes. I let the rest of the speed drop off the bike as I made another left straight into Pete's driveway, braking to a stop next to the Grand Marquis.

I dropped the bike gently on its side and scrambled up the front steps. The storm door was open as it always was, and I felt a twinge of excitement as I reached for the latch on the screen door.

Pete was in the kitchen, or just stepping out of it, as I walked into the house. He had an apron on and was holding a steel bowl in his left hand a wooden stir stick in his right. He smiled when he saw me.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming today," he said as he motioned me with his head to come with him back into the kitchen. I followed, wiping my suddenly sweating brow on my t-shirt as I did so.

"Are you making cookies?" I asked him incredulously, but I needn't have asked. Arrayed on the kitchen table were two cooling racks each with eight chocolate-chip cookies on them. A further batch of cookies rested on a plate in the center of the table. The wonderful smell of fresh-baked, chocolate sweetness filled the entire kitchen.

"I figured you might like a treat after school tomorrow – assuming you were going to come," Pete replied.

"I was … I was doing stuff," I explained. "Today, I mean. I was going to come tomorrow."

"Have one," said Pete as he motioned to the cookies. "There's far too many for me to eat. No sense in waiting until tomorrow if you're here now."

I took one from the plate and took a big bite. It melted in my mouth and tasted delicious.

"It's so good," I said as I brandished the cookie at Pete and took another bite. He smiled at me as he tugged a kitchen mitt onto his right hand, then turned to open the oven door. I watched as he extracted a cookie sheet with eight more cookies on it and brought it over to the table. Discarding the kitchen mitt, he slid the cookies from one of the cooling racks onto the plate before returning the rack to the table. Using a spatula, he carefully dislodged the cookies from the cookie sheet and placed them neatly on the rack. When he was finished, he untied the apron from behind his back and skinned it off over his head.

"I was going to bake the last half batch," he said as he turned off the oven," but now that you're here, I think I'll wait until later. Go ahead, have another," he said as he opened the refrigerator and popped the steel bowl inside.

Not needing to be asked twice, I grabbed a second cookie from the plate and bit into it as Pete turned back around to face me.

The man had transitioned from baking cookies to sex so quickly that I had to suppress a grin, but that was Pete. He was good for two orgasms every day whether he needed them or not. On most days, I think he needed them, and today we were behind schedule.

"Oh, playing hard to get, are we?" taunted Pete. "You may just get something hard if you don't watch out, little slave."

"Oh, Trowse," I said in my Sebastian McCardle voice. "You knows they only lets me take baths!"

"But which way do you want me?" I asked him cheekily. We hadn't played like this in a while, and I thought about sticking out my tongue, but I wasn't sure it would go over well, so I refrained.

"Naked, of course," he answered matter-of-factly. "And if those clothes aren't off in the next ten seconds, you'll be naked with a sore bottom, to boot."

I didn't need the full ten seconds. My shirt and sneakers were off in a flash, joined by my shorts and briefs moment later. I plucked my socks off one at a time, and in record time I was standing naked in Pete's kitchen with a semi-hard penis and a tingling sensation throughout my body.

"Good slave," said Pete as picked up the implement he had used to separate the cookies from the cookie sheet. "Otherwise, I was going to spatulize your butt."

My eyes went wide, and I backed up a step as Pete brandished the kitchen implement at me. Suddenly, moving more quickly than I expected for a man his age and size, he charged at me, easily closing the distance between us, and capturing me as I backed up right into the door of the pantry. The spatula clanked forgotten to the floor, and I squealed in surprise as he grabbed my upper arms. I tried to duck away, and soon found myself in a headlock.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Pete as he easily held my struggling body. "I've got you now!" he said in an evil-sounding voice.

There was no one on earth who I would rather have get me, so my squeals of surprise and distress may just as easily have been of anticipation and delight. Before I knew it, we were heading toward the staircase leading to the second floor. Pete released me there, and with a single swat to my bare butt, sent me bounding up the stairs.

"Yes, master," I replied as I stepped into the bathroom and activated the tub's hot-water tap. I knew from experience that the water for the tub took a while to warm up.

Pete entered the bathroom a few moments later, naked and sporting a semi-hard erection. As the water ran in the background, I watched him lube his cock. He then tossed the tube to me.

I didn't want it raw and natural. I'd experienced anal sex before without the right kind of lube or enough of it, and I didn't like the sensation. I remembered the time Mr. Emerson fucked me in Mr. Stone's pool using only the water itself as a lubricant. That had hurt. Pete always used lube, although there were times when the effects of the stuff seemed to wear off as he was fucking me. That was when anal sex became most painful for me, with every thrust feeling like my anus was being sanded.

I fingered some lube in and around my hole as Pete kneeled to check the temperature of the water running from the tap. I watched as he plugged the tub and activated the cold-water tap. He checked the temperature of the water as the tub began to fill. After a minute or so, he turned off the water and stood up. We both had semi-hard erections in anticipation of what was to come.

"In you go," he said as he picked me up under my arms and lifted me into the tub. He stepped in himself right after and eased himself down first to a seated and then to a reclined position on the bottom of the tub with me standing between his legs. He reached for his penis and began stroking himself to a full erection.

"I wasn't sure I was going to see you today," he said casually as he looked up at me while still stroking his cock.

I felt guilty for coming so late. I felt even guiltier knowing that I had almost not come at all, but I had had other things on my mind. I had been so worried about my first day of school tomorrow that my stomach had been tied in knots at points during the day.

"I'm sorry," I said contritely. I hadn't missed a day with Pete in weeks. It was like we were a married couple, and I supposed that in a way, we were.

"I'm going to come if I can," I said as I stood over him in the tub awaiting his instructions. They weren't long in coming.

"Alright, move up here," he said as he grabbed my left ankle and gave it a tug. Holding the towel bar for support, I moved my feet to either side of his body about to his mid-torso. There wasn't a ton of room, but enough for my feet to stand on the bottom of the tub with my ankles between the sides and his body.

"Now sit down on it," Pete instructed as he held my ankles. As I began to lower myself, his hands slid up my legs and thighs to my hips. When my butt was low enough, he reached underneath and pointed his erection upright to find my hole.

"There's a good slave," he said as he found my indent and rested his cockhead again it. "Now down, let me in," he commanded. I did just that, bending my knees and lowering my bottom over his cock, impaling myself on it.

The initial entry hurt as it always did, and I winced, exhaled, and moaned. Moments later, Pete's cock was balls-deep in my ass and my butt cheeks were resting on his balls and upper thighs.

"How does it feel, slave?" asked Pete as he reached for my nipples with the thumb and index finger of each hand and began to pinch and squeeze them.

"Good," I replied, but in truth, my bottom still was adjusting to his penetration. Pete knew it took me a few seconds before I was ready to fuck, and he usually let me have them before he started.

"Good, master," I repeated as I moved my hips a bit to find a degree of comfort. "Please master, fuck your little slave."

Pete was into the roleplay this afternoon, which pleased me very much. I liked it when he was in a playful mood. Some of my most enjoyable moments with the man were spent in some form of sexual roleplay with both of us acting parts. We both were thespians, after all.

"Oh, master," I began. "Please fuck me with your giant cock, master. Your little slave needs master's big cock inside him. Please, please fuck me master."

"And just how hard does the little slave want to be fucked?" queried Pete playfully, still pinching and playing with my nipples.

"Very hard, master," I gave the required reply, although I didn't think he really could fuck me very hard the way we were positioned. It was a bit cramped in the tub, and Pete was lying on his back. My knees were a bit awkwardly bent with my feet resting on the tub to either side of his rib cage.

"That's a good slave," cooed Pete. "Little slave knows what master wants, so now he should give it to him. Fuck me, slave, and make it very hard if you don't want a wet-bottom spanking afterwards."

I felt a little tingle of excitement surge through my body and my dick went marble hard as I braced my hands on the sides of the tub, lifted my hips up, and lowered myself once again on Pete's erection. Once I had a feel for it, I began to do it quicker and harder, bouncing my hips up and down, impaling myself over and over on Pete's cock. It was awkward in the tub, but doable.

"Good little slave," encouraged Pete, "but harder. Do it harder. Your master wants it very hard."

I did my best to do it harder, but my position in the tub made it difficult. My knees were bent awkwardly, and my cramped positioning meant that I couldn't use my legs to help.

"Yes, m- uh, master," I replied as I tried to slam my body down on his cock. The lube was doing its thing and I wasn't in pain, but I just couldn't get enough purchase to do it the way he wanted me to.

"Stop!" commanded Pete after another few seconds. His hands went to my hips. "Wrap your arms around your knees and pull them tight to your chest, slave."

"Yes, master," I said as I quickly complied. Pete steadied me on his cock as I pulled my legs back tight to my chest, my feet now dangling uselessly above his chest.

With his hands now gripping the sides of my hips and butt, Pete lifted my entire body up and then let it slam down on his hips.

"Uhhhhh," I gasped as his cock drove balls deep in my bottom once again. Before I could even react, I felt my body being lifted once again, only to slam back down a moment later.

"Ohhh," I exclaimed involuntarily as the air was expelled from my lungs. Then he did it again, and again after that.

Pete was really giving it to me. Up I went, only to slam down hard on his hips, his cock driving deeper inside me than I think it ever had gone before. I continued to clutch my knees to my chest as Pete raised and lowered my body at will. Every time he slammed me down, it felt like his cock impaled me to my belly button, and I gasped or grunted with the force of it.

Pete was using only his arm strength to raise and lower me, but he didn't seem to be tiring. I was 12 years old, but I weighed only a little over 60 pounds [27kg], and that didn't seem to be any problem for Pete. I'm not sure he could have bench pressed me all day, but he didn't seem to have any problem doing it the couple of dozen times it took him to cum. Each penetration was hard and deep, and I certainly felt them that day. This was yet another new way of fucking for me.

Afterwards, I stretched out on Pete and just lay atop him as his cock eventually softened and slipped from my butt. Pete's body mostly was in the warm water of the tub, while except for my feet and lower legs my body was mostly outside it, but I wasn't cold, and I didn't mind. His hands scooped warm water on me and gently rubbed my back and bottom, occasionally venturing up to my hair and rubbing my head. My butt and insides were sore from the way he had fucked me, but I was close to Pete, and that's all that really mattered to me.

We lay together like that for a solid 10 minutes as both of us recovered. Eventually, the water started to grow colder, and Pete announced an end to our rest.

"Okay, little slave," he said with double taps to my butt cheeks. "Hop of and let's finish up here."

I climbed off Pete and knelt at the other end of the tub as he first sat up, then climbed with some difficulty and awkwardness to his feet.

"Bathe your master, slave," he commanded as he handed me the bar of soap. "Don't miss a spot."

I took the soap and moved closer to him, then proceeded to lather from where his legs emerged from the water all the way up his body to his hips and stomach, soaping every part of him that I could reach. I spent plenty of time on his genitals and then his ass crack and hole when he turned around for me.

"Do a good job down there, because you're going to give me a rim job as soon as we get out of this room, little slave," he warned. I wasn't surprised to hear this, as Pete often liked to be rimmed while he recuperated between bouts of sex. I was here at his house now, which meant that we were going to go two rounds like we always did. In anticipation of rimming him, however, I made sure to spend extra time cleaning his hairy hole.

When I was finished with Pete's ass, I stood to my feet so I could wash his upper body, sliding my soapy hands up and down his thick torso, cleaning his back, and then as he turned around again, his chest and neck, and finally under his arms as he raised them for me one at a time.

"Good slave," he said as he reached for the bottle of shampoo and did his hair on his own. "Pull the plug, slave. We can finish up with a shower."

"Here," he said as he handed me the bar of soap and stepped into the stream to rinse. "Get yourself clean."

We operated in silence for the next five minutes or so as I soaped myself down and stood under the stream to rinse. Pete took the soap back and did his face and feet on his own. It was a bit cramped being under the showerhead together, but we had done this dozens of times by now and were used to it. In the end, both of us were clean as a whistle.

We stepped out of the shower together, and Pete handed me one of the fluffy towels from the rack. It wasn't for me. Dripping, I knelt to dry Pete's body as I usually did, working from his feet up, which really didn't make sense because the water dripped down, but that's the way Pete liked me to do it. I gave his genitals a little kiss as I reached around him with the towel to get his butt and lower back, then stood to my feet and did his upper body, then his hair as he bent over a bit for me to reach.

I got myself dried off, ran the hairbrush through my damp hair, and came to join Pete. When I arrived in the bedroom, he already was lying on the bed on his stomach with his legs spread wide apart. He looked like the picture of comfort with his head resting on a pillow and his eyes closed.

I did know, and without further instruction I climbed onto the bed, crawled over his left leg, and lay down on my tummy between his legs with my head over his ass. Reaching for his hairy ass cheeks with my hands, I spread them apart, lowered my face to his butt, and began to lick his cleft and hole with my tongue.

I still wasn't a huge fan of rimming, but Pete was, and that's all that mattered to me. I knew that his hole was especially clean because I had just cleaned it, so I wasn't worried about that part at all as I settled in to do my duty. Pete usually liked me to do him for about 15 minutes, which was around the time that my tongue started to get tired, especially if I used it a lot to penetrate his hole. He especially liked it when I did that and usually rewarded me with little moans and sighs of pleasure. Today was no different.

Afterwards, Pete rolled over on his back and beckoned for me to come join him up near the head of the bed. I climbed eagerly over and up his body and snuggled close to him on my left side. This allowed me to use my right hand to reach down and begin stroking his cock to a full erection. Like a lot of boys, I was better masturbating with my right hand than my left. The motion just felt more natural to me when I used my dominant hand to stroke Pete's cock.

Resting my head on Pete's chest, I stroked his stiffening penis slowly, rubbing my palm over his cockhead and trying to coax a full erection from him. I did this a lot to get him ready for a second go. Sometimes he responded quickly, and other times he took a while longer, but Pete was Old Reliable when it came to sex with me; unless one of us had someplace to be, he always was good for at least two rounds.

"Still worried about school tomorrow?" he asked me casually, but he already knew the answer.

"Yeah," I admitted dolefully. My response was informal, and I didn't add "master" to the end of it because this was how we did things. Once Pete came, the roleplay of the moment always ended instantly. Today was no exception.

"It's always hard when you move to a new school and don't know anyone," Pete mused, but he wasn't helping. Not knowing anyone and not making any friends was exactly what I was worried about. Hearing him say that was not at all reassuring.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," he said, changing the subject. I continued to stroke his penis as I wondered what it could be.

I froze and momentarily stopped stroking Pete's penis. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant. I still wasn't entirely sure what my role was in all of this.

I didn't answer right away as I pondered the meaning of "film." By film I thought he meant movie, but I wasn't sure.

"It'll be more on the X side of things, but easy for you," replied Pete. "It's with another boy, not a man this time."

I unwittingly stopped stroking Pete's penis again as I concentrated fully on this important information. A boy? Who? A boy I knew? Unless there was some other kid in St. Clair with a gig like mine, if I knew the boy, it would have to be somebody whom I met at Mr. Stone's party.

Pete chuckled at my response. "Not somebody you know," he said as he reached down for my hand and set me to stroking him once again.

This brought another little chuckle from Pete. "I guess you could say that," he said with a nod.

"No, I don't think that's in the script. He's just an older boy. A friend of yours or something. The scripts for films like this usually don't get into that stuff too much."

"Oh," I said a bit dejectedly. I had been hoping there would be more real acting involved like I briefly had discussed with Mr. Tal.

"That feels good," said Pete as his cock began to harden in my hand. "Do it just like that."

"I don't, Davey," said Pete. He used my first name, which was a subtle warning to me that he was growing impatient with my questions. "And it doesn't matter," he added after a pause. There was another touch of warning in his tone.

It mattered to me, but I didn't say anything. I knew better than that. I continued to stroke Pete's cock as I contemplated what all this might mean.

"You may have to miss a day or two of school," Pete announced. "Depends on the day they decide to film. Aaron's going to let me know, and I'll tell you when he does."

I didn't want to miss school, but I kept my mouth shut once again. We had talked about this – Pete, my mother, and I. We had discussed it. If I needed to miss school for work, they were going to sit down with my school's principal and work something out so I could get my homework done and make up tests so that my grades didn't suffer. If I needed one, they would get me a tutor. I knew all this, but it still made me nervous. I was worried about school enough as it was without missing any of it.

"Chicago area, yes," replied Pete. "All your work will be in Chicago. There's not much going on here in St. Clair, and I don't think you'd want that anyway."

I agreed with Pete about not wanting work in St. Clair, and I understood what he was telling me about Chicago. Aaron was the one finding me jobs, and Chicago was where he was located. It all made sense to me, but I wished that Chicago wasn't so far away and that I didn't have to miss school to go there.

"Slide down and suck me, little slave," said Pete, signaling that at least my part of the conversation was at an end. "I want to fuck your mouth." And that's exactly what he did.

It finally was here. The day I had been dreading for weeks and even months finally had arrived. Tuesday, September 5, 1978, was my first day of junior high school. I would be in seventh grade at a new school, and I was dreading it.

I had taken a shower at Pete's house the day before, but I still got up early that morning to take another one before catching my bus. I certainly didn't need to shower every day. I still hadn't reached puberty, and I didn't smell much even when I perspired, but I wanted to be especially neat and clean for my first day of school.

I was as ready for my first day as I possibly could have been. After getting home from Pete's house, I had even re-packed my school backpack to make sure that nothing had escaped from it while I was gone. My mother didn't even ask where I had been when I got home after being gone for over three hours, but I'm sure she already knew.

I had memorized the number of my bus from the welcome letter I had received from the junior high principal. I would be on Bus 6, and the stop was located exactly one block from my apartment. I had been re-checking the letter about once per day to be sure that the bus number, the location of the stop, and the time of pickup hadn't changed.

Once out of the shower, I brushed my teeth and dried my hair, combing it neatly until I thought it looked okay. I didn't wear it in any actual style, but this was 1978 and neither did anyone else.

I picked a pair of undies with the smallest cum stain in the seat, which I knew was foolish because I didn't have gym class on my first day. I should have saved them for a day I had gym. At some point, I knew that I was going to have to find a solution to the cum-stain problem. It would be embarrassing to ask my mother for new underwear, but it wasn't like I could ask Pete to buy them for me either. Even back then, and even given what my mother already knew, a grown man buying underwear for a boy who wasn't his son would look weird, and my mother would know instantly if new briefs showed up in the wash. It was a conundrum that I had yet to resolve.

I chose new brown corduroys and a new button-down shirt for my first day. The shirt was so new that it still had fold marks from the way it had been packaged, but I thought it looked good. My belt still fit from last school year – of course it did since I hadn't grown so much as inch since school had let out in June, which was a never-ending source of frustration for me. My sneakers weren't new, but they didn't look bad. Overall, I thought I looked nice for my first day.

My mother complimented me and gave me a hug as I came down for breakfast. She knew how worried I was about school and had made a pancake breakfast for me as a send-off.

"You're going to have a great day and make lots of new friends," she told me as she sat me down at the kitchen table and brought me a plate of four pancakes and a little glass dish with mandarin orange slices in it. My mother didn't usually make breakfast, so this constituted a morning feast in my household.

My bus was supposed to pick me up at the stop at precisely 7:43 a.m. I don't know how they time those things to the minute, but that was what a single line added to the end of the principal's letter said. I had memorized both the time and my bus number. Bus 6. 7:43 a.m. Got it.

Except I didn't get it. I was okay with the time, but I kept forgetting the bus number in my head and having to go back and check the letter. I knew that it was either Bus 6 or Bus 8, but I was so worried about the stupid bus that I kept second guessing myself whenever I thought I had the number memorized. Every time I checked that it was Bus 6, I told myself that it was not Bus 8, but that only served to keep both numbers in my head, confusing me even more.

I know how ridiculous this all sounds, but I was 12 and very nervous about riding the goddamn bus. Throughout elementary school, I always had been a walker. It even was a point of pride for me. When school let out and most of the other kids headed for the buses, I already was hightailing out the rotunda door, up the walk, and on my way home. Until we moved into the apartment, I had walked the same route to and from school from the age of five all by myself – four tenths of a mile [⅔km]! No parents would let their five-year-old child walk that distance school on their own today, but my mother let me. It was the 1970s, and child abductions and stranger danger weren't as front and center on everyone's mind then as they are today.

My biggest worry was getting on the wrong bus and ending up in the wrong school, which is why I had obsessed about the bus number to the point where I kept second guessing myself about it even after double checking about a dozen times.

I left my house that morning at 7:30 a.m. and arrived at the bus stop three minutes later. According to the schedule, the bus wouldn't come for another 10 minutes, which gave me plenty of time to worry about the bus number all over again. I hadn't brought the principal's letter with me, but I was pretty sure it said Bus 6. Or was it Bus 8? I just wasn't sure.

The other thing I didn't know was what direction the bus would be coming from, and that also worried me. It seemed to me that if I knew which direction my bus was coming from and heading, I would be less likely to get on the bus going to some random girls' elementary school somewhere in Arkansas. Not that I knew which direction the junior high was from my house, but which way the bus was heading when it approached my stop seemed like something important for me to know, and it bothered me that I didn't know it.

A full-sized yellow school bus roared by my stop that morning, never even slowing down. I hoped it wasn't mine, but I worried that it was. What if the driver hadn't seen me? She had driven by with a look of fierce determination on her face and hadn't even looked in my direction, so I was pretty sure she wasn't my ride – but not entirely sure.

Since I couldn't remember whether I was supposed to take Bus 6 or Bus 8, I decided I would ask the driver to be make sure that the bus indeed was going to the junior high. That seemed like a good plan to me. Even if I took the wrong bus, I would at least end up in the right place. I might get in trouble for it, but I wouldn't be in Arkansas explaining myself, and that was my main worry.

It was another five minutes or so before another, full-sized yellow school bus came down the hill, approaching my stop from the south. I turned to face it, making myself as tall as possible, hoping to be seen. Was this my bus? How would I know?

Sure enough, the bus slowed as it approached the intersection and stopped right beside me. The doors accordioned open, and the driver looked down at me like I was a steaming pile of dogshit on the sidewalk. She didn't say a word.

She nodded in reply, or grunted, or something. I can't remember exactly, but once I had an affirmative response, I stepped onto the bus, and that's when it suddenly hit me: I wasn't Bus 6, I was Bus 8! I was getting on the wrong bus, just as I had feared all along I would be!

"I think I'm Bus 8," I said sheepishly as I stepped back down to the pavement. The driver shrugged like she couldn't care less and began to close the door, but that's when I remembered my plan: As long as the bus was going to the junior high, I was getting on it!

"Oh, wait, maybe I am Bus 6," I said as I stepped quickly back onto the bus, only to get caught in the closing door. It stopped me dead in my tracks before the driver opened it wide once again, causing me to stumble and sprawl onto the steps leading into the bus.

