My summer of sex with Cowboy

This is no joke; my ass is wicked sore, and the needle-pricking stubble Richard left when he clipped the hairs around my a-hole is super-irritating, as he knew it would be. I need to get that hair dissolver tonight. No way can I get a decent night's sleep with my ass under attack by these prickly hairs intent on torturing me. I guess Richard wanted me thinking about him even when I'm not with him.  

After driving around town for twenty minutes, I spot an all-night supermarket with a pharmacy and an ATM... a full-service operation. But, when I go inside, it's not as full-service as I was hoping for because the pharmacy portion of the store is closed. Duh, of course, it is. 

Hmm, by closed, I mean the pharmacist part is closed. Nothing stops me from checking out what they sell in the way of hair, um, dissolving cremes, or whatever they're called. I forget what Richard called that creme he said was sold at CVS, but this isn't CVS anyway. Oh, wait, I do remember the brand name he recommends is called MAN.

After five minutes, I conclude this pharmacy does not carry that brand. I've got to find it if I need to drive around all night.  But wait, hello, what's this? Nair for men. That'll work, right? No need to use the MAN brand. 

Bending over slightly to pick up one of the Nair for men bottles, I jerk upright the wrong way, and the pricking of the needle-hairs makes me yelp out, "Dammit!" and try pulling my underpants away from my ass, as I hear, "Are you alright, sir?"

Taking my hand away from my ass, I hear, "The pharmacy is closed."

My face feeling hot, I look over and see a pimple-faced kid holding a push broom. I mumble, "Yeah, I see the 'closed' sigh. I can read," and he goes, "Just saying, you can't buy anything from here until they open at eight o'clock tomorrow."

Putting the container back on the shelf, I mutter, "Oh, uh-huh," you little cunt. I said that last part in my head. Just what I needed, a fucking busybody. I walk away, checking out the frozen food aisle and then down the bakery section, circling back to the pharmacy and quickly grab two tubes of the Nair for men, putting them in my pockets, one on each side. No one yells anything, so I walk around the grocery part of the store for five minutes to ensure no one suspects a robbery is taking place.

There are more people here at one-thirty in the morning than makes any sense. I don't know; maybe they work a late shift and are on their way home, stopping off for a Lien Cuisine frozen dinner or milk and eggs. 

It doesn't appear anyone is going to point at me, yelling, 'Hey, you, thief,' so I walk out of the store and drive to the hotel. Inside our suite, I find Cowboy sound asleep, so I tiptoe into the bathroom and close the door. While reading the instructions, I see a warning that this product is not used around genital areas. Well, what the fuck? That's what I need it for right now! I can get the MAN stuff tomorrow morning at CVS. Meantime, all the other instructions are encouraging, indicating it works dissolving hair fast, even while showering. 

This seems perfect except for the part about the genital horseshit. Screw that, though; I'm going to put it all over me to see if I get a negative reaction like a blister, as was mentioned in the warning section. Ideally, a person is supposed to test a small patch of skin, wait twenty-four hours, and if there is no adverse reaction to the creme, go ahead and use it, but not near your genitals.

I've decided not to pay any attention to that. Companies put warning notices to protect their asses from being sued. Probably one guy got a blister on his balls twenty years ago and tried suing, hoping the Nair company would give him some nuisance money just to shut him up. After that, Nair put the warning on the bottle, and it's been on the bottle ever since without another blister incidence. It's like that terrorist idiot who tried blowing up a plane with a bomb in his shoe. One deranged moron does that, unsuccessfully, I might add, and ever since, a ten billion people need to take their shoes off before getting on an airplane.

Whatever, I strip naked and begin spreading the cream, first on my calves, then my forearms, and then over some light hairs on my stomach down close to my dick. That will be my test area, the groin skin close to my dick. Sitting on the toilet seat, I wait a few minutes before wetting a washcloth and wiping the cream off my left leg.

Ha! My leg is smooth and totally hairless. This shit works, so I wipe it off my other leg. Rinsing the washcloth in the tub a couple of times, I watch the cream and dissolved hair go down the drain. Well, okay! I wipe all the creme and hair residue off. Success! 