With my cheeks burning with embarrassment, I managed to get myself upright once again and finally make it up the stairs. The driver didn't say a word, but as she closed the door a second time, I could tell she was exasperated with me. Once on the bus, I was greeted with jeers and laughter from about a dozen kids who had witnessed my debacle. I knew two or three of them from my elementary school, but most of them were older. Still blushing with embarrassment, I ignored them and took my seat right behind the driver like a goody two-shoes as the bus pulled away from the curb.

I felt like a complete idiot. The day I had been worrying about for weeks was off to a completely shitty, embarrassing start right from the very first possible moment. I hadn't even been able to get on the bus without making a complete fool of myself! It seemed like a bad omen to me, and I reached for my St. Genesius necklace and pulled it from my shirt. Rubbing the pads of my fingers over the figure of St. Genesius on the medallion, I thought of Pete and tried to change my luck for the better.

Considering its utterly ignominious start, my first day of school went well after that. I found my homeroom easily enough, where my homeroom teacher, Mr. Tyler, gave me my schedule. I'd never had a schedule before, and soon my homeroom classmates and I were abuzz with interest over the classes we would be taking. None of us knew what "IA" meant, but when we asked Mr. Tyler, he just smiled and told us that he would go over everything in a moment.

As it turned out, IA stood for Industrial Arts, otherwise and formerly known as Shop. It was my first class after homeroom, and I headed there quickly as soon as the bell rang. I had exactly five minutes to change classes before each of the seven periods of the school day. Being late to class meant that you got written up and had to serve detention. The teachers always claimed that it was possible to walk between the two most-distant classrooms in the school inside of five minutes, so they never bought any excuse for a kid being late. Never, ever.

As I stepped from my homeroom classroom, I immediately was engulfed in a teaming sea of students. Passing periods at my school were chaotic, with almost a thousand kids rushing to get where they needed to be. As I had feared, every single one of them was bigger and taller than I was, and I knew hardly any of them. Two third of them were older, and three quarters of them came from the other elementary schools in St. Clair that I had not attended. I had known only a handful of kids in my homeroom, and although I saw a few more familiar faces in the hallways, it seemed as though I had moved to another city. I felt like a very small fish in a very big pond.

As I said, my first day of school went well after the stupid bus incident, save for one minor incident – at least, it seemed minor to me at the time. I found the Industrial Arts room and was greeted by the shop teacher, Mr. Morton. The room had work benches and various pieces of equipment and machinery and was not set up like a classroom with desks, but there was an area up front with chairs, and Mr. Morton directed us there. I chose a seat near the front as the other kids filled the chairs behind me. Once again, I knew only a handful of the boys in my class who had attended my same elementary school. I hadn't seen or met any of the others before.

The incident I mentioned happened as Mr. Morton was taking attendance. Unlike my homeroom teacher, who had referred to me as "Mr. Pierce" when he took attendance, the shop teacher read our full names and wanted to know what we liked to be called.

"When I read your name off, tell me what you prefer to go by," he had said, and I didn't think anything of it. It made perfect sense to me.

If I had been paying attention earlier, I would have heard Mr. Morton say the name of the kid who then kicked the leg of my chair, leaned forward, and spoke to me in a whispered voice.

"Hey, Davey," the boy said in a derisive, sing-song tone. "Did you bring your teddy bear with you to school today? Did mommy pack your lunchbox?"

The tips of my ears tinged pink as I turned around to face my tormentor. As far as I knew, it was the first time I ever had laid eyes on his grinning, taunting face, but it would be far from the last. The boy sitting immediately behind me had dark hair, brown eyes, and an olive complexion. He was wearing an AC/DC t-shirt and jeans with untied high-top sneakers on his feet. He was twice my size and looked like he should have been in high school, or maybe more like reform school.

His name, I soon would learn, was Dominic Colarusso, and he was about to become the bane of my existence, although I didn't know it at the time.

"Hi there!" he said to me with a little baby wave as I caught my first, fleeting glimpse of the boy who eventually would drive me to the very edge of a nervous breakdown.

As I turned back around to face the front of the classroom, I didn't know enough to be that worried about Dominic Colarusso, but I knew nonetheless that I had made a very bad, very stupid mistake. It hadn't occurred to me until then that I couldn't be "Davey" in junior high school. Even with all the worrying and obsessing I had done about my new school and fitting in, that problem hadn't occurred to me at all. I always had been Davey. I'd never known another name. Everyone called me Davey.

Not anymore. After that day – after that class – I changed my name. Henceforth, I would be known as David. No diminutives for me. No nicknames. Just David.

My mother understood and honored my request. That's not to say that she didn't slip up from time to time in the first few months, but I was David with her from then on. Pete also honored my wishes. He rarely called me by my given name anyway, and then only when we were having a Very Serious Conversation. He adapted to David quickly enough, as did my other teachers and even Mr. Morton once I corrected my mistake with him. Indeed, my transition from Davey to David went smoothly, except for one thing, or I should say, one person:

I hate that name even today. I hate writing it. I hate thinking about it. You know the Karate Kid? The movie with Ralph Macchio as Danny LaRusso? I couldn't even watch it. The protagonist's screen name triggered me. The Italian-ness of Ralph Macchio triggered me, even though he was slight, wispy kid compared to Dominic Fucking Colarusso.

I didn't have any of those concerns or anxieties sitting in shop class at 8:40 a.m. on Tuesday, September 5, 1978, but I would have them soon enough. I just didn't know it then.

After my first day of school, in what would become a routine for me, I hopped on my bike and pedaled to Pete's house. On a good day, I could get there by 3:30 p.m. My mother worked until 6:00 p.m. and didn't get home until a bit after that, so unless I had to stay after school for one reason or another, I should have a solid two hours to spend with my friend before dinner. That was plenty of time for two rounds of sex with chitchat in between.

"How was your first day, little slave?" Pete asked with a smile as he greeted me with a hug and ruffled my hair. He seemed glad to see me and genuinely interested in my day. After all, he knew how worried I had been about it.

I told him all about it, first in the kitchen over some day-old, chocolate-chip cookies, then on the couch in the living room as we touched and my shirt and sneakers came off, and then on his bed upstairs as we got ready for sex. It hadn't had a bad day overall, and we both got a chuckle about my bus mishap. I told him about shop class and my decision to change my name, and Pete was fine with it. I thought I had solved the problem.

"I actually think that's a good idea," he said as he stepped out of his pants and draped them over his dresser. His erection already was tenting his boxers as he plucked his socks from his feet one at a time. "You can't go by Davey forever, even if it's going to take me a little time to get used to the change," he added as he skinned his boxers off and joined me on the bed where I already was lying naked and erect, awaiting his arrival. I made room for him as he climbed up beside me.

"Start sucking, slave," he said as he finished propping himself up with both pillows jammed behind his back. "I want some nice, deep-throat action."

"Yes, master," I replied as I crawled between his spread legs, grasped his erect shaft in my right hand, and immediately began to get his cock wet with my mouth and tongue.

"If you're not going by Davey anymore, I guess you can't be my little slave either," said Pete as he caressed the side of my face. "That makes you my regular old slave from now on."

"Yes, master," I repeated as I continued to get his cock slick and wet for my throat. That was all I said, but I was pleased with the promotion. Anytime the word "little" didn't need to be used in conjunction with me, I was happy.

I proceeded to suck Pete well and thoroughly, giving him the deep-throat action that he had been enjoying ever since Mr. Emerson had taught me the skill back in Chicago. Come to think of it, Pete owed Mr. Emerson a huge debt of gratitude, as my friend eventually enjoyed many hundreds of deep-throat blowjobs courtesy of Mr. Emerson's patient tutelage of me.

After Pete came in my mouth, we relaxed and snuggled on the bed together. He caressed the back of my head as I combed my fingers through his chest hair and played with his nipples. Pete always needed time to recuperate before round two, and that also gave us some time to talk. These moments were some of the very best times I spent with my friend, as Pete usually was very chill and relaxed after sex.

"I heard from Aaron today," he told me casually as we lay together skin-to-skin.

"That's right," said Pete. "It's the weekend after this one. I figured we'd drive up that Friday, come back on Sunday or possibly Monday, depending how the shoot goes."

I knew this meant I would have to miss school. I was unhappy about that, but we had discussed it when Pete was getting my mom's agreement, and it wasn't like I could back out now.

"Okay," I said with what I hoped was the right degree of acceptance and eagerness.

"You'll have to miss one or two days of school," confirmed Pete, "so your mother and I are going to have to meet with your principal and teachers this week or next and get that ball rolling."

"I'm going to wait a day or two to call your mother. I want you to have a couple of school days under your belt before we talk about missing any, capiche?"

"Good slave," said Pete as his hand slid down my back and alit on my bottom. It was the same bottom that we both knew he soon would be fucking in round two.

"No, and it doesn't matter," replied Pete. "When you're doing gigs like this, you just show up and do your thing and don't worry about anyone else. It really doesn't matter what it is or who you're doing it with."

It mattered to me, but I knew better than to say anything. Pete was like every other adult who thought that whenever two kids got together, they automatically would get along and be friends just because they were kids. The real world of kids wasn't like this. I wanted to know more about the boy I would be making a movie with. Would we get along? Would he be nice? Would we have anything in common to talk about?

"It would be the same for a catalogue shoot or a local TV ad," Pete continued. "If you're supposed to be the boy in a family of four, you don't need to know all about your 'parents' before you get to the shoot, capiche?"

"Capiche," I replied as I slid my hand over Pete's broad chest and abdomen, then moved it down to his genitals and began to play gently with his balls. His penis still was soft as he continued to recharge from the blowjob.

"How 'bout I roll over and you do your thing, slave?" asked Pete as he gave my bottom a little pat. "I want to feel some tongue."

"Yes, master," I replied as I slid my legs off the bed and stepped to the floor, giving Pete room to roll over and spread his legs. I climbed back up, knee walked into position, and settled myself on my front between the V formed by his outstretched legs. I used my hands and thumbs to prise his cheeks apart, lowered my face to his ass, and began to lick his hairy cleft and hole.

Chapter 21

The bus problem from the first day of school didn't repeat itself on the second. It turned out that riding a school bus wasn't all that complicated. It came to the same spot at the same time every morning and dropped me off at the same place thirteen minutes later. It even had the same driver, Mrs. Luthringer, who didn't turn out to be as mean as she had seemed when she had accidentally scrunched me in the door and then glared at me like I was an idiot. Once I got to know her, she was nice, and I got to know her soon enough because I always sat up front. I knew instinctively not to sit in the back of the bus with the older kids who always were acting rowdy and being loud. As a small and rather quiet kid, I would be grist for their mill so to speak, and I didn't want or need that aggravation at all.

As it turned out, I could avoid the kids on the bus, but I could not avoid Dominic Colarusso. I learned on my second day that the school had very helpfully given me a locker in the same bank with his, only 11 lockers apart, down the hallway that led to the shop classrooms. I had locker number 772, and Dominic had locker number 783. To get to my locker, I had to pass by Dominic's, and to get back to the main hallway of the school, I had to pass by it again. The hallway where our lockers were ended at an emergency exit door leading directly outside. There was no staircase at the end of the hall, which was a complete dead end, with only the shop classrooms and a pair of bathrooms along the way. It wasn't a well-trafficked hallway at all, especially if Mr. Morton had a free period and there was no shop class scheduled for him to teach.

I hadn't seen Dominic at his locker during the first day of school, but that changed on day two. I saw him as I walked to mine after homeroom that day, but I didn't think much of anything of it. After all, there had just been that one episode in shop class. I didn't even know the kid and hadn't done anything to warrant his animosity. Aside from looking around to see who had taunted me from behind, I also hadn't done anything to escalate the situation, so I wasn't expecting any further problem from the kid. It turned out that I was being naïve about that, but nothing else happened that week, so I didn't worry about it.

My mother somehow managed to get a couple of hours off from work, and that Friday, she and Pete met with the school principal about me and my need to miss school from time to time to further my acting and modeling career. Afterwards, they both emphasized to me that it would be up to me to ensure that I was getting my schoolwork done while I was away and maintaining my grades. My mother told me that if I failed at either of those things, my nascent career would be over before it started, and she wouldn't allow me to miss school to continue it. Pete, as usually was the case, was more direct.

"If I find out that you're missing any assignments or your grades have fallen off, I'm going to beat your bottom until it falls off, capiche?" he warned me when I saw him that day after school.

"Yes, Pete," I replied in a world-weary tone as I trudged upstairs to his bedroom.

"I'm not kidding, David," he continued as he followed me up the stairs. "That's the one thing you need to make sure you take care of. I don't care if you get your schoolwork done in the car or at night after a shoot, but you will get it done, and you'll get good grades, too."

"Your teachers are going to keep track of how you're doing and any assignments you miss," said Pete as he also began to undress. "The principal gave us a number to call for a woman in the office to see how you're doing, and I'm going to call her every time you miss school. If you've missed any assignments or bombed any tests, I'm going to know about it. You don't want to mess this up, David."

"I won't," I promised as I skinned my briefs down my legs and dropped them on the pile of my other clothes. Pete's warnings were starting to make me nervous, and I wasn't even erect in anticipation of sex. I wasn't a terrible student, but I wasn't the best either; organization was not my strong suit. I had made promises to myself to turn over a new leaf at the junior high, but now the stakes were going to be even higher. I had no doubt that Pete would roast my butt if I failed to live up to his expectations.

"How do I know that's true?" asked Pete as he loosened his belt and finished unbuttoning his shirt.

"Because it is," I declared with more confidence in my voice than I felt. "I won't mess up, Pete."

"Hmmmm," Pete answered skeptically as he placed his shirt on his dresser. "I'm not sure I believe you."

"Aaron and I have a lot of time, effort, and money invested in you, David," said Pete as he pulled the belt free from his pants, "but your schoolwork is the one thing we can't control."

"I'm going to get it all done," I promised as I eyed the belt nervously. "I'll study for my tests, too."

"I hope you're telling me the truth, David," warned Pete as he stood there shirtless, still holding the belt in his right hand. "You don't want to lie to me about this."

"Face the bed and put your hands on the footboard, slave," ordered Pete. "I'm going to give you a little something to help you remember this conversation."

"Pete, I'll remember it," I whined even as I stepped toward the foot of the bed. "I'm going to do good in school."

"You're going to do well in school," said Pete as he grasped the back of my neck and steered me closer to the footboard. "Grab onto that. Both hands."

I didn't think it was the best time for a grammar lesson, but I didn't say anything. I hadn't expected to be punished today during my daily after-school visit, but it was part of my dynamic with Pete, and I accepted it. Pete had been disciplining me for months, and that was just the way it was between us. This one, however, I didn't think I deserved.

"Step back a bit and lean forward, slave," said Pete as he tugged on my left hip, correcting my position. "Keep your hands where they are."

"Yes, master," I answered unhappily in slave mode as I shuffled my feet a few inches back on the carpet and presented my bottom for a beating.

"You can consider this a down payment for any schoolwork you're even thinking about not turning in, capiche?"

"I hope you do, slave," said Pete, "or you're going to get a lot more than what I'm going to give you now. Make sure you understand that."

"I'm going to," I declared. Pete didn't know about the vows I already had made to myself to turn over a new leaf and become a better student now that I was in junior high, but I knew that it wouldn't matter to what I had coming even if I told him.

"Beg me to beat you, slave," demanded Pete as he stepped into position behind me. "Tell me how much you want it and why."

I didn't want it. I very much didn't want it. I sometimes got tingles when Pete hand-spanked me while we were roleplaying a sex scene, but I never liked it when he beat me with his belt. I especially didn't like being punished when I hadn't done anything wrong. I had every intention of getting my schoolwork done and studying for my tests and quizzes, but Pete wasn't even giving me a chance.

"Please beat me, master," I said unenthusiastically. "I want you to beat me because you don't believe I'm going to turn in my assignments and study for my tests."

"Good one slave, but try again," he said with a chuckle. "Tell me why you're about to be beaten."

"So I remember to do my homework and study for my tests when I'm working," I replied wearily.

"That's right, slave," Pete confirmed. "You're going to turn in all your assignments and homework and study for all your tests, and you're going to bring home good grades that make your momma proud, because if you don't, I'm going to give you a hiding so bad you won't be able to sit for a week. This is just a small taste of what I'm going to do to your butt if you mess up, capiche?"

"I'm going to turn in all my schoolwork and stuff, and study for all my tests and get good grades, or you're going to beat the living hell out of me," I replied.

"Good slave," praised Pete. "Now beg me for a taste of that to remind you and mean it. Act it out with feeling. Make me want to beat you. Pretend I'm reluctant. Pretend that I've decided that I'm not going to beat you, and you need to persuade me to do it."

I rolled my eyes at that, but I was facing away from him so Pete couldn't see. It probably was lucky for me that he couldn't.

"Please, master," I began. "Please beat me. I know my schoolwork's important, and I know I need to turn in my assignments and stuff and study for all my tests, but it would really help me to remember if you give me a taste of what will happen if I mess up. I really need you to beat me, so I won't forget."

"But slave, you haven't done anything wrong yet," replied Pete in a voice that seemed full of genuine angst and torment. "You haven't missed any assignments or bombed any tests. How can I possibly beat you for something you haven't even done?"

Pete was good, and I loved to roleplay with him. He really was an excellent actor. Even with what I knew was coming, making up lines like this was one of my favorite things to do with the man. Even knowing that I was about to receive an undeserved beating, this was fun.

"Master, I might miss an assignment," I replied. "I might do bad on a test. If you beat me, I'll probably remember better. Please, master. Please beat me."

"I … I'm just not sure, slave," answered Pete uncertainly. "Sometimes it's hard to be a master. I'm not sure I can beat you for no reason."

"You have to master," I encouraged him. "You have to do it so I'll remember better."

"Well, I guess I can," said Pete with a tone of regret in his voice. "But how hard should I beat you? It just seems unfair."

"But how will that help you to remember, slave?" asked Pete in an innocent, almost confused tone. The man was good.

"Kind of hard?" asked Pete skeptically. "You want to 'kind of' remember to do your work and study?"

"So, you don't really want to remember," said Pete. It was more of a statement than a question.

Even though we were roleplaying, Pete had outsmarted me. I felt boxed in on all sides. Score: Pete Volcker 1, David Pierce 0.

"Master, please beat me hard so I remember to do my work and study and get good grades at school," I recited.

I wasn't sure how to answer that one, I really wasn't. I didn't want to have to choose.

Pleased to see the belt of out his hands and hoping for a reprieve, I chanced a look behind me and saw Pete kick off his shoes and quickly strip his pants down his legs and off. The enormous tent in his boxers told me how aroused he was and quickly squelched any hope I had that my sentence would be commuted. Pete was a true dominant, and I knew that he liked to discipline me.

"Face the wall, slave," said Pete as he retrieved the belt with his right hand and used his left to grip the back of my head like a basketball and turn it 90 degrees. "Keep your hands where they are with your hips out," he added with another tug on the top of my left thigh.

I clenched my butt cheeks together as he moved into position behind me, but Pete was having none of that.

"You keep count," instructed Pete. "Say 'One, master. Thank you for helping me to remember to do well in school. Please give me another,' capiche?"

Pete began. The first blow of the belt hit like a freight train on my bottom and gave off a loud report as the leather hit my skin. The pain followed about two seconds later. Thank God it was only a dress belt.

"One, master," I gasped. It really hurt. Now that I was "slave" instead of "little slave" and "David" instead of "Davey," I wasn't getting any breaks. I felt like my childhood was over.

"Thank you for helping me to remember to do well in school," I managed to say in an even voice. "Please give me another."

I couldn't stop myself from yelping in pain nor could I stop the tears that suddenly wet my eyes. As soon as I had regained my breath, I counted, thanked him, and asked for another. Pete obliged me, and then he obliged me again. It went on like that.

"Six, master," I finally said in a whisper followed by a moan of pain. "Thank you for h-helping me to remember to do well in school. Please … stop." I was defeated. I was hurting. If you've ever taken six of the best on your bare bottom delivered with force by a big, strong man, you probably know the kind of pain I was in.

I knew I shouldn't have said it. It had been a bad idea. Like so many other times before, the words had popped into my head and out of my mouth before I could stop myself from saying them. Sometimes it almost seemed like I had a death wish. I could have been done at six. I would have been done at six if I hadn't opened my big, fat mouth.

"You do, master," I answered with a gasp of dismay. It didn't matter that he had promised six. I had just earned myself at least one more with my cheekiness.

The bonus blow hit my bottom just as hard as the others with a meaty smack. The pain took me onto my tiptoes as I winced and clenched my eyes shut just as hard as I could.

"Seven, master," I said quickly in a tight voice as the sting reverberated. "Thank-you-for-helping-me-to-remember-to-do-good-in-school-please-give-me-another," I wheezed, my grammar and intonation suffering along with my bottom.

I heard, rather than saw, the belt flip onto the bed. Then I felt Pete's strong hands grasp my upper arms and turn me around.

"Good slave," said Pete in an aroused voice as his left hand grasped the back of my head and tilted it up and back. I barely had time to open my tear-filled eyes as Pete brought his face to mine and covered my mouth in a wet, hungry kiss. His right hand slid down my back to my bottom and squeezed my stinging cheeks hard as he simultaneously pulled me again his body and jammed my lower back against the footboard. I felt like a toy as Pete squeezed my body and kissed me as passionately as he ever had before. Pete was a large man, and when he enveloped me like this the size disparity between us never was more apparent. My body went slack as I gave myself to him, opened my mouth in invitation, and brought my tongue out to play with his.

I loved kissing Pete. I had loved it ever since the first time we did it in his living room while we were rehearsing in our underwear for Parasols at Night. Pete had ad-libbed a kiss on my forehead during the train-station scene before giving me another on my lips, then finally embracing me in a full-on, passionate French kiss while his fingers squeezed my bottom through my underpants and toyed with my crack and scrotum. His kisses that day had launched an entirely new phase of our friendship. Indeed, the day of our first kiss was the day I think I fell in love with Pete Volcker.

I felt myself lifted into the air by my bottom as we continued to kiss. Even at 12 years of age I still was so small and light that Pete could pick me up in one arm and not even miss a beat. My arms encircled his neck as he slowly carried me around to the side of the bed and gently placed me down on my back. All the while his lips remained attached to mine like an O-ring, his tongue roaming and exploring inside my mouth like a hungry beast. My tears and sobs died away as I kissed him back.

After another 30 seconds or so of swapping spit, Pete stood upright and stripped his boxers down his legs and off. His erection jutted stiffly from his groin, engorged with arousal.

"I'm going to fuck you now, slave," he said as he reached for the lube on his bedside table and quickly unscrewed the cap. "Pull your legs back and hold them there for me."

I repositioned myself more to the center of the bed, then reached behind my knees and pulled my legs back toward my chest. This exposed my underneath parts to Pete as he smoothed the lube onto his cock.

I felt an intense tingle surge through my body as I anticipated being fucked by Pete. I gazed down my body between my legs to see that I had boned up as well. Even with the stinging pain in my backside I wanted his erection inside me, and my own stiff cock flexed and twitched at the thought. I was feeling tingles and surges of almost uncontrolled electrical energy inside me more and more these days. I still wasn't entirely sure what it was or meant, but it made me want sex in a bad way. I wanted Pete to fuck me and fuck me hard.

As it turned out, my friend had the same idea. He climbed onto the bed like a 15-year-old about to lose his virginity and quickly made his way between my legs.

"Good slave," he said as he positioned his cockhead against my opening and without further ado, pushed inside.

"Ohhhh," I moaned as Pete sank nearly his entire length inside me on his first insertion. It hurt and felt wonderful at the same time. It was a feeling like no other. I simultaneously braced against the pain and welcomed the intrusion. Even then the pain-pleasure sensation felt like a contradiction, but I realize now how much of a bottom I was then, especially when it came to my best friend and the person I admired most in the whole world. I absolutely worshiped the man, and when he fucked me, I wanted him as deep inside me as he possibly could go. I never felt closer to him than when we fucked unless it was when we kissed. As it turned out, that day I got both, which made me a very content and happy boy.

My first week of school hadn't been too bad, all things considered. The 7^thgraders were new to the school, and I think that most of them, including me, wanted to get off to a good start. For the first week, that even included Dominic Colarusso, who left me alone aside from a snide grin here and there. I didn't think anything of it and had all but forgotten his taunting from the first day.

That lasted all of a single week. On Monday morning of the second week of school, I was standing in the hallway at my locker putting my pencil case on the shelf when suddenly I was shoved from behind and went flying forward. The shove sent me into my locker, and when I say into the locker, I mean that literally. My forehead hit the back metal wall just below one of the coat hooks, while my right shoulder and upper arm entered as well. I ended up dropping the notebook I was holding and falling to my knees with most of my upper body still stuck in the locker.

I was up in a flash with anger and embarrassment etched on my face. I knew instantly that it hadn't been an accident. If you were in school during the 70s or 80s before zero-tolerance policies became commonplace, you know exactly what I mean.

As I rose to my feet, I saw Dominic Colarusso walking away from me. He turned partway around as I still was gathering my thoughts and flashed me a telltale grin.

"You fucking dick!" I called after him angrily. I was very agitated. I only wished that my voice sounded tougher and not so shrill.

At the sound of my challenge, Dominic turned all the way around and started walking back slowly in my direction.

"Say it again, faggot," Dominic said. He seemed to have a one-word inventory of insults at his disposal.

"You're a dick," I told him as he came closer, but even as I said it, I wondered what the hell I was doing. Dominic Colarusso towered over me. He outweighed me. I wouldn't last two seconds in a fight with him. It wouldn't even be a fight. I wasn't a fighter. I wasn't a tough kid. Dominic could beat the hell out of me with both hands tied behind his back and not even break a sweat. I knew that I was courting disaster, but his unprovoked shove had aggravated me.

He walked to within five feet of me. Then three. Then two. Then one. We were face to face, except for the fact that my face was over a foot lower than his. Somehow, despite my fear, I stood my ground and managed to look up at him as he glared down at me with death in his eyes.

It was a good question. I certainly wasn't going to make him, and there were no teachers around. Two kids still were busy at their lockers a short distance away, but the others had finished their business and were either walking away down the hall or already had left the hall on their way to class. Only a couple of them looked back to see what was going on, but it wasn't like they were going to be of any help to me.

"Why did you do that?" I asked Dominic. I wanted to know the answer but engaging him in a dialogue also seemed like the best way to diffuse the situation, which I needed to do quickly if for no other reason than I would be late to class. For his part, Dominic didn't seem to care if he was late.

"Because I don't like you," the boy replied as he put his index finger in the middle of my chest and gave me a push. I didn't want to give way to a finger push, but I was so small in stature that Dominic's finger was all it took to force me to take a step back. It was embarrassing. For the ten thousandth time that year I wished I were bigger than I was.

The boy's profound words echoed in my ears. There it was. All the cards were on the table now. Dominic Colarusso didn't like me. Great. What was I supposed to say to that? He didn't like me, and I feared him, so I said what every kid in my situation has said to a bully since before time was invented.

I lived in my locker? What the heck did that mean? I looked at Dominic like he had taken leave of his senses. I was so taken aback by his nonsensical statement that I wasn't sure how to respond to him, so I said nothing. I had calmed down from being shoved by then and merely wanted to end the standoff and get to class. I certainly didn't want to say anything that escalated the situation, as the hallway was completely empty now, and the late bell was sure to sound at any second.

"Better watch your back, faggot," Dominic said as he turned quickly and took off at a jog down the hall.

I wasn't ready to follow him. I still had to pick up my notebook, the rings of which had sprung, dumping lined paper all over the floor. By the time I had done that, gathered up my other things, and closed my locker, I hadn't even made it to the end of the hall before the late bell sounded. That meant that I would be written up for detention to be served after school. It also meant that I would have to take the late bus and probably wouldn't get home until close to 5:00 p.m., which meant that I wouldn't be able to see Pete unless I persuaded my mother to let me go out after dinner. Dominic Colarusso had messed up my entire day and I wasn't happy about it at all, but little did I know that things between the two of us were about to get a lot worse.

Thanks to Dominic Colarusso, I didn't end up seeing Pete at all that day, which was the first time in about three weeks that we hadn't gotten together. I had been coming to see him each day after school, not just for the sex, but also for his companionship. By that time in my life, Pete was the adult that I most relied on for guidance and support. He had replaced my mother in that category so completely and seamlessly that I barely even noticed that it had happened. Looking back on it now, I'm almost certain that my mother knew that she had been supplanted, but she never said anything about it. She knew that Pete had become a special person to me, and she probably also realized that he was filling the father-figure role that had been missing my entire life.

I called Pete that afternoon when I got home and explained why I couldn't come to see him. It already was after 5:00 p.m. when the late bus dropped me off at my front door and my mother would be home in an hour, so there was no time to ride my bike to his house. The one thing my mother and I still did together as a family was eat dinner, and I always made sure to be home for that.

"What's your plan for dealing with this Dominic kid?" asked Pete after I told him what had happened. "You know he's not going to just go away and leave you alone."

I didn't have a plan. Growing two feet and putting on 75 pounds [34 kg] in the next week didn't seem especially viable to me, but I wasn't sure how else to deal with the situation. Even with the added size, I wasn't the type of kid who relished physical confrontations. Unless I suddenly turned into a WWF wrestler, I didn't think I'd have much of a chance against Dominic Colarusso.

Mr. Norman was our school principal. Going to him would be telling. It would be tattling. It wasn't something that kids did, not back then.

I rarely disagreed with Pete, but I did on this occasion, even if I didn't tell him that.

"I think I'm going to carry most of my stuff with me, so I don't have to go back to my locker all the time," I explained.

"Why do you care so much about that?" asked Pete. "Do you want this kid to beat you up?"

Pete didn't seem to understand the code that governed kids my age. Telling and tattling were frowned upon in a big way. Maybe the code was different when Pete was a kid, but ratting someone out in my peer group was a quick way to render yourself unpopular and friendless, and I didn't have a lot of friends to begin with.

"It's up to you, David," replied Pete, "but you're going to need to find a way to deal with this kid. I can tell just from what you've told me already that he's going to keep picking on you. Do you want me to get you a pair of brass knuckles?"

"Pete," I said in an exasperated voice before I could stop myself. He was kidding, of course. He had gotten me again.

"I'm telling you, if you break a bully's nose once, he won't come back for more," said Pete. "You can take that to the bank and cash it. When I was in 6^th grade, there was this one kid who … "

I listened as Pete proceeded to tell me stories about bullies from his childhood who had been put in their place after messing with the wrong kid. For all his talk about tattling, it seemed that most of the bullies Pete encountered in his school days had ended up getting the shit kicked out of them and giving up bullying forever. It sounded like so many fairy tales to me, and I didn't see it happening in my situation. With or without brass knuckles, I knew that I wasn't going to beat Dominic Colarusso up anytime soon. The kid was huge, and I wasn't. Nobody else was likely to beat him up for me, either. I wasn't aware of him picking on anyone other than me.

Our conversation eventually came to an end with the bully problem unresolved, and I hung up the phone with Pete reluctantly. Talking with him by telephone wasn't anywhere near as good as being with him in person, and I felt a sense of longing as I placed the phone back in its cradle. It had been only a little over 24 hours since I last saw him, but I missed my friend. I missed seeing his smile, feeling his touch, and just being in his presence. I also missed the intimacy we shared. I loved having sex with Pete. I loved feeling him inside me and using my body and mouth to make him feel good.

I also loved being needed by him, and truth be told, one of the reasons I went to see him every day was so that he would continue to need and want me and not go out looking for someone else to replace me. After what had happened in Chicago, I lived in near constant fear of him rejecting me to the point where I even had bad dreams about it. On some level, I knew that my obsession with Pete and my worry about being abandoned by him was silly and unhealthy, but it was my reality back then, and I couldn't do anything to change the way I felt about the man, nor did I want to.

"Are you ready for Friday?" asked Pete as we snuggled naked on his bed that Wednesday, recovering and rejuvenating from our first round of sex that afternoon. I had biked over to Pete's house after school as usual only to find him working in the yard. I pitched in to help, but it was a hot day, and within 15 minutes I was as sweaty and dirty as he was. Pete had tossed our clothing in the washer before we trudged upstairs stark naked to share a shower. After getting ourselves squeaky clean, Pete had lubed and fucked my still-damp bottom hard in a rutting frenzy complete with a bouncing mattress and squeaky box springs. It had hurt and felt good at the same time. Now we were resting a bit before I rimmed him and probably deep throated him to his second orgasm of the day.

Friday was the day we were leaving for Chicago for an X-rated movie shoot with a boy I hadn't met and whose name I didn't know. All I knew was that he was older and bigger than I was (go figure) – kind of like an older-brother type. Exactly what type of movie we were making and exactly what types of things we would be asked to do together hadn't been told to me, and Pete had made it clear that I didn't need to know about those things and shouldn't be asking, so I didn't.

"I told all my teachers and they're giving me my homework tomorrow," I replied. "Mr. Macaluso wanted to know what I was going to be doing in Chicago, but I just told him it was a shoot for a department store."

"Good move," replied Pete. "The kind of movies you're going to be making might be kind of hard to explain," he added with a chuckle. "By the way, have you told anyone about the Sears shoot? That catalogue ought to be coming out any day now. Somebody you know is bound to see you in it."

I hadn't told anyone about the Sears shoot and didn't have any intention of doing so. As far as I was concerned, the less anyone at school knew about my acting and modeling career, the better.

"Unh-unh," I said as I combed my fingers through the thick hairs adorning Pete's chest and grazed my fingertips over his nipples. I loved doing that, and I think Pete liked it too. I found his adult body endlessly fascinating, and by that point I knew it better than he did, and even better than my own.

"It's the most widely circulated catalogue in the world, slave," replied Pete. "Someone who knows you is bound to see it. I don't think you can hide from it, nor do I understand why you would want to. Being in the Sears catalogue is a real feather in your acting cap," he said as he tousled my hair, which still was slightly damp from our shower.

"I know, but I just don't want to say anything right now," I answered. "I think I'm going to get teased about it."

Pete laughed aloud. "All you need to do to stop the teasing is tell them how much you got paid for that gig, slave. Then you can tell them that you got to spend the week in Chicago seeing the attractions and going to a Cubs game. Your little classmates will be green with envy."

"Maybe," I agreed. Pete had a point. "They'll probably find out I was in it, but for now I'm just trying to be normal."

"No incidents, slave" warned Pete. "On a movie set, even more than a photo shoot, time is precious. It's not easy to reshoot sex scenes."

"I won't have any incidents, master," I promised, and I meant it. I was done with those. I had learned to cope with new and difficult situations at Mr. Stone's party, and now I felt like a changed boy.

"I mean it slave," said Pete. "You're David now, not Davey, not 11, not a little kid. You won't like what happens if you mess up, capiche?"

I hated that word, but I knew better than to argue with Pete when he was lecturing me. I already had told him that I wouldn't have any incidents, but apparently that wasn't good enough for him today.

"Good slave," said Pete as he adjusted his body on the bed and reached down to stroke his penis. That was one of my cues that he was feeling rejuvenated enough for sex, although he still was soft from having fucked me earlier. "Slide down and start licking my balls, slave. Get me hard."

I collected two days' worth of assignments and homework from each of my teachers on Thursday, and on Friday morning I said goodbye to my mother as she left for work. I had about an hour to kill before Pete arrived to pick me up, which gave me time to think about how things were going after almost two full weeks of school. Overall, I thought I was doing reasonably well. There hadn't been any other incidents with Dominic Colarusso since the one on Monday, and even with that and the detention I had earned because of it, I thought that I had had a good week. I was starting to get into the flow of the junior high school. I had fretted about riding the bus, changing classes every period, and adapting to the sheer size of the school, but those things had proven easier than I had expected.

My biggest worry going into junior high was whether I would be popular and able to make any new friends among the roughly 300 kids in my class whom I didn't know, but the jury still was out on that question. The good news was that because the school was so big and busy, it was easier for me to blend into the background and not be seen. The bad news was that just as I had feared, I was the smallest kid in the entire school, and while I wasn't being systematically picked on because of it, the other kids weren't exactly lining up to be my friend. In junior high, nobody wanted to be seen as uncool, and that meant not being seen talking to or hanging around kids who could drag down your personal coolness factor. Because of my size and appearance, I was one of those kids, and it bothered me to know that.

I didn't aspire to the highest ranks of popularity in my class, but it would have been nice to make a new friend, and I worried about not really having any. After the first two weeks of school, however, I had a candidate. His name was Scott Hill, and he came from one of the other elementary schools in St. Clair. I didn't know who he was at first, but he sat next to me in both Earth Science and Art, and we soon got to know each other. He seemed to know a lot of the other kids, even though we all had attended different elementary schools and as a result, none of us could know more than about a quarter of our classmates. Scott seemed to know more kids than that. He was popular with our classmates and was friendly with me from the start. He just seemed like a genuinely nice kid. He even talked to girls, which was something I never did. They held no interest for me, none at all.

It turned out that Scott had played both baseball and soccer for years in city-run youth leagues, which is how he knew a lot more kids than I did. The city leagues were open to kids from all over St. Clair regardless of the elementary school they attended. Scott's experience playing sports and making friends made me wish that I had played Little League baseball, but the topic hadn't ever come up between my mother and me. One of the drawbacks of being raised by my single mother was that I didn't have a male role model to teach me how to throw and catch and steer me into sports. I loved watching and following baseball, but I'd never played it. I didn't even own a bat or glove. I also knew from gym class that I wasn't good at throwing or catching anything, and I was sure that I couldn't hit the broadside of a barn swinging a bat. I couldn't play baseball now even if my mother allowed it and we had the money for it, as the other kids had been playing for years and had the benefit of all that experience – not to mention that I was tiny and would look like I should be playing with the nine- and ten-year-olds. That always was a huge worry for me whenever I considered doing any kind of extracurricular activity.

In any event, Scott and I sat next to each other in two classes and within a couple of days of school had started talking with each other like old friends. Most of that was due to Scott's easy manner, but I saw the opportunity to make a new friend right away and tried to be as friendly and cool with him as I possibly could be. I let him use my markers in Art, and he had given me a sheet of graph paper for a project in Earth Science that had obviated the need for me to make my own grid with a ruler and pencil. We also shared the same lunch period and had sat together at the same table three times already. I couldn't yet call Scott a friend, but he had become one of my closer acquaintances at the school, and I was excited for the opportunity.

It was close to 9:00 a.m. when Pete pulled into the driveway to pick me up. I felt a little surge of excited energy course through my veins as I grabbed my bag and bounded out the door of my apartment. Although I was nervous about the upcoming movie shoot and worried about making up missed schoolwork, the opportunity to spend four days away from home alone with my best friend had me beyond excited. We were staying in a hotel with a pool, and that meant that I would get to spend three consecutive nights sleeping together with Pete. I loved sleeping with him. I loved cuddling after sex and falling asleep with my body touching his, feeling carefree and unrushed with no place to go or be. I never felt more content than I did when I was about to fall asleep with Pete spooning my naked body from behind and his arms wrapped around me.

"Throw that in the back," said Pete as I opened the front passenger seat and prepared to climb in. I quickly opened the back door, tossed my bag inside, and climbed into the front seat.

"Hi!" I said with a smile. I was quite pleased when Pete gave me smile in return and ruffled my hair.

"No, just … happy," I replied lamely. Pete was more practical than sentimental, so I didn't want to tell him that I was happy to be with him, but I think he knew by then that I loved him with all my heart. I simply adored the man, and I was almost giddy to be embarking on a road trip with him. I think I would have taken a bullet for him had it come to that.

"Well, that's good," said Pete as he squeezed and then patted my bare thigh. I was wearing shorts in the style of the day, which meant that better than two thirds of my thighs were exposed to his touch, but I certainly didn't mind. I liked it when he touched me anywhere or showed me affection of any kind.

Pete checked his watch before he threw the car into reverse and began backing down the driveway. "It's about quarter after nine," he said. "Figure with a quick stop for lunch, we should get in a little after three. That will give us time to get settled in the hotel. Aaron's taking us to dinner tonight, by the way."

"Cool," I replied. I would be happy enough to see Aaron. I still didn't trust the man as far as I could throw him, but for the most part he had been good to me. He had taught me things and opened quite a few doors for me, as well.

Pete suddenly applied his brakes and pulled the car sharply toward the curb. "Did you bring anything nice to wear, by any chance?" he asked. "I'm not sure where Aaron is taking us for dinner."

"I have the stuff that Aaron got me last time," I replied. I was referring to the outfit that Aaron had purchased for me from Mr. Stalteri.

"That'll be fine I'm sure," said Pete as he pulled back into traffic and resumed driving at speed. "I brought your pouch for you, and your swimsuit. I don't know if you'll need your pouch on this trip, but you can always wear it for me in the hotel room."

I smiled at Pete's comment. I liked wearing sexy things for him. I liked that he wanted me to. I like that he was being playful and alluding to the fun we would have together once we arrived in Chicago.

"Ah, Trowse," I said in my Sebastian McCardle voice, "you know they makes me wear 'em!"

I giggled at this like the boy I was. I was giddy with excitement for the trip and pleased to find Pete in a playful mood. I would be spending the next four days with my friend – at least the parts of it that I wouldn't be busy working – and I was looking forward to it immensely.

"You're filming tomorrow, by the way," said Pete. "Bright and early, so we can't stay up too late tonight. No eating anything late, either. You're cut off by seven o'clock, and tomorrow morning you're getting an enema to clean you the rest of the way out."

"An enema?" Pete replied with a question of its own. "Didn't your mother ever give you one?"

"It's a way to clean poop out of your butt. I'm surprised you've never had one."

"It cleans poop out of your butt?" I repeated his words as a question, my voice revealing my confusion.

"Essentially. I have to stop off to get a kit. You can get one at any drugstore."

"Does it hurt?" I asked. That was my next worry. Poop extraction sounded like it could be painful.

"No, it doesn't hurt," replied Pete with a laugh. "I suppose it feels a little weird, especially if you've never had one, but it's not painful."

"How does it work?" I asked skeptically. I was imagining a vacuum cleaner of some kind with a special butt attachment. Despite Pete's reassurance, I was starting to feel nervous about the whole idea.

"I'll show you tomorrow," said Pete. "It's nothing to worry about. They just want you clean back there for the shoot. Most people don't want to see poop when they're watching porn, although there is a genre for that."

I didn't know what a genre was any more than I knew what an enema was, but I found Pete's words quite sobering. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why my butt needed to be cleaned out to guard against the risk of poop, and I wasn't thrilled to hear the movie I was going to make referred to as porn. I knew it was going to be X-rated, but porn seemed even a step lower than that. X-rated still seemed like there could be acting in it and maybe a plot, but porn just sounded like I would be filmed having sex, and that didn't exactly make me feel like jumping for joy.

"I'll make sure they don't sell any in St. Clair if that's what you're worried about," replied Pete with chuckle and another squeeze to my thigh. "Most of them get shipped to Europe," he added. "Technically, you're not supposed to make them with kids in them, but nobody really cares."

I nodded as I pondered Pete's answer. I didn't know anyone in Europe, so I figured I was safe there.

"Are you asking if they list you in the credits at the end?" replied Pete as he looked over at me with a question of his own.

"Of course they do," replied Pete. "How else would anyone know you were in the movie? But you'll have to tell the director tomorrow whether you want to go by Davey Pierce or David Pierce – that's up to you. If you want, you can even use your middle name and tell them you're from St. Clair. Sometimes, they even do a little interview segment at the end and ask you to say a few things about yourself, like how old you are, when your birthday is, where you live, where you go to school, and what you like to do when you're not acting in porn movies – that sort of thing."

Deciding whether to go by Davey or David wasn't the issue I was worried about. The truth was, I didn't want to be identified at all. I didn't want anyone at school finding out that I did a porn movie, especially one involving sex with another boy. I didn't want anyone to know where I was from or what my birthday was. So long as Pete and Aaron were happy with my performance and I got paid, I didn't really care if I got credit for my work or not.

I must have looked dejected, and I think I slumped a little in my seat. Pete looked over at me and gave me a smile, then reached over and squeezed my thigh. He glanced back to the road and then looked over at me again, this time reaching over to ruffle my hair. This time I turned my head and ducked away from him a little bit.

"Nothing," I repeated. I tried to sit up straighter and get over my worries. I couldn't risk having an episode – not now, not with Pete.

"Good grief, kid," said Pete with a sigh and a shake of his head. "Do you really think they list your real name in the credits for a porn movie? Are you serious? Even the adult actors don't go by their real names. I was just pulling your leg, slave," he added with a chuckle. "Come on, lighten up a little, okay?"

"I love the idea of a little segment at the end," he said as he continued to tease me. "'Hi, my name's David Pierce,'" he deadpanned in a high-pitched voice. "'I'm 12 years old and I live in St. Clair, Michigan with my mom. I'm in 7^th grade at St. Clair middle school, and when I'm not making porn movies, I like to ride my bike and swim. My favorite color is blue, my favorite food is pizza, and I'm a big fan of the Chicago Cubs. I hope you liked the movie! Bye!'"

"You're not funny," I repeated as I crossed my arms over my chest and turned my head 90 degrees to look out the window to my right.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," said Pete as he reached down to squeeze my thigh. I thought about moving it away from him, but I didn't want to overplay my hand.

"No, you're not going to be named in the credits," Pete explained in a world-weary voice. "Nobody's going to know who you are, and nobody's going to care. You're just a cute little blond boy, and that's it. If they bother to give you a screen name, it will be by a first name only and it definitely won't be yours."

I liked that answer a lot better than the first one, and I felt a little foolish for falling for Pete's little prank. I suppose I should have known better, but this was my first porn movie, and I was more than a bit nervous about it. Maybe the odds were slim, but what if someone I knew saw the movie and recognized me? My life would be over if that happened, as in suicide over. I would have to throw myself in front of a train if anyone I knew found out what I had done.

"There's nothing to worry about, slave," replied Pete. "They get sold to private collectors who watch them in private. They aren't shown in theaters. They aren't sold at stores. Now stop worrying. You'll be fine."

"I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, okay?" he said. "Have a little faith."

We stopped for lunch at a McDonald's along the way and would have made it to Chicago on time if not for a traffic jam we encountered about an hour outside the city. We spent about 30 minutes moving at a snail's pace before coming to a screeching halt altogether in a line of traffic that looked like it extended for miles. We barely moved at all for the next 30 minutes as Pete became increasingly aggravated and eventually irate. He was not a patient man when it came to things like that, and the traffic jam was especially annoying to him because there didn't seem to be any reason for it. Whatever was causing the backup was up the road beyond our sight past scores and scores of idling cars.

Pete kept checking his watch and slapping the steering wheel in anger. He made me nervous when he was like that, even if his anger wasn't directed at me – yet.

"God damn it!" he exclaimed as he slapped the dashboard in disgust causing me to flinch. "So much for getting settled at the hotel." He checked his watch, then turned to me.

"Change in plans," he told me. "We're going straight to Aaron's office. Grab your stuff from the back and change into your nicer outfit."

"Yes, right now," replied Pete in an aggravated tone. "I just told you we don't have time to stop at the hotel. We have to be at Aaron's office by five o'clock, capiche?"

I understood the issue well enough, but I wasn't sure how I could change my clothes without being seen while I was sitting in the front seat of Pete's Grand Marquis sitting in a stalled line of traffic. It seemed to me that I might be seen, but I knew better than to argue with the man when he was in a mood, so I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned around to grab my bag and placed it on the floorboard between my legs. I opened it and extracted the outfit that Aaron had bought for me at Mr. Stalteri's shop.

"You'll look fine in that," he said. "Did you wear that at the party with Aaron?"

"Mostly um, just driving to the party," I explained. "They had bathrobes once you got there."

"Go ahead and change into it," instructed Pete as he inched forward about two feet before bringing the car to a stop once again and checked his watch. "At this rate, we won't be hitting the city limits until midnight."

I wasn't exactly sure how to change my clothes without being seen. There were cars in front, behind, and to the side of us. I glanced to my right and saw two cars in the lane to the right. The first was a green station wagon with a woman at the wheel and at least one kid in the back. The second was a sedan with a man in business suit. He was no more than 10 feet [3m] away from me.

I slid down in my seat a little bit and made myself as small as possible. Leaning closer to the door, I reached up and began tugging my t-shirt off by the neck. It took a bit of effort and wiggling because my upper torso was pressing it against the seat.

His tone unmistakably was one of anger and annoyance. I froze and looked up at him from my slouched position by the door.

"Taking my shirt off," I explained. My eyes were a bit wide as I regarded him. I could tell that Pete was in a bad mood from the delay and that signaled nothing but danger for me.

My cheeks and the tips of my ears burned as I quickly sat up straight once again, leaned forward, and pulled my t-shirt over my head and off. I swallowed nervously as I reached for the dressier shirt to replace it with.

I didn't want to do that. I was nervous enough about being seen shirtless by anyone looking into the car from the front, back, or side, but I knew enough not to argue with Pete. I kicked my sneakers off, then bent at the waist and reached between my legs to pluck my socks off one at a time. When I sat upright once again, I was dressed in just my shorts and underwear.

I snuck a quick glance over at him to see that his attention was focused 100% on me, which wasn't good. Traffic remained at a standstill, so he had nothing else to do.

I reached down and unsnapped my shorts, then unzipped them. Staying as close to the seat as possible, I lifted my hips and tugged them down my legs, past my knees, and off. I grabbed the khaki shorts immediately to put them on, but Pete ripped them from my hands and tossed them on the dashboard.

Keep going? The only article of clothing I still had on was my briefs. It was clear what he meant for me to do, but that would leave me stark naked on the car seat.

"Pete," I replied in a whining voice. "I don't have any other ones," I explained. I had other pairs of underwear stuffed in my bag, but they were all the same. The outfit Aaron had bought for me hadn't come with special underwear unless you counted the pouch. I didn't have a nicer pair to wear than the ones I had on.

"Keep. Going," said Pete in an icy tone. I knew that tone. It was meant to be obeyed.

"Okay," I replied. Blushing fiercely, I pulled the underpants off my hips and skinned them down my legs.

"Give," said Pete as he held out his hand. I handed them over, and he promptly placed them on top of the khaki shorts on the dashboard. There they were, a pair of boy's white-cotton briefs with an old cum stain in the seat, just sitting there for all the world to see. Even if no one else could see, I was mortified. Red in the face, I slouched naked on the seat, awaiting Pete's permission to get dressed.

I did so. Traffic inched forward a few feet and stopped. I swallowed nervously. My hands were over my groin covering my penis, which was shriveled to the size of a toddler's.

In that moment, I didn't care if I amazed him or not. I was mortified at being naked in the car essentially in public. We were at a dead stop. Someone literally could get out of their car and walk up to ours. I knew better than to respond. Anything I said now would only serve to exacerbate the situation. I just wanted to get dressed, but Pete was having none of that.

I turned my head to glance at him but quickly looked away. I swallowed nervously.

"No," Pete replied in a sarcastic, exasperated tone. "You'll be naked because you can't make a porno with your clothes on, now can you?"

"No," I replied sheepishly. I just wanted the lecture to be over so I could get dressed.

"So?" replied Pete. "What do you care? People are going to see you doing a lot more than this tomorrow."

"So what?" challenged Pete. He picked up my underpants and waved them in the air as I looked down at my lap in embarrassment. "You're just a little boy who needed to change in the car because we were running late. Who cares?"

I wanted to tell Pete that I cared, but that would have been suicidal. He may not have lit me up with his belt until after the shoot, but there was no way he would let a cheeky comment like that go unpunished. I had learned from painful experience to keep my sarcasm to myself, and my mouth shut. What I really wanted to do was get dressed.

"You can't be like this, David," he said. "Especially not tomorrow. Not once. Not one time, capiche?"

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced over to see Pete fumbling with his fly. To my chagrin and horror, he unzipped and extracted his penis from the front of his pants. It already was halfway to being erect.

"Suck me, slave," Pete commanded as he gestured at his member. "And do a nice job of it. I'll keep an eye out."

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. The air left my lungs and I felt paralyzed to replace it. Pete wanted me to suck his cock here, in his car, on the highway, with people literally 10 feet [3m] away from us, when all I wanted to do was get dressed. It seemed terribly risky to me, but the only acknowledgment Pete had made of the risk factor was to say that he would keep an eye out for me while I sucked him. That was little consolation to me, but what could I do?

"Yes, Pete," I replied as I tried to figure out how in the world I was going to do this. The Grand Marquis was spacious, but not so much that I could kneel on the floorboard between his legs to give him a blowjob. Pete was a big man, and he took up a lot of space in his seat. Not to mention that the brake pedal and accelerate were down there, too.

"Lean over and put your head in my lap," directed Pete, who must have sensed my confusion and uncertainty.

I didn't want to do that, but it seemed like the best solution. Trying to stay below the height of the window, I leaned to my left and sidled across the bench seat toward Pete. I felt very exposed as I knelt crouched down on the seat and brought my head and face to the man's lap, where the upper half of his now-erect penis jutted upward from his fly. I was short for my age, but there still wasn't room for me to lie down fully, and as I began to suck, I was very aware of my naked butt sticking up in the air.

"Good boy, good slave," encouraged Pete as his right hand alit on my back and began to rub and caress up and down my spine. "Now suck me."

I opened my mouth for Pete's cock and took it inside. I tried to position my mouth for better access, but the way I was lying versus the way Pete was sitting meant that his cock had entered my mouth at a weird angle that was going to make deep throating impossible and even just regular sucking difficult. That didn't make me happy because I wanted this to be over yesterday, but I knew it would take longer because I wouldn't be able to apply my usual techniques. There was no question that I was going to have to improvise.

That's exactly what I did over the next 30 minutes as I sucked Pete to a cargasm while stuck in a traffic jam on Route 94 along the southern tip of Lake Michigan on a clear, bright, and sunny September afternoon. The sucking that day was awkward and not my best work, but Pete didn't seem to mind.

"That's a good slave," he cooed as he ran his fingers through my blond hair and rubbed my head while I sucked. He mainly kept his hand on my butt squeezing my cheeks or patting them while the occasional finger poked at my hole. At the time it seemed like his normal touching, but afterwards I realized that he was making sure my butt didn't rise up so that it could be seen through the window. The good news for me was that he didn't seem to be angry at me any longer about the stripping part. He had said his piece about that, and from that point on I had been the picture of compliance. I still was worried about being seen naked in the car – not to mention being seen blowing Pete – but I was much more concerned about the consequences of aggravating my friend, mentor, and master than I was about anything a stranger could do if he saw me.

As it turned out, Pete was right once again, and I hadn't needed to worry about being seen. Everyone stayed in their cars. Nobody got out to socialize or have an impromptu, roadside picnic. Nobody peeked in the window and saw me kneeling naked across the seat sucking Pete's cock – at least I don't think anyone did. Pete didn't tell me to the contrary.

"Just like that, slave," said Pete as he began to huff and pant. His hand left my butt and held the back of my head as he began to hump his cock in and out of my mouth a little bit. I welcomed the assistance, as I had been sucking for a while, and I knew that my blowjob technique was somewhat lacking because of Pete's angle of insertion in my mouth. By the end of it, my head was just lying on his stomach as he slid his cock in and out of my mouth while I caressed his leg and knee with my right hand.

"Here it comes," he gasped as he held my head in the palm of his hand and fed me his load in three copious squirts. It was Pete's first cum of the day, so he had decent volume and I gulped aloud as I drank it down. It tasted exactly like Pete.

It wasn't until I sat up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand that I realized that we had started moving again at some point and were making progress toward Chicago at a decent clip.

"Good boy," said Pete as he used his knees to drive so he could tuck his penis back in his pants and zip his fly. When he was all put back together, he gave my left thigh a pat and playfully squeezed my genitals.

"Get dressed, David," he instructed with mock exasperation. "For God's sake, someone might see you naked!"

Chapter 22

We arrived at the city limits of Chicago early enough that Pete contemplated going to the hotel as he had originally planned rather than going straight to Aaron's office, but in the end, he stayed with the change of plan. It would have been easier and cheaper to park the car at the hotel and take the L to the stop near Aaron's office, but Pete fretted that there still wasn't enough time to do that.

"We'll just have to find parking downtown," he muttered, mostly to himself. "We can always go back for the car after we eat."

I wasn't about to say anything. That kind of logistical planning wasn't my strong suit anyway, and Pete still was frustrated from the unexpected traffic jam. The blowjob that I had given him and the untangling of the traffic mess had calmed him down somewhat, but Pete didn't like it when his plans were upset, and I knew better than to say or do anything that might make things even worse.

It was just our luck that finding parking was a nightmare. The first two ramps Pete found had signs blocking the gates that read "Full," and by the time he found a third one that was even remotely close to Aaron's office, Pete was in a lather. It made me nervous when he was like that, and my heart was beating hard in my chest. I leaned away from him toward the passenger-side door and didn't say a word as he cursed and banged the steering wheel with the palms of his hands. We didn't find a spot in the third ramp until we had spiraled our way up to the ninth floor, the tires of the Grand Marquis squealing and echoing as Pete accelerated around the tight curves like a maniac. It was almost like driving with Aaron. By the time he found a spot and jerked the car to a stop between the lines, he was in the foulest of foul moods, and I was just about a basket case with worry.

"Best behavior," he said as he turned to me, pointing his index finger ominously at my face.

"Yes, Pete," I replied meekly with a nod followed by a nervous swallow. I knew that I hadn't done anything wrong, but I felt like I was about two seconds away from a hard thrashing.

We got out of the car and walked to the elevator, but the up and down buttons were activated, and the lights above the door indicated that the elevator car was camped on the seventh floor and not moving.

"Come on," said Pete as he grasped my upper arm and directed me to the staircase. Eighteen flights of stairs later, Pete was huffing and red in the face, but we were at street level in the middle of downtown Chicago's hustle and bustle. It occurred to me as we spilled onto the street that if the elevator wasn't working again by the time we returned to retrieve the car, Pete might die of a heart attack trying to climb the staircase up to the ninth floor. Then what would I do?

We arrived at Aaron's office just after 4:00 p.m. It was much as I remembered it from my first visit, complete with the same receptionist and the same waiting room. My eyes immediately alit on two boys of about nine or ten years old sitting side by side in two of the waiting-room chairs next to a woman who I assumed was their mother. Aside from their clothing, the boys looked the same to me. They were at least brothers, if not twins. They weren't talking, reading, or playing; they were just sitting there quietly in jeans, sneakers, and t-shirts looking unhappy.

"Mom" was thumbing through a magazine. She was seated closest to the spot where Pete had grabbed me by my arms and shaken me like a rag doll when I had messed up my first private meeting with Aaron. That had been bad, and I didn't want to think about it, but seeing Aaron's waiting room again brought vivid memories from that day rushing back into my head. It also didn't help that Pete already was in a fouler mood than he had been even then.

Pete checked in with the receptionist who jotted down his name on a pad, asking him to spell the Volcker part. She didn't seem to know who Pete was, which bugged me a little bit. Aaron and Pete were supposed to be old friends, yet here, in his office, none of that mattered. Pete had to spell his name to gain entry, and I knew that I was just another boy to Aaron, one of dozens in his stable. We were nobodies here, and I knew it.

"Mr. Richter will be right with you," the woman behind the counter said while barely looking up from her desk. "Please have a seat in the reception area."

We sat down across from the woman and boys, but it wasn't long after we arrived that the double doors to Aaron's office swung open and he emerged holding the hand of an even younger boy of about six years of age. The boy was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt, so at least in his attire he looked like a younger version of the two boys seated in the waiting room. The boy's face was flushed, and he looked nervous and anxious as Aaron led him from his office.

Aaron gave us a smile and a head nod as he approached the woman. I watched as he released the boy's hand and gave him a little pat on the back of his neck. Reaching into the pocket of his shirt, he pulled a folded piece of paper and handed it to the woman.

"We're all set," he informed her. "I wrote the address down for you. Saturday the 30^that seven o'clock. Make sure both of them are showered and in clean clothes before you get there. There will be an envelope waiting for you when you arrive. Same place for pickup on Sunday. I don't know the time, but you can ask when you get there, okay?"

I watched as the woman took the piece of paper and unceremoniously stuffed it in the center compartment of her purse.

"What about him?" she said as her eyes went to the youngest boy who remained standing by Aaron's side.

"I made the call," he stated firmly. "Just the twins. I'll let you know if something else comes up."

"I'll call you, Mrs. Abramson," Aaron interrupted firmly, "and if you get any more placements, you're free to call me. I'll let you know if there's any problem with next Saturday, but I don't expect there to be one."

"There better not be," she said as she stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. "Let's go," she said to the two boys who Aaron had confirmed were twins. They stood to their feet as the woman grabbed the hand of the younger boy and jerked him roughly to her side.

Pete, Aaron, and I watched as the woman dragged the younger boy to the elevators. The older twins followed them. None of them were smiling. None of the boys had said so much as a single word.

"Pushy client," answered Aaron as he offered his hand to Pete. "Gets good placements, though. Twins are always in demand, and that's the third set she's brought me in the last couple of years. She must have a friend at DCFS, that's all I can figure."

"Especially the young ones," replied Aaron with a grin. "No-hair-and-a-spare, as they say – or something like that, anyway," he added with a chuckle.

"So how are you doing these days, Davey?" asked Aaron as he turned his attention to me and gave my hair a ruffle.

"Ah, that's right," said Aaron. "Someone just had his birthday, I'm told. So, it's David now, not Davey?"

"I'm going to a new school this year and wanted to change it," I explained with a shrug.

"I don't blame you," said Aaron, "but don't grow up too fast on me, okay? You gotta capitalize on the look you have, my friend," he added amiably. "The longer you stay the way you are right now, the more money you'll make for you and your mom, and that's a promise."

I didn't really want to stay the way I was right now, but I knew better than to say anything like that to Aaron, especially with a still-riled-up Pete within earshot.

"Speaking of which, are you ready for tomorrow?" asked Aaron. "Big day for you."

"I'm ready," I said with a nod. It was mostly true, even if I still had reservations about the whole thing.

"I made dinner reservations for 5:30 so we have a few minutes to kill," he said. "You two can head into my office while I let Alice go for the night and take care of a couple of things. I'll just be a minute."

Pete and I passed through the double doors and entered Aaron's spacious office. Like the waiting room, it hadn't changed much at all since I'd last seen it. Aaron's desk looked a bit more cluttered with papers, but that was all. Pete left my side to look at the framed photos on Aaron's credenza. He seemed to have calmed down somewhat from the aggravation of the road trip, which was a good thing. While he looked at the photos, I moved to the window to look out at the tall buildings and the cars and people many stories below.

About five minutes passed before Aaron rejoined us in his office. By that time, Pete and I were seated comfortably in the Queen Anne chairs opposite the couch.

"Want a drink, Pete?" asked Aaron after he had pulled the French doors closed behind him. "Gin and tonic?"

"I'm alright for now," answered Pete. "I'll have one with dinner, but the traffic sucked, and we had to park downtown, so I don't want to tie one on."

"I didn't think we had time," replied Pete. "Ninety-four was a parking lot most of the way."

"Probably an accident or something," observed Aaron as he took his seat on the couch. "I hate getting caught in traffic."

"I do too, but the boy took good care of me while we waited. That helped to keep my blood pressure under control."

"What?" my friend replied incredulously. "Do you deny that you stripped buck naked on the front seat of my car and sucked my cock like a whore until I blew a load in your mouth?"

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes, but I refrained. Nor did I say anything in response. I knew better than to do either thing. My only reaction was to blush with embarrassment and look down at my knees.

"Oh, come on, David," scolded Aaron. "There's no need for secrets here. Don't forget that I've seen you do your thing before. Experienced it too, and it was quite nice. There's no need to be embarrassed. You're very good at it."

Aaron chuckled out loud. "Had one just before you got here," he said with a cheeky grin.

"Oh, you devil!" said Pete with a shake of his head as he realized what Aaron was telling him. "He was just a baby! How old is he?"

"He's six, and I had to make some calls for him, so I figured I'd put him to work while I made them," explained Aaron with a shrug. "I didn't want to get the kid in trouble with the missus after all. She's hard on those foster kids."

"He certainly wasn't Davey-esque if that's what you're asking, but the effort was there. Unfortunately, I was running out of time and had to finish myself. I may have missed with some of it," said Aaron with a shrug and another chuckle. "You didn't happen to notice his hair as he was leaving, did you?"

"If you had been looking, you might have noticed some white highlights there. I was a bit distracted, and my aim may have been just a little bit off," he said with a chuckle.

Pete laughed at Aaron's joke as if it was the funniest thing he had heard in a while. I knew exactly what they were talking about, but I didn't join in their mirth. The truth was, I still was a bit annoyed that Pete had so cavalierly offered my services to Aaron, but it wasn't like that was anything new. Indeed, Pete had told me to take care of the man the very first time I had met him in this very office and had beaten the living hell out of me when I screwed up on his instructions. Why I had thought anything would be different this time around was a mystery even to me.

"So, how's your new school going," Aaron asked, turning his attention back to me. "Off to a good start?"

"Good so far," I replied with a shrug. It was a true statement considering that I didn't have a single grade back from any of my teachers.

"It's important to keep up your grades when you're working, especially if you have to miss school," said Aaron.

"We already have an understanding about that, don't we David?" interjected Pete ominously.

Pete was in a weird mood and seemed hell-bent on embarrassing me in front of Aaron. Maybe he still was feeling aggravated from dealing with the traffic and parking on the drive here. Maybe he was just feeling antagonistic, which I'd noticed him doing more and more lately. Whatever the reason, I knew better than to say anything that would make it worse.

Now it really did seem for all the world like Pete was trying to antagonize me, or maybe he was just showing off for Aaron. Either way, I didn't like the direction the conversation was going and was starting to feel miserable about the whole trip because of Pete. Aaron must have sensed my mood, as he quickly tried to change the subject.

"You're a smart kid, so I'm sure that won't happen," he said encouragingly. "Are you doing any after-school activities?"

"I'm thinking about joining Drama Club, but it hasn't started yet," I answered dutifully. "I'm not sure about anything else."

"Drama Club might be it for the time being," interjected Pete. "I don't want him to spread himself too thin given his other obligations."

The way Pete said that made it sound like it was his decision to make, and effectively it was. I certainly wasn't going to join any clubs or participate in any activities of which he didn't approve, and I suspected that one of the obligations he was referring to was me going to see him every day after school for sex. I didn't see that as an obligation because I wanted to go, but there was no doubt that my participation in after-school activities would interfere with that, and I didn't think Pete would permit it.

"Tell Aaron about your bully problem," directed Pete, changing the subject to yet another topic that I didn't want to talk about. I rolled my eyes a tiny bit, but not so that either of them could see.

"There's just this other kid," I said lamely with a shrug. "I'm dealing with it."

"As a matter of fact," interrupted Aaron as if he were breaking up a family spat, "that reminds me of something." He jumped up from the couch, walked quickly to his desk, and retrieved a small stack of papers lying there. He returned to the seating area waving the papers in the air.

"I have here in my hand something you don't see very often at all," he said dramatically as he retook his seat. "Something so rare as to be almost nonexistent in my experience." He turned to me. "Care to guess what it is, kiddo?"

I had no idea what it was. None. It was on regular paper, and it had been on his desk, so I took a guess.

"This right here," said Aaron as he shook the stack of papers, "is the closest thing I've ever seen to a script for what you are going to be doing tomorrow morning," he said dramatically. "Want to see it?"

For a moment I was taken aback. Pete had told me multiple times that there weren't any scripts for pornos, and that everything was ad-libbed on the spot. The existence of an actual script seemed to belie that claim and I was intrigued. I wanted to see it.

"Woah, woah, woah," said Aaron as he held me off with his free hand. "Now just so you know, this isn't going to be what you're used to seeing for plays or TV commercials. It's more of a description of what's going to happen than anything else. It's not actually a script with dialogue, but it is mapped out scene by scene."

"This customer is trying to make some higher-end films," continued Aaron. "He wanted real actors for it, and that's where you came in, Davey. I knew you'd be a perfect fit with your talents."

"Thanks," I replied. I didn't really care what the script said or didn't say, I just wanted to see it.

"Pete and I decided to show it to you ahead of time because we thought it might help with your nerves," explained Aaron. "You know how you get sometimes."

I knew exactly how I used to get, but my ability to cope with new things had improved vastly since Mr. Stone's party. I was 12 years old now. I was a different kid.

"I'll be fine," I said a bit defensively. I didn't like that that they were talking about me behind my back, and I wanted to see the script.

"Alright then," said Aaron as he handed it over to me. I took it from him and turned it around to read the cover sheet, which wasn't much of a much. It was just a few words, centered and typewritten in all caps.

I stared at the cover for a few moments. From what Pete had told me, I assumed that I was to play either Reggie or Kip, but I didn't know which one. I also didn't know what the reference to school meant.

"You're filming at an actual school tomorrow," said Aaron, almost as if he could read my mind. "Hence the title. It's closed for the production, so not to worry."

I wanted to ask which role I was playing, but I also wanted to keep the chitchat to a minimum while I perused the script, so I kept my mouth shut. I turned the cover sheet over to reveal page two, which was just two words, also centered and typed.

I turned to page three, which was different from the first two. It was typewritten and double-spaced. The left side of the page was full all the way from top to bottom, but I couldn't make sense out of what much of it said. It almost seemed to be written in code.

H16 – MS: Showers, span up Kip from floor. Extras bn leg shot. Kip knees face cover

Pan 8-10 3-shot MS. High

Dialogue: Taunts begs fear threat

Tilt dutch, Kip POV

Action: Kip uncover fear cry? Extras laugh taunt grin. Alt. 10-15?

Zoom kip. Straight

Dial-discr.: what works!

Pan extra 10

Zoom kip 10 (apprx)

Action: Extras- aim pee face chest kip-kneel

Dialogue: Extras- laugh.

Zoom kip pee runoff.

Action: kip-cry?

Pan 10 3-shot MS.

Action: Enter Reg

Low shot, kip POV

Dialogue-reg: "What the fuck are you guys doing? Go on, get out of here. Leave him alone."

Zoom 2-shot extras. Cap. Confront.

Zoom kip 5.

2-shot extras 5 each

Zoom reg

Action: extras out, Reg approach

The only part of it that was crystal clear from my reading was the long "dialogue-reg" near the bottom of the page. The rest of it looked technical. It also looked daunting and confusing, and the uncertainty must have shown on my face.

"Do you want a translation?" Aaron offered in a soft voice. "It's pretty confusing, isn't it?"

It was more than confusing; it was scary. Staring at that page made me realize how little I knew about anything to do with making porno films. I wondered if maybe I would have been better off if I hadn't looked at it. I felt uneasy and out of my element.

I didn't respond to Aaron right away but instead flipped through a few more pages of the script. The "Shower Scene" continued the next couple of pages. I skimmed the text, especially the entries for "dialogue" and "dial," which made more sense to me. I knew what dialogue was. I didn't know what "dial-descr," meant, but "dial-reg" and "dial-kip" seemed clear enough. I just didn't know which one I was, although I suspected I was Kip.

I turned another page to reveal three more words in all caps, centered and typed:

I closed the script and handed it back to Aaron. He took it, gazed at me for a moment, then gave me a little nod.

"Neither of us expected you to, David," replied Aaron. "Pete and I talked about whether to show you this, but we decided to let you see it. Do you want to know why?"

"Because you're an actor, David," Aaron replied. "Because you can do this. Not only can you do it, but you can do it better than just about any boy who's done it before. I've seen what you're capable of, and so has Pete. Do you understand that? Do you see how much confidence we have in you?"

My eyes went to Pete as Aaron spoke because it was his opinion I cared about. For as intimately as he knew me, Aaron was a bit player in my life, the equivalent of an extra in my personal play. I didn't even trust the man fully. Except for my mother, Pete Volcker was the only person in my life whose opinion I truly valued. Without Pete backing up what he said, Aaron's words meant next to nothing to me, and I think Pete knew that, because when Aaron finished speaking, he chimed right in.

"He's right, David," said Pete. "When Aaron told me about it, I wanted you to see the script, even though I knew you wouldn't understand most of it. Hell, even I don't understand half the stuff that's in it – all those camera shots and angles are a mystery to me. I'm a stage actor and always have been. Put me in front of a camera and I'd probably melt like a stick of butter in the hot sun."

"But you have a gift, David," Pete continued. "You're one of the best darn little actors I've seen in 40 years of doing this shit, and I'm not pulling your leg. You improv as well as you follow a script. You can follow a lead. You take direction well. You're not afraid to let your hair down and act, and you're good at the other stuff, too. You get it, David, and that's why I had Aaron show you the script."

"The thing is, kiddo, this here is high-end stuff," added Aaron. "I know whose gig this is. I know the director. If they use who I think they're using, I also know the cameraman. This is absolutely top-of-the line stuff. We're talking high-quality. This isn't just bang-and-run. They asked me for a real actor for this, and I chose you."

Aaron's office fell into silence for a moment as I contemplated what the two men had just told me. I don't think I'd ever received so many rapid-fire compliments in my entire life. It seemed that Pete and Aaron had placed a lot of faith in my acting skills, but I was worried that it wasn't warranted. I hadn't been acting for that long. In fact, my roles of Charlie in the school play and Sebastian for the adult production were the only two roles I'd ever had aside from classroom skits. They were making it sound like I was the second coming of Burt Reynolds, but I wasn't. I was just a kid who happened to try out for the role of Charlie Bucket in the school play and got it.

"Don't look so glum, kiddo," said Aaron. "How about that translation, and then we go to dinner?"

"Okay," I said with a nod and what I hoped was a cheerful expression. Pete and Aaron really had done a lot for me. They were counting on me, and I didn't want to let them down.

I rose from the chair and came to join him on the couch. He put the script on his lap and wrapped is right arm around my shoulders. Using his left hand, he flipped the script open to the cover sheet for "Shower Scene."

"Obvious enough, right?" he said. "The first scene takes place in the showers at the school."

He turned the page to the entries that might as well have been written in Sanskrit for all I could decipher them.

"Alright, let's start at the top," said Aaron. "A lot of this gets technical and you don't need to know it all, but we still wanted you to see it."

"H-16 is just the camera they're using, a Bolex H16 16 millimeter," said Aaron. "You don't need to know that. 'MS' stands for mid shot, about halfway between a close-up and a pan-out. You're kneeling on the shower floor covering your face. The other boys are standing close to you."

"See? 'Reggie and Kip in School.' That's the name of the film, pre-production at least. You're Kip, and the other boy is Reggie. That may change, but for now that's the title."

"You're on your knees in the shower being intimidated by them," said Aaron. "They're standing. You're all naked because it's a shower, right?"

"Then a pan shot, with a high angle – that's looking down at you from their height," Aaron continued. "There's some dialogue in there. You'll get it from the director. There'll probably be some improv. Just do whatever the director tells you to do, okay?"

"Then a Dutch shot on a tilt. That'll be from your perspective. You're disoriented. Upset. Dutch and tilt mean the same thing, so I don't know why they used both here. That shot will show what you would see if you were looking up at them from your knees."

"You'll act scared – they're intimidating you. There's two of them and only one of you. They're bigger than you are. They have you cornered, right?"

"Right," I said with a nod. Aaron's translation was making me feel nervous for Kip just from the description alone. It seemed realistic the way he was describing it. I had my own problems to deal with at school, so I was well familiar.

"If you can conjure up some tears, all the better," said Aaron. "The other boys will be taunting you and laughing. You're scared, follow me?"

"Then the camera will zoom in on you again, maybe see those tears. The director will give you dialogue if he wants it. Then he'll pan to the other boys."

"Good," said Aaron. "Then they pee on you. It will be like with Mr. Tal, but not in your mouth, okay? You don't have to worry about that tomorrow. Aren't you glad you have that experience now?"

"It's not in the script," Aaron replied. "No pee in the mouth this time," he assured me with a double pat to my upper right arm."

"The other kids will laugh, and you'll need to look like you're upset," continued Aaron. "The camera will pan in to catch the pee running off you. All these are just different camera angles and shots," he said as he pointed at several entries on the page. "You don't really need to know what they mean."

"Alright, so then we get to meet your co-lead. Right here where it says 'Action: Enter Reg," that's for the kid you're going to be doing the sex scenes with. He rescues you from the other boys. See the other dialogue here?"

My eyes followed Aaron's finger to the line that read "What the fuck are you guys doing? Go on, get out of here. Leave him alone." I nodded.

"Reggie's kind of like your savior," said Aaron. "He's your hero. He rescues you from the bullies, and you're grateful to him. Makes sense, right?"

I nodded. It did make sense to me, and I felt a lot better about the script and the film. There was nothing in it that I couldn't do, at least not so far.

"I'm not sure who they're using or how old he is, but he's not an adult. He's just another kid. You can handle that, right?" asked Aaron with an encouraging squeeze to my upper right arm.

"I need a little bit more confidence out of my actor here," said Aaron. "How about 'I can definitely handle that, Aaron.'"

"I know you can Davey- I mean David – sorry kiddo," the man said with a smile. "That name change is going to take some getting used to for me. Pete's had longer with it than I have," he added with a little laugh and another squeeze of my arm as his left hand flipped over the next couple of pages of the script.

"Then it's on to the locker room scene, and things go from there," Aaron explained. "Easy, especially for a kid with your experience, right?"

I wasn't sure whether he was referring to my acting experience or my sex experience, or maybe both, but whichever way he meant it, I supposed he was right. Maybe easy wasn't the best word to use for my first porno, but I thought it was doable.

"There's a lot of money riding on this film," explained Aaron. "They're really trying for something different here. You're due for a big payday if all goes well, kiddo."

"Good!" said Aaron as he gave my arm a final squeeze and stood up from the couch. "I like that attitude. Let's go to dinner, shall we? It's on me."

Dinner was at a restaurant called "Don Roth's Blackhawk" on a street called Wabash. We arrived by taxicab, and Aaron told us we were in for a treat. I didn't know who Don Roth was, but I had an inkling based on the name of the restaurant and what Aaron asked me next.

"You into hockey, kiddo?" he inquired as we exited the cab and headed for the restaurant's entrance.

"Not a lot," I answered truthfully. I didn't know much about hockey, but I knew enough to know that Chicago's NHL team was the Blackhawks, and that was the same name as the restaurant. "Is Don Roth a hockey player?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so," replied Aaron with a chuckle as he draped his arm around my shoulders once again. He seemed to like doing that. "I think he just owns the restaurant, but you just might see a hockey player tonight if you keep your eyes and ears open."

"Do they eat here a lot?" I was of the belief that they did, given the name of the restaurant.

I wasn't sure what Aaron meant by that, but that wasn't unusual for me in those days. Although I spent much of my time in the company of adults, I was only 12 years old, and a lot of adult humor and nuances went straight over my head. Sometimes they had entire conversations that I didn't understand, almost like they were talking in code. Sometimes I even could tell that they were speaking a certain way so I wouldn't be able to follow what they were saying.

The restaurant's patrons were a mix of businessmen dining after work and regular people, including families with kids. The host greeted Aaron by name and had us escorted to a table for four in what appeared to be the main dining area. The restaurant was massive, and there were other rooms off to the sides. It was a loud place, with a lot of hustle and bustle and servers moving about.

"We'll get a spinning salad," said Aaron, "and I recommend the prime rib. Do you like prime rib Davey?" he asked me.

"I don't really know what is," I replied. I don't think that Aaron quite understood that our family's finances didn't allow for a lot of dining out at establishments not named McDonald's or Burger King, and even then, not very often. He might as well have been asking me how I liked my duck a l'orange prepared.

"He's David now," reminded Pete, who was sitting next to me and across from Aaron.

"Sorry, kiddo," said Aaron with a grin as he turned to Pete. "Whip me with a wet noodle, why don't you."

"No, don't stay there," Aaron objected. "The school they're filming at is somewhere on Madison, south of the river. There's got to be one closer. Remind me when we're done here, and I'll have them make a call."

I tuned out of the conversation at that point as I took in the sights and sounds of a busy Chicago restaurant. It wasn't up to me where we stayed, but I wouldn't mind it if we went to a new hotel. I had bad memories of the one Pete had stormed out of and left me in all alone.

I remained mostly on the outside of the conversation as Pete and Aaron caught up with each other. If I had ever had any doubts about the strength of their friendship, those doubts were put to rest as I listened to their friendly, jocular banter. They seemed to share a lot of memories from their college years, which they relived in words with passion and vigor.

The waiter eventually came to take our order, which seemed odd because we hadn't been given any menus. That didn't slow Aaron down at all as he ordered three prime-rib dinners and a spinning salad, whatever that was. I deduced that he had dined here once or twice before.

We still hadn't received our food when a young, tall, blond man suddenly approached our table and sat down directly across from me in the vacant seat next to Aaron. He appeared to be well over six feet [1.8m] tall and was built like a lumberjack. I stared at him in surprise as he quickly turned to offer his hand to Aaron.

"Yeah," said the man as he turned back to face me. He looked nervous and a bit flushed as we made eye contact. "Same."

I watched as the man shook hands perfunctorily with Pete, then offered the same hand to me. I took it and we shook slowly and deliberately.

"Hey," I replied as I finished shaking and pulled my hand back. The man's eyes remained fixed on me, making me a bit nervous. He looked like he was in his mid or late twenties to me, but I wasn't the best judge of age. He had blue eyes and looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He was handsome and fit, with a square face and high cheekbones.

"Hard to tell," replied Mike. "Maybe yes. Not sure. Gotta stay healthy to have a chance."

The man's eyes never left me even as he spoke to Aaron. I had no idea what they were taking about, but as I mentioned, that wasn't uncommon for me. I couldn't tell for sure, but it seemed like Mike spoke with a mild accent. There was something about his diction that seemed a little different.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner," offered Aaron as he gazed over his shoulder at Mike. "It's on me."

"Yeah," said Mike as he looked off to his left, before returning his gaze to me and giving me a nod.

I wasn't sure what to make of any of this, but I gave Mike a quick nod in reply. He turned to leave, walking quickly from the table in long strides.

My head whipped around to look at Aaron. "Was that one of the hockey players?" I asked as it dawned on me what they were talking about.

"Do you know him?" I asked before realizing how stupid I sounded. "I mean, how do you know him?"

"Friend, customer, client, I guess you could say," replied Aaron. "I've known him for about two years now. Super nice guy."

"Me?" I asked incredulously. Why in the world would a professional hockey player want to meet me?

It was then that I understood. I not only understood, I understood exactly. That explained why the man had stared at me the way he had. In retrospect, now that I knew what I knew, it almost seemed like he had wanted to eat me with his eyes.

"The deal is, you don't ask so many questions, David," said Pete as he leaned forward over the table, turned, and looked directly at me. "Aaron and I take care of the details – mostly Aaron, that is – and you do what you're told, capiche?"

I capiched for sure, but I still wanted to know more about the deal. I thought that I had a right to know, but I knew better than to challenge Pete.

"Then do it with fewer questions next time," warned Pete, who still seemed to be in a very bad mood, probably from the drive.

"It's okay," Aaron said quickly. "It's not a state secret, right?" he asked with a shrug as he looked first at Pete and then at me. "You'll be with Mike tomorrow night after the shoot," he explained. "You'll spend the night at his place and get picked up the next morning. Super easy. He's a really nice guy."

"O- okay," I said in what I hoped was an agreeable tone of voice. I had more questions, but I wasn't about to ask them. I already had spent the night with Mr. Chambers – and other nights with Aaron, Mr. Emerson, and Pete for that matter – so I had some experience in that regard, but this seemed different. It seemed more transactional. It seemed more business-oriented, and there was no doubt that I was the business.

I also didn't know Mike at all. I hadn't spent five minutes with the man or exchanged more than a single word with him. That literally was true, as the extent of our conversation to date had been a trade of one-word greetings. I had known all the other men I spent the night with better than that beforehand, even Mr. Emerson. I knew that Mike hadn't made a deal with Aaron because he liked talking to me or enjoyed my company, he had made the deal because he wanted to eat me – or if not eat me, at least have sex with me. I wasn't sure how much I liked that concept, but it wasn't up to me to decide. Pete had made that clear. Crystal clear.

"Figured you were here for the weekend, so we might as well take advantage of it," said Aaron. "You have a photoshoot on Sunday, too."

I looked up suddenly. That was news to me, too. Everything about this trip was news to me. I hadn't known I had anything to do except the porno, and I was looking forward to spending the rest of my time in Chicago with Pete once I was finished with that. Now at least one of my nights with Pete was gone. I instead would be spending Saturday night with Mike, and then part of Sunday at a photoshoot.

"What kind of photoshoot?" I asked. I couldn't help it. If Pete got angry because I was asking questions, he got angry. It was my life, not his.

"Private," replied Aaron. "We'll talk about it Sunday morning when Mike's done- … when you're done with Mike."

It was clear to me that Aaron wasn't willing to divulge any more details, and I knew I had to resign myself to that fact.

"It's a big weekend for you, kiddo," said Aaron as he gave me a playful kick under the table. "Things are really starting to break your way, aren't they?" he asked in an upbeat tone.

I wasn't at all sure about that, but I certainly didn't trust myself to respond verbally. Opening my mouth might cause a question or something else to pop out that might not go over very well with either man, especially with Pete. Instead of speaking, I swallowed nervously and nodded.

"Gratitude?" asked Pete. It was only one word and phrased as a question, but it was imbued with meaning. I knew that tone, and it was not to be trifled with.

"Thank you," I said, looking at each of them in turn. "Thank you both for … for doing this for me and my mom."

As it turned out, I wasn't a big fan of prime rib. It was way too pink and runny for me, and the juice from the meat ran all over the plate and got into the asparagus and the mashed potatoes, saturating them with wetness and making me not want to eat much of anything. Of course, I wasn't planning on eating the asparagus anyway unless Pete made me, since I wasn't much into vegetables at that age, least of all asparagus. Between the oozing pink meat, the garlicky mashed potatoes, and the asparagus, this wasn't a kid's meal at all. On the other hand, the spinning salad was neat. Our waiter made it table-side, literally spinning the bowl around on a platter of ice as he added ingredients to the salad one by one. I had my salad with shrimp on it but no anchovies, and it ended up being the best part of the entire meal by far.

I wished the salad had been the only part. As soon as I decided that I didn't like the prime rib, my mindset changed from enjoying a nice restaurant dinner to surviving the meal without getting Pete and Aaron mad at me for not eating it. Wasting food never went over very well with adults. My mother didn't like to see it and neither did Pete, but the prime rib simply was not to my liking. In addition to the pink color and oozing wetness problems, it had a thick layer of fat along one edge that made it look very unappetizing.

Fortunately for me my fears were misplaced, and I didn't end up having to eat most of the meal. I finished my entire salad and ate enough of the lean part of the prime rib and the non-wet part of the mashed potatoes that it looked like I had done a credible job. I was just about to start reorganizing the uneaten vegetables on my plate for show when Pete intervened.

"You don't have to finish that if you don't want to," he said. "You shouldn't have a lot in your system for tomorrow anyway."

"Don't forget he needs a full clean out tomorrow morning before you take him over," reminded Aaron. "At least two or three times I would say. And nothing to eat in the morning."

"I know," replied Pete. "I'm going to stop for a kit on our way to the hotel, and he knows he's not supposed to eat anything else until he's done filming."

"Oh, that's right," said Aaron as he used his napkin to wipe his mouth and rose to his feet. "Let me take care of the hotel for you. I'll be right back."

With that said, Aaron departed, leaving Pete and me alone once again, which made me a little nervous. Although he had calmed down from the earlier driving and parking fiascos, I still wasn't sure what kind of a mood he was in overall, and I knew from experience that the quality of the rest of my evening depended largely on that.

"You okay with that script?" he asked before taking a sip of water from his glass.

"I guess," I replied with a shrug and a nod. "It's fine." I worried that my answer wouldn't be enthusiastic enough for Pete, but he seemed to be okay with it.

"Good boy," he said. "Nothing you haven't done before, right? Even the pee part."

It made me a little nervous to be talking about something like that so casually in a restaurant full of people. I looked around just to be sure that a surveillance team hadn't taken up positions in the dining room, but I knew from the background noise alone that we were safe. It was Friday night, and the Blackhawk was a busy place. Nobody could have overheard us even if they tried.

I still wasn't sure about that part. Nobody had given me any warning I would be spending one of my three nights in Chicago with a man I didn't know, at least not on this trip. I was a bit intrigued that Mike was a professional athlete, although I wished he were a Cub, not a Blackhawk. Spending the night with a a baseball player would have been cool, but I didn't think that too many athletes were into gay stuff and boys. They seemed rugged and tough and like the opposite of gay to me, but then again it wasn't possible to tell which way Pete was just by looking at him, and he was rugged and tough but wasn't into females at all as far as I could tell.

"Yes," I said as I shrugged again. It was the only acceptable answer, so I gave it.

"We have to make the most of these trips, David," said Pete. "I told Aaron to load you up if he can. There's way more money in it for you and your mom if we do it that way, capiche? Lots more for your college fund."

He turned his head to the left to look at me, then placed his hand on my arm and gave it a squeeze.

"Don't mention it, David," he said. "You're a good boy and a good companion. Just don't let me down, okay?"

"Okay!" he said as he sat down in the seat opposite Pete once again and pushed a folded-over piece of paper across the table to my friend. "Two things. First, I got you guys a best Western on South LaSalle, that's the top address. Second thing, there's a McDonald's two blocks south on LaSalle and West Adams. Have Davey there by 7:15 tomorrow morning and look for a beige Caprice Classic. It'll pull around to the back of the parking lot and sit there waiting. That's Davey's ride. I wrote it all down for you. Don't be late."

"Thanks," said Pete as he took the paper, unfolded it briefly for a quick look, then refolded it and tucked it in the pocket of his shirt as Aaron turned his attention to me.

"You do your thing tomorrow," said Aaron. "When you're done, somebody will drop you back at the same McDonald's and you just walk back to the hotel on your own, okay? You should have plenty of time to rest and freshen up before you go to see Mike."

He looked back at me like I was daft. "Davey, no," he replied quickly. Then he looked puzzled, as if he were trying to figure out why I would ask such a dumb question. "Are you thinking like the Sears shoot?" he asked.

I just shrugged, knowing I was being foolish, but I had been thinking about that. Pete had been with me for that, or at least nearby. He hadn't just dropped me off and left.

To my right, Pete made a guttural grunting sound as he exhaled a breath. I knew that sound, and it signaled danger. He was exasperated with me.

"No, it's okay," said Aaron as he held up a hand as if to ward off Pete. "It's okay. It's a good question, Davey. We're glad you asked, right Pete?" he added with a nod in Pete's direction.

I already knew from his reaction that Pete wasn't glad that I had asked it, but I was perfectly happy to let Aaron run interference for me.

"This is a different kind of job, Davey," Aaron explained. "It's very private. The only people there are the ones who need to be there for it, like you. There'll probably even be some muscle there to make sure they don't get any unexpected visitors while they're filming at the school."

Just as Aaron finished speaking, the waiter returned to clear our plates and ask about desert, so I didn't have to respond right away. As soon as the waiter left us, Aaron spoke again.

"There's nothing to worry about, Davey," he said. "Pete will be waiting for you in the hotel, okay?"

"I'm not worried," I said, but of course there was a little croak in my voice as I said it, which annoyed me because I really wasn't that worried. I was reconciled to what I had to do.

"He knows what he needs to do," Pete added ominously, "and he knows what's going to happen if he doesn't do it, am I right, David?"

"Oh!" said Aaron as he smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. "It's David, not Davey! I forgot, kiddo," he said as he grabbed my hand. "'I'm going to have so much trouble getting used to that, I can't even tell you! Can you ever forgive me?"

Aaron's antics were over the top and I knew that he was trying to defuse the situation and protect me from Pete's wrath. Despite his encouraging words to me from a few minutes ago, I could tell that Pete still was in a bad mood from our drive, and that didn't bode well for our time together tonight in the hotel. That was disappointing to me, as I had very much been looking forward to a sleepover with him.

"But you're a big deal," replied Aaron. "And very much in demand. Remember when I told you what a boy with your looks and skill set could accomplish if he set his mind to it?"

"Well, it's just like I told you. And listen to this: Filming tomorrow – pays more than the Sears shoot. Mike tomorrow night – pays more than the Sears shoot. Private shoot on Sunday – pays more than the Sears shoot. That's three for three, Davey – oh, Christ, I mean David! I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," I replied. It sounded like I was going to make a lot of money this weekend if everything went according to plan and I didn't mess it up.

"Just don't call him late for dinner," said Pete with a laugh. It was good to hear my friend laugh. It gave me at least a little hope for the evening to come.

"Speaking of which, we can go," said Aaron. "Somebody needs his beauty rest," he said to me with a wink as he stood from the table.

"They'll just put it on my tab," Aaron replied as came around to my side of the table and put his hand on my shoulder. "I come here a lot."

Pete and I said our goodbyes to Aaron as the cab dropped us off at the entrance to the parking garage. Aaron offered to have the driver take us right to our car, but Pete demurred, which I thought was crazy given the elevator situation

"Good luck tomorrow!" Aaron said to me as I climbed out of the front seat. "I'll call you," he said to Pete as my friend got out of the back.

By some act of a merciful God, the elevators were working again in garage, and Pete and I were able to zip right up to retrieve his car on the ninth floor. It was after seven o'clock and traffic had lightened up, so we were able to navigate out of the garage without issue and proceed on our way to the hotel. Aaron had given Pete directions while we were in the taxicab, and he repeated them to himself under his breath as he drove.

Before long, we arrived at the drug store that Aaron had told us would be on our right about halfway between the parking garage and the hotel.

Staying in the car gave me a few minutes alone to gather my thoughts and think about the night and weekend ahead. Pete seemed to be in a better mood, but I knew from experience that he still was worked up from the hassle and aggravation of the drive and that it wouldn't take much to set him off. I didn't think he would whip me if I got in trouble tonight because I couldn't have any marks on me for tomorrow morning's filming, but Pete had plenty of other ways of punishing me that were even worse, including ignoring or shunning me, and I didn't want those things to happen.

I had a lot going on this weekend and I didn't want to get off to a bad start with Pete tonight. Getting him angry at me also ran the risk of worrying me and distracting me from the other things I had to do this weekend, which could result in a bad report to Aaron. I didn't even want to think about it. I knew how Aaron would react if he got a bad report about me. I could only imagine what he would say to Pete, and I absolutely, positively did not want to think about what would happen to me then. I banished the very thought from my mind. It simply could not happen.

I knew that I had to be on my best behavior tonight and do everything in my power to please Pete. I knew exactly what he liked, and I knew exactly how to give it to him. If I upped my game just a little bit, I was just as certain as I could be that I could ease his tensions and make him feel good. I wasn't lacking any of the skills to get the job done. It was a matter of willpower, plain and simple.

We arrived at the Best Western, checked in, and carried our suitcases to the elevators and up to our room. As soon as the door closed behind us, I stripped. I had planned and choreographed everything in my head, even unbuttoning the three top buttons of my shirt in the cab before we arrived at the hotel. My shirt, loafers, shorts, and briefs were off me and on the floor in a flash. I went to Pete and knelt beside him as he removed his wallet from his back pocket and placed it on the counter in front of the television. My hands went to his belt immediately and began to unbuckle it.

"Well now," said Pete as he turned to face me a bit, so I wasn't reaching and fumbling so much. "Somebody's in a frisky mood."

I didn't say anything as I worked his belt free with a determined look on my face. I was determined. I wanted to take care of Pete the best way I knew how and lock in a good, anger-free evening on our first night together in Chicago. I also wanted to thank him for everything he had done for me, and making him feel good was the very best way I knew how to do that.

I got his belt unbuckled after a few seconds. The waist button followed his belt, and his zipper followed the button. When everything was loose enough, I reached for his hips and tugged his trousers down. His boxers followed his trousers, and his flaccid cock popped into view. I popped it in my mouth and began to work on it with my tongue, even as I returned my hands to his thighs to tug his trousers and boxers even lower down his legs.

"Good slave," he said in a low voice as he spread his legs a bit apart and placed his right hand on my head. "That feels nice."

Pete's reaction was a very good sign. I crammed his member in my mouth, wetting it, and helping it to stiffen and grow. As I worked, Pete caressed the top of my head with his fingers. I chanced a look up to see that he was gazing down at me with an indulgent look on his face. My plan to get him and keep him in a good mood seemed to be working at least so far, and I was pleased.

"Why don't we move this to the bed, slave?" Pete said gently as he reached under my chin to have me look at him again. "This is nice, but I think we'd both be more comfortable there."

"Yes, master," I said after extracting his penis from my mouth. I leapt to my feet and immediately began to unbutton his shirt.

"Good slave," he repeated as I worked the buttons free one at a time, exposing Pete's hairy chest bit by bit. Before I even had the last couple of buttons undone, I leaned my head in to kiss and swirl my tongue over his nipples. When his shirt was fully unbuttoned, I reached up to sweep it from his shoulders.

Alas, I found that even the best-laid plans of men and boys often go awry, because all I succeeded in doing with Pete's shirt was to trap his arms to his side, still stuck in his sleeves. His cuffs remained buttoned, and neither he nor I could pull either of his arms free from the shirt.

"Okay, okay," he said with a chuckle as he worked his shirt back onto his shoulders and began to unbutton his cuffs on his own. "Get on the bed and I'll be right there, little slave."

Disappointed in my failure but buoyed by Pete's reaction and good mood, I scampered to the bed and lay down on my back. I grabbed my legs behind my knees and pulled them to my ears, displaying my butt to Pete and offering it to him. My plan for a just-entered-the-room kneeling blowjob hadn't panned out the way I had envisioned it, but there were other ways to please Pete sexually, and my butt hole was his favorite orifice. Not to mention that I already had blown him once in the car on the drive up, so it seemed like it was time to switch things up.

"Very nice, slave," said Pete as he stepped from his trousers and placed them on the counter, reached down to pluck his socks from his feet one at a time. "I normally wouldn't be able to turn that invite down, but you have a busy day tomorrow, and I don't want you to be too sore."

"Awww," I said with genuine disappointment as I let my legs go and sprawled spread-eagled on the bed. I had been fucked numerous times in one day at Mr. Stone's party so I was sure that I could handle it, but I knew better than to argue with Pete. The only thing was, I was running out of ways to please him.

"Your mouth will do just fine tonight, and if you do a good job on everything tomorrow, I'll make it up to you afterwards, how does that sound?" said Pete.

"Good," I acknowledged with a nod. I felt a tingle of raw excitement in my tummy and looked down to see that my cock was nail hard. I was getting that sensation more and more these days, and I liked it.

"How about a little warmup before you suck?" asked Pete as he approached the bed fully naked and sporting a semi.

"Okay," I replied eagerly as another little tingle rippled through me at the sight of Pete's hairy, manly, naked body. It was like a little shot of adrenaline that made me squirm with anticipation. I wanted to feel Pete next to me and on me, enveloping me in his strong arms and engulfing me with his body.

Pete climbed on the bed and straddled me, pinning my wrists to the mattress to either side of my head as he leaned down and planted an open-mouth kiss right on my lips. I opened wide for him and produced my tongue as his pressed inside my mouth like he owned it, which by that point in my life he pretty much did. To the extent that he didn't own it, I gladly would have given it to him whenever he wanted to borrow it.

We kissed for a couple of minutes with me squirming slightly and moaning into his mouth as if I wanted to be set free, but I didn't want that at all. A lot of our roleplays involved Pete holding me down or even tying or restraining me for sex, and I know he enjoyed a bit of a struggle. The truth was, Pete was about 11 times stronger than I was and probably four times heavier, so all my struggles were just for show, but both of us seemed to enjoy that part of it a lot. I know that I did.

"Open," commanded Pete as he straddled my body and hovered his face right over mine, our mouths separated only by inches. His hands continued to pin my wrists to the mattress in a vise grip.

I formed my mouth into a big circle as Pete worked some saliva up and released it to drip into my mouth in a little stream. As he worked up some more, I drank down what he gave me, tasting garlic from the Blackhawk's mashed potatoes as I swallowed.

Pete fed me his spit several more times, gazing down at me and watching intently as it dribbled and dripped into my waiting mouth, all the while straddling me and keeping my outstretched arms helplessly pinned to either side of my head.

"That's a good slave," said Pete as he pursed his lips and dribbled yet another streamer of spit straight into my mouth. "You like taking master's spit in your mouth, don't you slave?"

"Then I have something else you'll like, slave," he said as he let go of my hands and knee-walked up my body until he was looming directly over me, his hips straddling my upper chest and neck. Reaching for the headboard with his left hand, he used his right to steer his semi-flaccid penis into my mouth.

"Drink, slave," he commanded as his cockhead rested on my tongue. "And whatever you do, don't spill any on the bed."

My hands went to his hips as I readied myself for what was coming. I knew what to expect as I had drunk Pete's pee during my enslavement ceremony. I already was familiar with the taste.

It turned out that I was not as familiar with the taste as I had thought. As soon as Pete released his urinary sphincter and released an ounce [30ml] of warm pee into my mouth, my taste buds were assaulted with the most awful, foul-tasting flavor I ever had experienced in my life. It was very strong and utterly revolving. I must have looked stricken as I forced myself to swallow it down. As soon as it had burned its way down my throat to my tummy, I rapped my hands on Pete's hip and shook my head to signal that I wanted him to pull out.

"What is it, slave?" asked Pete as he extracted his member from my mouth. "You're not done."

"Pete," I gasped, as I continued to wince and make a disgusted face from the strong and bitterly pungent flavor that continued to assault my taste buds. "It tastes really bad today."

"That's 'master' to you," said Pete as he unhanded his penis to give me a moderate slap to the left side of my face. I realized then that the taste was so revolting that I had forgotten to address him as master.

"You're not exactly supposed to like the taste, slave," replied Pete. "I'd be a bit worried about you if you did. But since when does what you like or dislike matter when I give you an instruction?"

Pete didn't understand. His pee tasted awful. It was disgusting. It was much more bitter, flavorful, and pungent than I had tasted from him or Mr. Tal. If he made me drink too much of it, I almost certainly would throw up.

"Ahhh, I see," said Pete with a chuckle and a smile. "You're tasting the asparagus and garlic from dinner, slave. It won't hurt you," he added as he grasped his cock in his right hand once again and dragged it back and forth across my lips.

Up to that point in my life, I hadn't known that pee came in different flavors, much less that it depended on what a person ate. My pee came out in different colors sometimes, but I'd never given much thought to what it tasted like. I was giving a lot of thought to it now, because apparently asparagus and garlic made pee taste like sour battery acid.

I knew I had a choice to make. Pete had given me an instruction. We were in roleplaying master-slave mode, but that didn't mean I had the discretion to disobey him. I knew that if I refused to open my mouth and take his pee, the evening would turn south in a New York minute, and I didn't want that. I didn't want to drink his pee, either, but what I wanted didn't matter.

"Good slave," he praised me. "Drink," he said as he released another ounce [30ml] of fluid into my mouth.

I tried to brace for it, I truly did, but knowing full well the awfulness that awaited me, I was grimacing, and my throat was constricting even before Pete's hot, pungent urine coated my tongue and taste buds. It was god-awful and vomit-inducing. I somehow managed to swallow it down without puking, but it was so revolting that I started to choke. My face turned green as I was sure that I was going to lose my dinner salad all over the bed.

"Hold it, slave, don't you dare," warned Pete as he withdrew his penis from my mouth and grasped a fistful of my hair. "Don't you dare make a mess all over the bed."

My stomach roiled and clenched as I desperately fought the urge to vomit. The bitter taste remained in my mouth, reminding me of its awfulness.

"Pete, please," I begged, breaking role once again. My voice sounded miserable. I was near tears as I tried to slosh saliva around in my mouth to rid myself of the taste.

"It's 'master!'" exclaimed Pete as he used his right hand to beat my mouth and chin several times with his cock as punishment for my mistake. "Have you forgotten your place? You're getting peed on tomorrow during filming, so this is good practice for you, slave."

I moaned unhappily, grimaced, and turned to the side as Pete hit me with his cock. I knew from the movie script that Aaron had translated for me that I was going to get peed on during the shower scene, but Aaron had told me that I didn't have to drink it. Drinking it was awful, and the thought of drinking more of it made me moan again with dismay.

"One more, slave," said Pete. "One more and we're done. Beg me for it. Tell me how much you want it."

I didn't want it, but I wanted Pete angry with me even less. The promise that I had one more to go – which I assumed to mean one additional mouthful – gave me hope. If I could swallow his pee just one more time without throwing up, it seemed possible that I could get through this without sending Pete into a fit of rage.

"Yes, master," I replied with a little grunt of unhappiness. This was so much worse than the slave ritual Pete had performed on me at his house. I had drunk all his pee then – a seemingly endless stream of it – but it hadn't seemed nearly as bad as this. Not one-tenth as bad.

"Please master," I began to beg slowly, still trying to delay. "Please let me drink your pee, I really want it," I added miserably.

"Not remotely good enough," said Pete as he shook his head and hovered his cockhead over my lips with his right hand. "Try again."

I moaned with dismay. It was hard to beg authentically for something that I wanted about as much a second asshole in the middle of my forehead.

"Please, master, please let me drink your pee," I begged. "I love it, and I really want to taste it in my mouth. It tastes so good."

"Oh, so you do like it then," said Pete triumphantly. "A slave who doesn't like his master's pee drinks it all the time until he learns to love it, but a slave who already loves it only gets it as a treat. Can't spoil a slave by giving him something he loves too often, now can we, hmmm?"

"So which kind of slave are you?" asked Pete. "The kind who loves his master's pee and gets it only as a treat, or the kind who's still learning to love it and gets it all the time until he doesn't want to drink anything else but?"

I knew which kind of slave I was, oh yes. I knew for certain, and I was willing to take the risk of a punishment for lying to Pete to let him know.

"I love your pee, master," I replied. "I love the way it tastes in my mouth, and I love the way it reminds me of you. I just want to drink it all the time because I love it so much."

"There's a good slave," said Pete with an indulgent smile as he dropped his penis to stroke the side of my face where he had slapped me just a few minutes ago. "But because you love my pee so much, it would be spoiling you to give you too much of it, don't you think? A spoiled slave is an unhappy slave, don't you think?"

"Yes, master," I said in a defeated voice as I tried desperately to look disappointed and unhappy. "But I really want some."

"Please master, please let me have some more. I really love it, master. I love it so much. I just need a little more, master. Your slave needs a little more of your pee."

"Open," commanded Pete as he steered his cockhead to my lips once more. He was almost entirely erect at this point, so he had to push his shaft downward to feed it to me.

I opened my mouth and took his cockhead back inside, bracing for the gush of nastiness that soon would fill my mouth.

"Good slave," Pete intoned as he prepared to release his stream. "I want you to hold it in your mouth this time. Don't swallow right away. I want to see it."

With that, Pete released another shot of pee directly into my mouth, filling it with the bitter taste. As soon as my mouth was full, he cut off the flow. The man had remarkable control when it came to that. At my age then, I would not have been able to stop my pee flow without squeezing my penis. I had done that before in mid pee, and it hurt. Pete was able to do it without so much as even touching himself, and it didn't seem to hurt him at all.

As soon as he cut the flow, Pete extracted his cock from my mouth, leaving me lying there on my back with a quantity of the foul liquid in my mouth. I held it there as he had instructed.

Slowly and carefully so as not to spill any out of the corners of my mouth, I opened for Pete and displayed his amber-orange urine to him. The stuff was assaulting my taste buds like kerosene. As much as my stomach didn't like the idea, my mouth and tongue were ready to send the pee on its way, but it was not to be.

"Play with it," Pete commanded as he knelt over me. "Show me how much you love it."

I didn't have any way to play with it other than to wag my tongue through it, and even then, I had to be careful about sloshing any of it out of my mouth and onto the mattress.

I tensed. What the hell was a periscope, and how could I make like one? I had no idea what he was talking about, but I moved my hands to my shoulders as if making like … something, while I continued to move my tongue back and forth through the pee. The stuff was so intensely flavorful that I wasn't sure that I ever would be able to rid my mouth or mind of it. I wasn't sure that my taste buds ever would fully recover from the ordeal.

"Good slave," said Pete. "You may swallow slowly, a bit at a time. I want you to look at me while you savor your treat.

I did what he wanted, gazing up into his eyes as I slowly swallowed his pee down bit by bit. It was revolting, but I made my eyes pretend that I enjoyed every drop, and but for the foul taste, I probably would have. It had come from Pete after all, and he had wanted me to have it. That was all I needed to know.

Chapter 23

"Good slave," praised Pete as I held his urine in my mouth and wiggled my tongue in it. It was revolting. Between the garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus Pete had eaten for dinner, his pee had turned into the foulest-tasting substance I'd ever had in my mouth in my entire life, and that included his cum at its thickest and nastiest.

"Drink it slowly and look straight in my eyes as you do it," Pete commanded. "I want to see how much love you have for it, and if I don't see enough, we'll have another go. Capiche, slave?"

I nodded as much as I was able and used my right hand to give him a thumbs-up sign. Steeling myself, I stared up at his eyes as I slowly began to swallow his piss in tiny little gulps. I tried to tell myself how much I loved it, but it burned like lava and tasted like skunk as it made its way down into my belly.

"I'm not seeing the love, slave," he said ominously. "Isn't this your favorite beverage?"

I froze, my swallowing suspended as I willed myself to love his warm, acrid piss like an ice-cold Coca-Cola, but in the back of my mind I worried that he had asked me a trick question. Even if I acknowledged that I loved Pete's piss as much as he wanted me to, it couldn't possibly compete for my love with the other liquid he routinely fed me from his penis. Loving his piss the most seemed disloyal in that context, so after a short pause to think things over, I shook my head no.

Pete looked surprised at first almost like he hadn't heard me correctly, but then his expression turned downright angry.

"You're on thin ice right now, slave," he warned me, and I could tell that he wasn't kidding.

Even on something as silly and playful as this, Pete didn't like to be contradicted. I knew that I needed to explain my answer, but my mouth still was mostly full of his pee. I shook my head in denial and waved both of my hands back and forth over my mouth in surrender, then tilted my head back and tried to speak.

"Are you sassing me?" Pete asked. He didn't append the word slave to his question, which to me was even more ominous than his tone.

I waved my hands shook my head some more, trying to make it known that I was not sassing him. Roleplay or not, filming tomorrow or not, Pete would not put up with being sassed, and I knew it. Tilting my head back again, I opened my mouth and tried to speak once again.

"Ahhw uhhhhmm," I said, but it was another gargled disaster. I couldn't communicate at all and was worried sick that he would think I was talking back to him, so with a grimace that would have made a toddler proud, I swallowed the mouthful of urine, wincing at the foul taste.

"Your cum," I gasped as soon as I could speak again. "Your cum is my favorite drink, master. You asked what my favorite was," I explained in desperation.

I could see the light go on in his eyes as finally he understood what I was saying. He proceeded to give me a little chuckle, which helped to calm my nerves.

"Good answer, slave," he said as he reached down and tweaked my nose. "So, you do love my pee? Is that what that means?"

"I love your pee, master," I replied with a reassuring nod. "I love it second-best, but not as much as your cum."

I didn't seem to be making any progress ending the pee-drinking portion of my evening, but I dutifully opened my mouth as Pete brought his penis to my lips once again and inserted the head in my mouth.

"Show me what love is, slave," he said as he fed me another bitter mouthful of urine.

The taste was horrific, but I made love to Pete and his pee with my eyes, nodding at him, showing him how much I loved his acrid, foul-tasting waste.

"Good slave," he said as he reached for the corner of my mouth and swept a dribble of urine away with his finger. "Show me your tongue."

I tilted my head back and swirled my tongue through his warm piss like a mixing spoon, maintaining eye contact with him all the while. I tried as hard as I could to love his piss authentically, but I had to fake it instead. It tasted nasty and disgusting.

"Swallow," Pete commanded, and I did. I even opened my mouth for more without being bidden, although I could have gone without.

"Come with me, slave," said Pete as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and directed me to the edge of the bed as he stepped off to the floor. I followed, his hand still gripping my scalp as he took me into the bathroom.

"Kneel," he said as he pointed to the side of the toilet. "Hold my cock while I finish peeing. Don't miss or you'll be cleaning up the mess with your mouth."

I was relieved to hear that I would not be required to finish drinking his pee. Forcing myself to move slowly, I reached for his penis with my right hand and aimed it at the bowl as best I could, while the palm of my left hand supported his balls.

Of course, the first spurt of pee from Pete's cock came out stronger than I expected and hit the back rim of the toilet bowl and the hinges of the seat. I had expected his flow to start with mere dribbles, but the act of stopping and starting must have increased the pressure in his bladder somehow.

"Bad slave," Pete admonished as I quickly adjusted my aim and directed his pee stream into the bowl. I winced at the awful smell, which was even more horrible to me knowing that I had just been drinking the stuff. I didn't know the chemistry or biology behind it, but asparagus and garlic had turned Pete's urine toxic. It came out of his penis a deep amber color and smelled worse than the boys' bathroom at my school.

From my knees, I continued to hold Pete's penis as he urinated, adjusting my aim to ensure that there were no further misses. When his flow ebbed and he started to dribble, I held my left hand under his cockhead to catch any errant drops that may not have made the bowl. I'd rather lick the stuff from my hand than from the porcelain of the toilet bowl.

"Suck it dry," commanded Pete as his flow finally came to an end and he turned toward me. I lipped his cockhead into my mouth and swirled and sucked the last few drops from his piss slit.

"Now clean that up, slave," he commanded as he gestured to the back of the toilet bowl.

"Yes, master," I replied as soon as I had removed his penis from my mouth. Knee-walking a little closer to the back of the toilet bowl and leaning in awkwardly, I brought my face to the rim and began to slurp and suck Pete's amber piss from the cold porcelain. I had to grip the toilet bowl in both hands and pull myself across it to reach, but I was able to tilt my head and get my mouth close enough to clean the hinges.

"Back to the bed and lie on your back, mouth open, slave," said Pete as he tugged me up by my hair and gave me a sharp smack on my bottom. "Go!"

I scrambled to the bed to lie down, my arms straight to my sides, my legs outstretched, and my mouth open for business. I didn't know what Pete had planned for me next, but I could tell he was all business, which I had expected from his earlier mood and was prepared for.

Pete followed me into the room. When he arrived at the foot of the bed, he grabbed me by my ankles and yanked me unceremoniously down toward the footboard. I neither closed my mouth nor raised my head to look at him when he did that. I was the picture of an obedient slave, telling him with my submissiveness that he could position my body any way he wanted it to be.

When he had me where he wanted me, Pete climbed back up the on the bed and straddled me the same way as before. I assumed that he wanted a blowjob or to mouth fuck me, but he kept knee-walking higher and higher until the underside of his scrotum was directly over my eyes.

"Eat my ass, slave," he commanded. "I want to feel every bit of that tongue inside me."

With that said, Pete lowered his hips and sat down on my face. His balls draped across my nose as his ass crack settled down on my chin and mouth. It was all I could do to gasp in a quick breath as Pete settled his bulky backside down on my face.

I had rimmed Pete scores of times before, but he rarely sat on my face. It made it harder for me to breathe when he did so, and the loss of control always made me nervous. The underside of his scrotum instantly molded to my face and nose like a ski mask, cutting off my air supply. Nevertheless, somewhat frantically, I began to lick his hairy crack and asshole, wetting it and preparing it for penetration. I knew that I didn't have much time before I would be out of breath. I had perhaps 30 to 45 seconds tops before I would have to tap out and pull my face away for air.

I managed to stiffen my tongue into a point and use it to probe a couple of times for the center of Pete's hole before the lack of oxygen caught up with me, causing me to wiggle and squirm under the man's weight. It occurred to me that Pete easily could suffocate me like this if he wanted to. I wasn't in any real fear that he would, but it was a daunting thought to have. My future was dependent entirely on Pete lifting his butt off my face. If he chose not to, there was absolutely nothing I could to about it.

My concerns were unwarranted as Pete lifted off almost immediately, allowing me to draw in some gasping breaths from the cloying, humid pocket created by his ass cheeks and my face.

"Again," he said as he settled back down on my face, his ball sack once again covering my nose.

I'm not sure that I made it even 20 seconds this time before I needed air, but I used my time Down Under to poke, prod, and push my tongue at his hole. This time I was able to penetrate past his anal ring and wiggle my tongue around inside his rectum for a few seconds as he helped me by sitting down on my face even harder. When I tapped out and began to writhe underneath him, Pete pulled off once again.

"This isn't working," he declared as he climbed off me, turned 180 degrees around, and presented his ass to me from the other direction. As I took in as much air as I could, he backed up a few more inches until his asshole was situated directly over my mouth.

"Breathe through your nose while you lick me out, slave," he instructed as he pivoted his hips down and brought his ass to my mouth once again.

The new position was a bit better for me in that my nose was not completely covered, but it still was jammed in the cleft of his ass, which made breathing almost impossible. I got in a few licks and pokes with my tongue before trying to breathe. I only was partially successful. This was better than the first position, but not by a lot. I could last a bit longer this way, but I wasn't getting anywhere near the oxygen I needed for a sustained effort.

I think Pete sensed that he wasn't going to get what he wanted with me underneath him like this because after a few tries at it, he crawled away from my face toward the foot of the bed.

"Sit up and climb between my legs," he ordered as he remained on his hands and knees with his legs partly spread.

I pulled my feet back out from under him and rose to my knees as Pete glanced at me over his shoulder.

"I said sit up," he admonished me. "I want you sitting on your butt with your face in my ass and your legs underneath me."

Chastened, I sat back down and slid myself down the bed until I was seated on my butt with my legs back underneath Pete and my face staring at his ass. I moved closer and closer still until my nose touched his butt cheek.

I did my best, but my positioning didn't give me the best angle, and my mouth could reach only the upper part of his anus. I licked and tried to turtle my head lower, but it didn't work. I repositioned myself to no avail, still unable to make it work.

"God damn it!" exclaimed Pete as he gave up entirely. Turning around once again, he pushed me out of the way and stretched out on the bed on his stomach. He spread his legs wide apart as he reached for a pillow to prop his head up on.

"Get back there and lick me out, slave," he commanded. I could tell that he was irritated by the three failed attempts at a different rimming position and was defaulting to the one that we both knew would work. It would work because I had lain in the V of his legs and used my mouth and tongue on his asshole numerous times before. There were no problems with breathing, access, angle, balance, or leverage with this approach. It worked every time.

It worked this time, too, and for the next 20 minutes or so, while Pete relaxed, I treated him to the best rimjob I could give. Pete always enjoyed being rimmed. I know that my child tongue couldn't penetrate his rectum as deeply or strongly as an adult tongue could, but I think I made up for that with my willingness to do it on command and as frequently as Pete desired.

I never did come to enjoy giving rimjobs, but it was something that Pete liked a lot, so I didn't ever say no not even question it, even when his ass was less than perfect from sweat and other things. I won't say what those other things were – you can use your own imagination – but I was just a kid at the time, and I wanted to please my friend. I just about worshipped the man, and I never wanted to let him down. Rimming him was one of the ways I knew to demonstrate my loyalty and love to him. It also unfailingly put Pete in a good mood because it was so relaxing for him, which was an added benefit.

He relaxed this time, too, and when he finally rolled over for his blowjob, the stress of the day finally seemed to have slipped from his shoulders. He smiled at me as I climbed between his legs, then reached out to caress my hair with his right hand.

"Good slave," he said warmly. "I want to cum in about 15 minutes, and then it's bedtime for you with no arguing about it. You have a big day tomorrow, and I want you well-rested for it, capiche?"

"Capiche," I said a bit unhappily as I took his erection in my hand and prepared to suck it. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was only 7:46 p.m., so 15 minutes of fellatio would take us only to about 8:00 p.m. I didn't want to go to bed that early. It was Friday night, and even though I would be filming early the next morning, I wasn't at all tired or ready to fall asleep. I had a 10:00 o'clock bedtime at home, and I had something other than sleep on my mind. My entire plan had been to get back to the hotel and use sex to relax Pete and get him in a good mood so I could ask him what I wanted to ask.

I was very sheepish as I asked my next question. "Um, I was hoping, um, when we're done with this, um, maybe I could go swimming for a little bit?"

"What did I just say about arguing, slave?" Pete asked in a lecturing tone. "Go ahead and tell me what I just said."

"You said no arguing, but I'm just asking," I replied nervously. "I'm not arguing."

"Now you're whining at me," he said. "Stop talking!" he said as he put up his hand. "Suck."

I sucked. There was no sense at all in debating the issue with Pete. I may well have been right that he wouldn't light me up tonight because the marks would show during filming tomorrow, but that excuse would be gone soon enough, and the man had an excellent memory. All actors did. It was how they remembered their lines. There was precisely zero chance that Pete would forget to punish me at some point if I argued with him, so I stopped on a dime.

Despite my disappointment, I gave him a nice blowjob. Thanks to Mr. Emerson's tutelage, all my blowjobs these days were good ones, and Pete was the lucky recipient of most of them. While I knew that I was skilled at the art, back then I didn't have any frame of reference to compare my fellatio skills to anyone else's. Looking back on it now, I know that I was a superlative cocksucker, especially for a 12-year-old. Mr. Emerson had taught me well, just as he had taught Mikey, and I had given many blowjobs to an ever-increasing number of males. I also was a boy who liked to please and do things well.

I timed the blowjob so that I didn't bring Pete over the edge until the allotted 15 minutes had elapsed. By the time he finished oozing his last few globs of spunk into my mouth, it was closer to 8:05 p.m. I knew from the sign in the lobby that the pool was open until 10:00 p.m., but a fat lot of good that was going to do me now.

"Good slave," said Pete as he tapped me away and slid his legs off the bed. "Time to get ready for bed," he added as he stood up and made his way to the bathroom and closed the door.

I was bummed. I still was at an age where hotels were exciting places to be, especially the ones with pools. I also liked the elevators, the ice machines, and the all-you-can eat breakfasts, but the pools were my favorites. Having an indoor pool at your disposal seemed like a fabulous luxury to me, and not using it whenever you could seemed almost criminal.

I wasn't even tired, and that was the shame of it. Even if we went to bed now, I knew that I probably would end up lying awake and tossing and turning for the next couple of hours. Although we would be naked in the same bed together, Pete wouldn't want sex. He'd already had two orgasms today, including one just a few minutes ago. He wouldn't recharge for a while, and even if he did, he wouldn't want to interrupt my beauty rest. That meant that my two favorite hotel activities were off the table. There would be no swimming and no sex with Pete. It just seemed like such a waste of both opportunities.

I was lying on my back on my side of the bed when Pete came out of the bathroom. I hadn't even bothered to turn the TV on because I had been worried that he would take that as a challenge to his authority. I knew that I wasn't swimming, having sex, or watching TV because Pete wanted me to go to sleep. It was that simple, and it wasn't open to negotiation. I had to do what the man said even if I wasn't happy about it.

Pete went to his bag, which was open on the suitcase rack next to the counter with the TV. He still was naked as I took in his butt and back, which were covered with hair. I had rimmed that butt not half an hour ago, giving Pete the oral attention and pleasure that he liked so much. I knew that there wasn't much that was sexy or attractive about his oversized buttocks and hairy back, but they belonged to the man who I loved – the man who was my best friend in the entire world – and that made them sexy enough for me.

As I was looking at his naked butt, Pete suddenly turned around and swung his arm, almost as if he were throwing something at me. I knew that he wasn't, but out of the corner of my eye I saw movement as something arced toward me from across the room. It was red in color. Surprised, I reached out at the last moment with both hands and caught it with an ungainly clapping motion. It was red, soft, and very tiny. It was my Speedo.

I stared at it only for as long as it took me to realize what it was and why I suddenly was holding it in my hands.

"Yessss!" I exclaimed with pure delight as I flew out of bed and ran to Pete. I embraced him in a huge hug, the Speedo dangling from my right hand as I encircled his naked body with my arms.

"Come on, put it on – we don't have time for this," admonished Pete as he turned back to the suitcase and reached for his old-man swim trunks.

"Thank you!" I said as I broke the hug and put the Speedo on as quickly as I could. I was bouncing up and down like a kangaroo as I waited for Pete to step into his trunks. It was a very unbecoming performance for a boy of 12, but I couldn't help it.

"They have them at the pool," said Pete. "Let's go. You're back in this room by 9:30 p.m. mister, capiche?"

"Capiche!" I said as I ran for the door, barefoot and dressed in a minute swatch of satiny fabric that weighed no more than a couple of ounces [57g] and hugged my body like it was painted on. Somehow, it seemed even smaller than the last time I had worn it. Had I grown, or was it just smaller than I remembered? I didn't know the answer, but for now it didn't matter. I was going swimming, which was one of my favorite things in the world to do.

Swimming was great fun, although the pool was nearly empty for most of our time there, so I had to play on my own. Pete didn't even get in, as was his wont. He sat on a lounge chair on the pool deck and thumbed through a magazine as I did my thing. My thing included a lot of getting out of the pool and jumping back in. There was a "No Diving" sign, so I was restricted to jumping, but I didn't care. I jumped in as many ways as I could think of jumping, including several efforts at a 360-degree, mid-air twist.

There was a mother and a very small daughter there when we arrived, plus an older man who walked laps around the edge of the pool for a few minutes before he got out. When the woman and her daughter left, I had the pool to myself for a few minutes before a slim man of about 40 years of age and wearing goggles slipped into the water and began swimming lengths. They were short ones since the pool was only about half regulation size, but he made his way back and forth slowly using primarily breaststroke and back stroke. After a while, I noticed that he had stopped swimming and was standing in the water with his back against the pool wall watching me do my jumps.

"Almost made it all the way," he said to me as I surfaced from one of my 360 attempts and began wading back toward the ladder.

I looked over at him with a nod and a grin. I knew that my jumping antics were better suited for a younger child than a boy of 12, but I was having fun. It was one of the very few times I was fine with looking younger than I was, as it gave me the cover to do what I wanted to do without feeling immature. Still, I hoped that I wasn't bothering the man or interrupting his lap swimming with my play.

"Thanks," I said as I arrived at the ladder. "I'm trying to do a 360," I explained.

I climbed out of the pool once again and went to the jumping location. With the fingers of my right hand pinching my nostrils shut, I steeled myself, bent my knees, and leapt into the air, my body already turning as it left the pool deck. I still couldn't make it all the way around. It was like an inviolate law of physics that I could spin my body only a little more than three quarters of the way before I reentered the pool.

As soon as I surfaced, I turned toward the man and swiped the water from my eyes. I hadn't thought to bring the goggles that Benny and Ellen had given me for my birthday. They were sitting in my underwear drawer in the bedroom of my apartment, and I knew that my eyes would be red from chlorine by the time I left the pool, but I didn't care. The man was looking right at me. It seemed that I had his undivided attention.

"Bravo!" he said with a smile as I began wading toward the ladder once again. I gave him a grin, making eye contact, and it was then that I saw "the look." It was the look that I was starting to notice more and more frequently these days when I encountered certain men and older boys. It was a lingering, holding-eye-contact look that was much more than just casual. It could happen anywhere and anytime, from any male from the age of about 14 and up. The intense eye contact was the telltale sign and a dead giveaway. It spoke volumes if one were paying attention, which I had learned to do thanks to the wisdom of Pete and Mr. Chambers.

The late 1970s were not a time when there were many openly homosexual gay men. Even the ones who were overtly flamboyant and gay acting didn't confirm their sexual preferences, at least not in pubic. Looking back on it now, it is remarkable that people even debated whether over-the-top celebrities like Liberace and Elton John were gay, but the societal taboo was so strong that they did. Being gay back then simply was not accepted and having a homosexual interest in boys even less so.

I think it was these factors that caused gay men and boylovers to communicate their proclivities and desires not by words, but by "the look." Once I had become attuned to it, I saw it everywhere. It took slightly different forms, but it always involved direct and prolonged eye contact under circumstances that didn't seem to call for it. The recipient of "the look" knew absolutely that he had the looker's serious, unbroken, and undivided attention, and that was the intention behind it. If the recipient made eye contact and looked back, it was almost like two modems connecting to each other over a telephone line, complete with the squealing and squelching sounds that announced, "connection made."

I had shared "the look" with dozens of men and older boys, and I was sharing it with Pool Man now. There was no question about it. Even with Pete sitting just 30 feet [9m] away on the pool deck and clearly there with me, the slim-bodied man was staring into my eyes with a look of hunger and desire that was unmistakable. As usual, Pete had been right: If I couldn't tell that the man was interested in me from the look he was giving, I wasn't even trying. I maintained eye contact with the man for several seconds before I looked away. I usually was the first to break eye contact – after all, I was still a kid, and I wasn't trying to hook up with any man who gave me "the look" – but I did find the entire subculture fascinating. Once I had learned to detect it, I saw it everywhere, and it amazed me how much information could be conveyed and exchanged through this completely silent form of communication. I found it truly remarkable then, and to this day, I still do.

I knew the man's eyes were on me as I climbed the ladder to the pool deck, and it's possible that I slowed down a bit to give him a show. I knew I wasn't going to end up in bed with the man – Pete didn't do threesomes and there was no way he would allow me to stay up late tonight – but that didn't mean I couldn't flirt with him a little bit. He wasn't bad looking, although he was a bit scrawnier and more slightly built than I was used to. I guess I was flattered that he was looking at me the way he was. Sure enough, when I looked over at him again, our eyes locked together like Pergo tiles.

For the next 15-20 minutes, I jumped into the pool and flirted with the man. We made eye contact dozens of times, holding lingering looks that conveyed all sorts of meaning. Our verbal exchanges fell off and eventually dwindled to nothing. We didn't need to verbalize anything. Meaningful looks and occasional nods allowed us to communicate as fully as if we were talking, at least insofar as sex was concerned. There was no question that the man wanted me, and I basked in it.

I'm sure that my tight-fitting Speedo helped to enhance my appeal. The part in the back covering my butt tended to pull inward toward my crack, causing me to have to pull the fabric back over my buns after every leap, especially on the right side. I didn't bother to do it right away every time, which gave the man a little glimpse of my butt cheeks as I climbed the ladder out of the pool. Eventually, I stopped adjusting it altogether, even after the suit had pulled entirely off my right butt cheek and was firmly embedded in the crack of my ass. The man didn't seem to mind at all. He continued to stand in the water watching me with his back against the pool wall, as if boy pool-leaping were his favorite spectator sport. That night, at least, it probably was.

I had fun jumping, playing, and flirting in the pool, but eventually Pete made it clear that it was time for us to go.

"David," was all he said as he stood up from the lounger. He also pointed toward the pool exit in case I had any problem understanding what he meant.

"Gotta go," I told the man as we made eye contact one last time. They were the first words I had spoken to him in the last 20 minutes. The man nodded. He didn't speak, but as I walked away his eyes never left mine. I maintained eye contact for as long as I could, my head turning toward him continuously as I walked away. It wasn't until I would have had to turn around and walk backwards to hold his gaze that I finally had to break it off.

I dried off with a towel from the rack near the pool exit and draped it around my neck for the walk to the elevators. Pete wasn't in a talkative mood, but he placed his hand on my bare shoulders to guide me as we walked. Leaving the pool, we walked down the hall to the lobby, hit the up button for the elevator, and waited for it to arrive. We had it to ourselves. Exiting on our floor, Pete unlocked the door and ushered me inside our room.

It was 9:40 p.m., and I knew it was my bedtime. I had just bent down to pluck my Speedo from my right foot when Pete grabbed the back of my neck and applied three blisteringly hard hand spanks to my bare and still-wet bottom in quick succession.

It stung and hurt. More than that, it took me completely by surprise. There was no warning to it, no sign that it was coming. It wasn't playful; Pete was angry with me, and the spanks were a punishment. I knew that there probably would have been even more of them or something even worse if I hadn't been filming tomorrow.

"What was that for?" I whimpered as Pete unhanded me and I stood upright once again. My bottom stung, and I clutched at it with both hands, trying to knead the pain away. Tears came to my eyes against my will; I had been trying to hold them back, but my butt just hurt too much to stop them.

"Don't think for one fucking minute that I didn't know exactly what you were doing downstairs, you ungrateful little shit," Pete almost spat at me. "Now brush your goddamn teeth and get in that bed, or I swear to God you'll be lucky to see tomorrow morning."

I was stunned. What had I done? What did he mean about downstairs? Did he mean the pool? We had just come from there so that had to be what he meant, but what had I done? I had been playing. Mostly jumping. Showing off for the man. Flirting with him a little bit.

Suddenly, it dawned on me what Pete was angry about, and I almost sank to my knees in horror. Oh, no! I hadn't meant it that way at all. I had just been being playful. I hadn't meant anything by it! Pete didn't think that I … that I …

I recoiled like I had been slapped. My legs felt weak. The last time something like this had happened I almost had lost my mind with worry, and now it was happening again. Even worse, it was happening in a hotel room. The last time also had been in a hotel room. I still had bad dreams about Pete storming out on me and leaving me alone forever.

I wanted to speak. I wanted to say something to make it better, but Pete was furious at me. I knew that if he stormed out of the hotel again, I would be a basket case. It already was a very bad scene, and I didn't dare do anything to make it worse.

With tears running down my cheeks and my breaths coming in hyperventilated gasps, I turned and ran toward the bathroom door. Once inside, I locked the door, then turned toward the mirror. My entire body was shaking like a leaf, my hands worst of all.

I felt terrible. Horrible. I felt disloyal. I felt like I had betrayed my best friend, but I hadn't meant to. I had been flirting with the man for sure, but it all was just for fun. There hadn't been anything serious about it, but I had done it right in front of Pete. I had ignored Pete and spent my time interacting with Pool Man. I had flirted and performed for him. We had shared knowing looks. I had let him see my butt cheeks, and I had done all that in front of Pete. Pete had seen it all, and there was no taking it back. He knew exactly what I had done.

I couldn't seem to catch my breath. I felt dizzy, shaky, and sick to my stomach. I had never felt so disloyal. I had never felt so unworthy, yet I hadn't meant anything by it. Not a thing. It hadn't been intentional, except that it had been. It had been very intentional. I had been perfectly aware the entire time that the man was looking at me hungrily, and I had hammed it up for him. I had given him his personal burlesque show, complete with me in a skimpy, red Speedo that didn't even cover my butt, and I had done all that in front of Pete. Right in front of him.

How rude I had been. How disrespectful. Pete had used the word ungrateful, and he was right. Worse than that, I had been disloyal. Even if I had meant nothing by it, putting on a flirting show for the Pool Man right in front of my lover and best friend while dressed in the Speedo that he had given me had been a terrible lapse in judgment, and I simply didn't know how to fix it.

I knew that I couldn't spend much time in the bathroom without angering Pete further. I had privacy in the bathroom and had locked the door to gather my thoughts, but it dawned on me that if Pete tried to open it and couldn't, I would be as good as dead when I came out again. I tiptoed toward the door and carefully and quietly unlocked it. I turned back to the sink and quickly brushed my teeth. Thank God I had unpacked my toothbrush and toothpaste earlier and had brought them into the bathroom ahead of time.

After drying my tears on one of the little towels, I opened the door and walked form the bathroom. I couldn't look at my friend. I felt embarrassed. Pete strode right past me without any acknowledgment and entered the bathroom himself. I wouldn't say that he slammed the door, but it clicked shut briskly enough for me to know that he remained very angry at me.

I felt terrible. I hadn't meant anything by it, but Pete was furious and hurt by my flirting behavior. I wanted to say something that would make it better, but I couldn't conjure up the words. I also knew that Pete would tell me to shut up again if I tried to speak.

I was a very miserable boy as I climbed into bed with fresh tears in my eyes. I was heartbroken. I couldn't believe that Pete thought that my playing and flirting had been anything other than teasing fun, but that was my reality. He was angry at me. He had called me ungrateful, but in truth I was the most grateful boy ever. Pete was everything to me. I loved that man with all my heart and thought that I never would do anything to hurt him, but I had. I very much had.

Those minutes I spent waiting for Pete to emerge from the bathroom were among the longest of my entire life. I felt like the world's biggest ingrate. I felt like an absolute heel.

Finally, the door to the bathroom opened again as Pete stepped out and simultaneously clicked off the light. The lamp on his bedside table remained on, partially illuminating the room. He ignored me as he strode to the bed, still naked, and sat down on the edge of his side of it. He fumbled with the alarm clock for a moment, then set it back on the bedside table and swung his legs onto the mattress. Without saying a word, he reached for the sheet and comforter and pulled them up over his hips before turning out the light.

I hadn't planned what to do or say, but as Pete settled into bed, I felt an overwhelming need to be close to him. Fully aware that I was risking a beating and with my heart beating like a snare drum in my chest, I slid a bit closer to him on my side, and then closer still, until I was facing him only inches away. My left knee grazed the side of his leg as I tentatively reached my left arm over him and draped it gently across his chest. My heart was in my throat as I awaited his reaction, but there was none.

Cautiously, I moved closer still until my body was pressed to his and my head was resting on the corner of his pillow. The fingers of my left hand gently rubbed the right side of his chest as I struggled to breathe normally instead of panting with worry. Pete's body felt warm and inviting next to mine, but I was a nervous wreck. I half expected him to rear up and smack me, but he didn't. Nor did he move or speak, which just made the silence in the room more deafening.

"I'm sorry, Pete," I said in quavering, unsteady voice as I rubbed his side. My apology was met with still more silence, which seemed to last an eternity.

"I know," he said finally. I almost sobbed with relief at the sound of his voice. I snuggled just a little bit closer to his naked form.

"I love you," I said, my voice cracking with emotion as tears squirted from my eyes. I wasn't happy about the tears as they threatened to wet Pete's pillow, but I couldn't have stopped them from coming if my life had depended on it.

The trauma of that evening thankfully was not repeated the next morning. I awoke groggily to the sound of the buzzing alarm and rolled over with a groan. Pete was having none of that. He pulled the warm sheet and the comforter off me and tossed them to the end of the bed, leaving my naked body exposed and cold.

I sat up with a sigh and swung my legs over the bed. I needed to pee and was sporting an erection. I stepped off the bed to the carpeted floor and stretched my arms up as high as I could, yawning as I did so. My erection jutted from my groin at a 45-degree angle.

I didn't bother to answer as I dutifully padded my way to the bathroom, entered, and closed the door. As I waited for my erection to subside, I looked at myself in the mirror. My blond hair had grown out a bit since my last haircut and fresh from the bed it looked a bit like a lion's mane. It desperately needed to be combed out. The right side of my face was flushed and red from sleeping on it and still had lines from the wrinkles in my pillow embedded in it. My blue eyes looked a little bleary in that just-woke-up kind of way.

I knew it was a big day for me, but surprisingly I didn't feel all that nervous. I had had several days and weeks to get ready for my debut in porn, and I was reconciled to what I had to do. Whether I wanted to do it or not really had no bearing on the issue, so I didn't bother to worry about that too much. Pete and Aaron had decided for me, and that was all I needed to know. There was no way that I could back out now, nor did I want to. Defying the two most important men in my life was not something I was about to do, especially not at that age. I also knew with certainty that any episodes or incidents on my part that interfered with the filming very likely would end my friendship with Pete. The man had only so much patience, and I already knew that I got on his nerves sometimes with my behavior. His belt and his right hand reminded me just how often I did so.

My erection calmed down after a minute or so, and I sat on the toilet to do my business. I didn't normally poop on command, especially not first thing in the morning, but this was a special occasion. Pete had explained that I needed to be cleaned out for the filming, and obviously that started with me doing what came naturally. At least I hoped it would come naturally. As I said, pooping on command was not something that I usually did.

As it turned out, I didn't need to worry. My pee stream hadn't even started to diminish when I felt a stirring in my bowels that signaled something was about to happen. It seemed that my McDonald's lunch and prime rib dinner had stayed in my body for as long as they needed to and were yearning to be set free. I set them free with a plop and a splash into the toilet bowl. I was relieved to get that out of the way, as it was the one important thing about today that I couldn't entirely control. Everything else was up to me.

"You ready in there?" asked Pete from outside. Given that we had just spent the night naked in bed together after a day in which I gave him two blowjobs and rimmed his ass, I found Pete's sudden modesty somewhat ironic, but then again, he never was into anything at all that involved number two.

"You can take it after," replied Pete. "Finish up. It's 6:15 now, so get a move on."

I knew that I had to be at the McDonald's by 7:15 a.m., which still gave us an hour. I would be meeting a beige-colored car in the back of the parking lot that would take me to the filming site, which I had been told would be a school. Normally, I would have been worried about meeting people I didn't know and being taken someplace I never had been before, but I trusted Pete and Aaron. More so I trusted Pete, but in this instance they both were saying the same thing and that gave me added confidence. I also had gotten a lot better at controlling my anxieties at Mr. Stone's party, and I felt like I could handle new situations without feeling overwhelmed. Having turned 12 in the interim, I also felt older and more capable. The combination of these things allowed me to think clearly about the day ahead and not get too worried about it.

I wiped and washed my hands with soap and water, then opened the bathroom door for Pete. It had been unlocked the entire time.

"I'm ready," I said. He had thrown his boxers back on and was sitting on the bed holding the enema kit. He stood up when he saw me open the door and strode toward the bathroom door.

"Grab some towels and put them on the floor by the tub for you to kneel on," Pete instructed as he knelt by the tub himself and started the water. It came gushing out as he adjusted the tabs.

"Put them so you can kneel next to the tub and hold onto it if you want," he said.

I took the medium-sized towels I had taken from the shelf and stacked them on the floor. I knelt on them and placed my elbows on the tub and my chin in my hands. I felt a little like I was praying to the Goddess of Bathtubs.

"Slide the towels back a little bit so you can lean forward," instructed Pete. "Flatten your back out so your butt is up in the air."

I made the adjustments as Pete let the water run over his right hand and adjusted taps with his left. When the water was at the temperature he wanted, he placed the collector end over the nozzle and began to fill the enema bag.

I watched him work with a degree of apprehension. I'd never had an enema before, and although I had figured out generally how they worked, I wasn't exactly enamored of the prospect; however, I was even less enamored of the idea of getting poop on anything during this morning's shoot. I would die of embarrassment if that happened, and I could only imagine the report that Aaron and Pete would receive from the movie people. No, I was much better off with the enema, even if it felt weird or hurt.

As it turned out, it was both. The warm water felt weird as Pete squeezed it into my bowels, causing them to cramp painfully. My belly distended, adding to the weirdness. The cramps diminished quickly, leaving me with little more than mild discomfort, but I can't say that the experience was at all enjoyable. I wasn't sure how long I was supposed to hold the water, but after three or four minutes, Pete told me to get up and use the toilet. I made my way there gingerly, with my butt cheeks clenched together against possible leakage. Once seated, I relaxed and allowed a stream of water to leak into the bowl. Then I unclenched altogether and let everything out in a splashing rush. It felt good to be rid of the water.

As I had suspected, however, I wasn't finished. Pete repeated the same process on me three more times, and each time I released the water into the toilet bowl, it came out more and more clear, until finally, there was nothing but water in the bowl. I could see the point of it. My butt was as clean as a whistle for whatever might happen to it over the course of the day – and I had a pretty good idea what that might be.

I got the water going and stepped into the tub. I indulged myself under the stream of warm water for a minute before looking for the soap. There was no soap. Of course there wasn't. Dripping wet, I stepped from the shower and grabbed the paper-wrapped bath soap from the sink along with the little bottle of shampoo. Leaving pools of water all over the floor, I stepped back into the tub and unwrapped the little bar of soap. I don't know why, but I always liked the individually wrapped items in hotel rooms, and I still do.

Pete came in as I was drying off from my shower. The entire bathroom was steamy, and the floor was wet.

"Give me your hands," he said as I draped the towel on the sink and held my hands out for me.

He quickly inspected my fingernails, then grabbed my head and turned it to the left and right, inspecting my ears.

"Get a move on then," he instructed. "Turn around and bend over for me. Spread your cheeks."

Pete peered at my butt, saying nothing. I must have passed inspection because he gave my right buttock a little pat and bade me to stand upright again.

"Okay, brush and finish up in here," Pete instructed. "And run a comb through that hair, or I will," he added ominously.

"Yes, Pete," I replied with a nod. He was in a no-nonsense mood this morning, and that meant that I was, too. On the other hand, he seemed to have forgiven me for the flirting I had done with Pool Man last night. At least it seemed like he had. One never knew with Pete, and he had a long memory when it came to infractions and punishments.

I dressed in my nice outfit, the one from Mr. Stalteri. Pete put the final touches to my hair, wetting a comb in the sink and using it to take care of whatever cowlicks I was sporting, but I knew that they would come back soon enough. They always did.

It wasn't until we left the hotel room and walked together to the elevators that I started to feel the first pang of nervousness about today. I'd had a lot of time to think about it and reconcile it in my head, but now that the moment nearly was upon me, I started to feel a bit jittery. I don't know if I clammed up or looked nervous, but Pete picked up on it right away. Being able to read people the way he did was one of the reasons he was so good at improvisation, and he was reading me now.

"I know you're nervous, David, but there's nothing to be worried about," he said as we walked outside from the hotel lobby. "You'll be perfectly safe, and Aaron and I have your back. You can do this. You can act, and you can perform. If you let yourself, you might even have a little fun today, capiche?"

"Capiche," I said with a nod. "I'll be alright," I added, and I meant it, too. I was nervous, but I wasn't scared. I was feeling the kind of nervousness you get when you're going into a new environment with people you haven't met before, but I wasn't that worried about the filming itself because I had thought about it a lot, and I knew that I had some aces in the hole to help me to deal with it.

Indeed, I already had done this once before at Mr. Stone's party. I had gone into that not knowing anybody and had developed coping mechanisms as I went along to help me navigate my new environment. Things had gone well. I had impressed Aaron and won Pete back with my effort. I had developed a friendship with Mr. Stone. I had learned a valuable new skill from Mr. Emerson. I had even survived Mr. Tal, and maybe even impressed him, too. For all I knew (and I didn't know) the opportunity I had this morning was a direct result of my "audition" with him. At a minimum, I knew he had enjoyed me dressed in pantyhose – with or without a precut hole. I might even have been willing to consider doing that again for him sometime. Maybe. I'd have to think about that.

I also had a lot of confidence in my acting skills. I had starred in my school play, and I had held down a leading role in Parasols with the Players. Beyond that, I had learned a ton about acting from Pete. We had practiced, trained, drilled, roleplayed, and improvised together numerous times. I was confident that I could act. I had gone to Mr. Stone's party prepared to act to get through it, but I hadn't ended up needing to. I was going to the filming today prepared to act, and this time I was going to get the opportunity. I was ready. I felt very confident about that, maybe even a little bit eager to show what I could do.

Finally, I wasn't really worried about the sex. I'd been having sex with Pete for months, not to mention with Aaron and several other men. I'd had sex just about every different way two males could do it, so I wasn't all that concerned about having sex with a boy or boys. As Pete had just said, it was possible that I might even enjoy it, but I wasn't counting on that at all. I was expecting to be good at it. Sucking and being fucked had become my things, and I took pride in being able to give pleasure with my mouth and butt. Enough men had told me that I was good at it, and I believed them.

If I had a worry that went beyond mere nervousness, it was that I was having sex on film for others to see, but Pete already had talked me through that and alleviated a lot of my concerns about it. If most of the copies were going overseas to Europe and the remainder would be in very private hands here in the United States, I felt safe. The chances of somebody recognizing me seemed low. I knew that my life would be over if a copy got out and went around my school, but that seemed like an outlandish thought. I'd never seen an adult film before I went to Mr. Stone's party. It's not like they screened them in health class.

"When you get done, come straight back to the hotel, okay?" said Pete. "I'll be waiting for you with something to eat, then Aaron's going to pick you up and take you to Mike's. If there's time in between, you can go for a little swim or take a quick nap if you're tired, capiche?"

"Okay," I replied, but the truth was I really didn't want to think about anything beyond the movie right now. The hotel, food, Mike, and even swimming could wait. I needed to concentrate and keep my focus. I needed to put my game face on for acting.

"Good," said Pete as we continued to walk down the block toward the McDonald's. "Don't forget which way to go when they drop you off. I don't want you wandering all over Chicago. If you get lost, remember you're staying at the Best Western on South LaSalle, okay?"

"Okay," I replied as neutrally as I could, but I was getting a little exasperated. The McDonald's was a straight shot down from the hotel on the same street. I would have to be a moron to miss it, but I made sure that my tone didn't convey my thinking. The episode with Pool Man from last night still reverberated in my brain, so that last thing I wanted to do was antagonize Pete. Not today, and especially not right now.

We went inside and stood in line so that Pete could order a coffee. I was bummed to be in a McDonald's and not able to eat. I was hungry, but I knew I couldn't have anything. Too much meticulous care had been taken of my gastrointestinal tract for me to mess things up now, which was a shame because I loved McDonald's pancakes-and-sausage breakfast. The pancakes were light and fluffy just the way I liked them, and the sausage had a nice, spicy kick to it. Anyway.

Pete got his coffee and we sat at a booth that gave us a good view of the parking lot. He kicked me under the table as he took a sip of his coffee.

I almost fell over upon hearing those words again. Pete hadn't said that to me since before the whipping he had given me for responding with "crystal" after he had asked me if he had made something clear to me. That had been the worst beating he ever had given me, or at least the scariest. My butt had been marked and sore for two full days afterwards. After that, I had stopped bantering with him for the most part. Once I knew what he was capable of in terms of punishing me, I mostly had held off on the verbal sparring for fear of saying something out of turn and setting him off.

Now, I couldn't help but grin at him. Hearing him say "dead boy" again took me back to some of our earliest encounters, when being with Pete had been pure fun every time we got together. We still had fun sometimes, especially when we were roleplaying during sex, but ever since my mother had lost her job and sold the house, the relationship between us had been different. Aaron had entered the picture around that time and things quickly had become much more business oriented. I still loved the man with all my heart, but there was no question that our relationship had changed. Part of me – a large part, actually – wanted to go back to those carefree days, but I knew that it couldn't happen.

"Your ride's here," Pete said suddenly. Sure enough, a brownish-beige car was pulling through the parking lot and heading toward the back of it where there was no reason at all to park – unless you were selling drugs or, I suppose, picking up a young boy actor to make a gay child-porn flick.

"Good luck," said Pete with a reassuring squeeze to my upper arm. "You'll do fine."

I don't know exactly why I did it, but I turned to leave, then stopped, hesitating, and leaned into the booth to give Pete a goodbye hug. He squeezed me back for a second before tapping me on the back.

"Bye," I said as I turned quickly and began to walk briskly away. I may have had a small tear in one or both of my eyes as I did so, and maybe a couple more as I type this now, but I'll go to my grave denying it.

I walked outside the restaurant and across the parking lot toward the car, which was indeed a Caprice Classic. There was no mistaking what it was doing there and who it had come to retrieve. That would be me, David Pierce. Age 12 and change, 4'7" tall [139cm]. 68 pounds [30kg] soaking wet in a Speedo. Friend of Pete. Son of Sharon. Student. Thespian. It was my acting skills that I would be putting to use today – or so I told myself. It also would be my sex skills, since I was pretty good at those, too.

Glare from the early morning sun prevented me from seeing through the windshield as I approached the car, so I couldn't see any of the occupants or even tell how many there were. The right rear passenger door swung open when I was about halfway across the parking lot, so I headed there. As I walked past the front passenger door, I looked thought the window to see the driver staring back at me. From my brief glimpse he appeared to be about 35 years of age and slender. He was wearing sunglasses, and I swear on a stack of bibles that he had a pornstache.

I proceeded to the rear passenger door and turned to face the interior of the vehicle. There was another man in the back seat, making a total of two occupants in the car. The man in the backseat was clean-shaven and looked to be in his mid- or upper twenties. He was wearing jeans and a collared, short-sleeved, button-down shirt not unlike the one I was wearing. He beckoned me into the car with a hand gesture.

With my heart racing in my chest, I climbed into the back seat, turned, and pulled the door closed behind me. Now there were three occupants of the car, and I was one of them.

"I'm Steve," said the man in the back as he held his hand out to me. "And you're Kip."

I took his hand, and we shook firmly. Mr. Drucker had shaken my hand with authority at Mr. Stone's party, and I had learned something from that. My hand was quite a bit smaller than his, but I gripped it as hard as I could as we pumped our arms up and down.

It wasn't lost on me that that man had anointed me "Kip," and I did nothing to change his mind about that. Truth be told, I was perfectly happy not to give anyone my real name, even if it was only my first name. I assumed that Steve was not the man's real name either, and that suited me just fine.

The car already had started to move as we finished shaking. I thought about fastening my seatbelt but reconsidered. It seemed odd to worry about my personal safety under the circumstances. Not that I thought that I was in danger – I felt protected by Aaron and Pete even from afar – but I was being transported to do something that not many people would regard as particularly safe for anyone to do, especially for a 12-year-old boy. For me, that ship already had sailed, but I still didn't fasten my seatbelt. It just didn't seem necessary.

We drove in silence as the car wended its way onto South LaSalle and proceeded away from the direction of the hotel. It didn't really matter to me where we were going, so I didn't pay much attention to our route after that. The car made a few turns as I sat looking out the window and wondering what in the world I had gotten myself into. Steve didn't speak, and neither did driver. From the look of the driver's neck and hairline, I assumed that he was Hispanic or a darker-skinned Italian.

It was not even five minutes before we pulled into the empty front parking lot of what had to be a school. I either missed the name of the school or never saw it because I cannot remember it now, but it must have been one of scores of schools that made up the Chicago Public School system. I never saw much of it that day, but judging from what I did see, it was either a junior high school or a high school.

We pulled past the building itself and went around to the back. There was a small cluster of vehicles parked haphazardly near the partially open side-entrance door of a nondescript, L-shaped wing off the main building. One was a Ford Econoline van with its rear doors open. There were also two other sedans and a Jeep. As we pulled up near the other vehicles, Steve reached over and gave my left knee a squeeze.

"We're here," he announced in a soft voice. "Hop out on your side and I'll come around."

As I stepped from the Caprice, I glanced over at one of the vehicles that was parked in the shade of the building face outward with its windows down. It was a white Jeep Waggoneer, and there were two men in the front seat, both wearing sunglasses. They were just sitting there watching us, and I wondered if they were the security detail that Aaron had mentioned might be present to protect against unexpected and unwanted visitors.

Steve came around from the other side of the vehicle and with a hand on my upper back, guided me toward the door, which was propped partially open with a small chair sitting outside on the asphalt parking lot. Steve held the door for me as I stepped around the chair and went inside.

The interior of the building seemed quite dark, especially as I transitioned from the bright, early morning sun of a summer-like Chicago day. The lights weren't on in the main hallway, but as my eyes adjusted, I could see shafts of light coming from a pair of open doorways about 100 [30m] feet away.

"This way," said Steve as we proceeded together down the hall. My heart was starting to beat a little faster in my chest as it seemed that we were approaching our destination.

The two doorways ended up being a pair of smaller side-by-side hallways leading off the main. As I passed by the first one and turned into the second, the unmistakable odor of a locker room assailed my nostrils. It wasn't overpowering or altogether awful, but it smelled exactly like every school or YMCA locker room I'd ever been in, complete with the scent of stale sweat and the strong, bleach-based industrial cleanser that was used to mop the floors. Sure enough, the smaller hallway led directly into a gym, and the smell of a lacquered gym floor added to the other familiar scents as we approached what had to be the locker room on the left. I heard voices and other noises coming from it before we even stepped inside.

It was indeed a locker room, but it had been transformed into a command center of sorts, complete with a rectangular folding table set up in the middle of it and boxes and open cases strewn about among the changing benches. The perimeter of the room was lined with stacks of wire-mesh cages with padlocks on them evidently containing gym uniforms, sweatbands, and workout sneakers for the kids who attended the school. A tall, jeans-clad man stood behind the table, which was strewn with papers, cords, and cardboard box. He was smoking a cigarette and looked up as I entered the room.

"Ah, good," he said as he came around the table toward me. I wasn't sure if he was referring to me, but when I looked behind me for Steve, he was nowhere to be found.

"Manny, get me a robe," he called to a man who seemed to be busy at work untangling a cord.

"You can change over here," he said to me as he guided me toward one of the changing benches that was a short distance away from the table and all the hustle and bustle surrounding it.

"Use one of the empty baskets for your clothes," he said as he caught a white bundle that had been tossed to him from behind me. "Then put this on," he said as he placed it on the bench.

I glanced down to see that the white bundle was a terrycloth bathrobe that looked exactly like the ones that had been so ubiquitous at Mr. Stone's party. It wasn't neatly folded or quite as nicely white as those robes had been, but it was eerily familiar all the same.

The man didn't move as I started to unbutton my shirt. His eyes hadn't left me either, and it was obvious that he intended to stay and watch as I undressed. I accommodated him, unbuttoning, and then removing my shirt, displaying my ripped upper body and chiseled sixpack for his appraisal, but not really. I turned to the rows of baskets behind me, and finding an empty one without a padlock, I pulled it out and dumped my shirt into it. My loafers were next to go. I picked them up from the floor and placed them on my shirt.

The man watched as I reached for the waist of my khaki shorts and unsnapped them. I drew them down over my legs and stepped out of them, then added them to the pile in the basket. I had selected my cleanest, nicest pair of Fruit of the Loom briefs for today, and as I turned back toward the man, I saw him staring at them. Without further ado, I pulled them down and off, leaving me naked. My mighty, 8" [20cm] flaccid member dangled from my groin, but not really. I put my briefs in the wire-mesh basket and pushed it back in, then turned to face the man once again.

"You look very nice," he said as he reached for my genitals unceremoniously and gave them a little fondle. He sat down on the changing bench and turned me around by my shoulders, then used his thumbs to pry my butt cheeks apart and move them around a little bit. Then he turned me back around.

I opened my mouth as he peered inside, moving my jaw to the left and then to the right as he did so.

"Arms up," he directed as I lifted my arms and inspected my armpits for whatever. Returning his right hand to my genitals, he lifted my penis and scrotum and peered at them for a closer inspection. I didn't know what he was looking for then, but my suspicion now is that he was searching me for body hair. If that were the case, he needn't have worried. I knew from my own frequent inspections that I was as bald as a newborn below the neck.

"Put the robe on and I'll take you over," he said as he stood to his feet and patted me on the head. As I reached for the robe, he drew the first two fingers of his right hand across his tongue and used them to smooth a cowlick in my hair. Those damned cowlicks – I couldn't seem to get rid of them no matter what I did.

I pulled the robe open, and the sash came loose and fell to the locker room floor. At Mr. Stone's mansion, the sash would have been neatly coiled inside the right pocket of the robe, but I sensed that this robe had a bit more mileage on it and hadn't been subject to the same level of care. Nor did it seemed to have been washed since its last use, or even since its last several uses.

I put the robe on as the man gazed at me, then reached down for the sash and tied it around my waist. I didn't bother to string it through the loops. The robe was more than a bit too big for me. It was falling off my shoulders and dangled almost to my ankles. It wouldn't have fit a normal-sized adult, but nor was it a fit for a kid my size.

"Sorry about that," said the man with a smile as he pulled the robe back up over my right shoulder where it had drooped. "We don't usually work with kids your age."

"Manny, get a couple of these in smaller sizes?" he called to the man who now was kneeling next to what looked like an instrument case located on the floor near the table.

"Come on," said the man with a guiding hand on my shoulder. "I'll introduce you to your co-star and we can get this show on the road."

Marjac The Thespian Part 4

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23