Okay, I've used the entire first tube, so, luckily, I stole two. Opening the other container, I carefully smear the cream around my dick, especially careful not to get any on my pee-pee slit. Next, I cover my balls with it, and, lastly, with the cream on the pad of my finger, I wipe it around my asshole, then wipe more around the same area, being careful not to get any on my actual anus. In a few minutes, like magic, the needle pricking is gone. Nothing to see here, folks! Move along, gawkers. 

Turning the shower on, I get in and shampoo my longish and slightly unruly hair that's grown over the tops of my ears. I shampoo it twice in preparation for getting a haircut tomorrow. Then, using a clean washcloth and lots of bath gel, I wash myself getting every inch of my body sparkling clean.

Getting out, I dry myself and then look closely to see if I can detect any hair on my body. Oh man, there isn't a one, plus my groin area seems to shine, and it's so smooth, just like Richard's. This feels fantastic, it really does, and I feel cleaner than I've ever felt before in my life. 

This is so fucking cool! Richard knows what he's doing, insisting I have a hairless body. He is one impressive motherfucker, although he can also be a mean prick... an impressive mean prick who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it too.

I'm probably flattering myself by assuming I'm someone he 'wants, but I really believe he likes me. Jumping Jesus, I swear I can't wait for him to fuck me up good again tomorrow night, including the humiliation, pain, and the whole 'effing package of insults he yells at me and whatever else he can think of. Haha, yeah, holy shit, that was a uniquely amazing couple of hours.

Back to staring at myself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, I'm thinking this hairless look rocks. I mean, it looks so cool, my hairless groin especially, and, um, it's just so much neater-looking, a more civilized look. Realizing I'm overdoing this the way I overdid complimenting and sucking up to Richard, I shake my head and stop gawking at the mirror's reflection of me. Ha, you need to get real, dude, and get over yourself.

Back in our bedroom, I'd like to turn the light on to see if the laundry people returned our clean clothes, but I don't want to wake Cowboy. Forgetting clothes, for now, I slip into bed naked. Oh man, the sheets feel good against my smooth hairless skin. I sort of squirm a little just to feel the sheets slipping over me.

In a very sleepy voice, Cowboy mumbles, "Zach, I was worried about you."

I murmur, "Go back to sleep, bro," and he moves over to lie against me, so I put my arms around him, hugging him and then a kiss on the side of his face. Obviously, I'll need to come up with an explanation why I don't have pubic or leg hair. Those being the only two areas Cowboy will notice.

Yeah, and I have a dinner date tomorrow, so he'll need to eat independently. What else? Oh yeah, explain why I've suddenly decided to get a military short haircut even though  I'm out of the service. Hmm? And, depending on how often Richard wants to see me, I'll need to have an explanation for where I'm spending my time.

Jeez, this secret life bullshit is going to be more complicated than I thought. I unconsciously give Cowboy another hug thinking how I have a responsibility here, one that's very important to me. I take promises seriously.

Then, I can't help thinking about all the shit Richard put me through tonight while putting me in my place, and, before I know it, I'm stroking my cock, jerking off like I'm thirteen. Ahh, it's just that Richard was so hot, sexy, and dominant. Such a new experience for me. I stroke, stroke stoke and, "Aaah," quickly shoot off, turning away from Cowboy, who's sleeping again. 

Huh, jerking off didn't provide the thrill I remember from my youth, but it relieved some pressure, at least. Oh yeah, Richard is in my head big time, but that's cool. How many climaxes have I had today? I guess four or five, which isn't all that shocking, but it's been a while since I've cum that many times in one day.

The next thing I know, Cowboy's saying, "Zach, Zach, are you awake?" Opening my eyes then closing them because the sun is shining brightly through the bedroom window. I mumble, "I'm awake now, yeah. What time is it?"

He uses his thumb and forefinger to open my right eyelid, and I see his beautiful smile as he's saying, "It's time for you to take care of your ward."

Smiling back at him, I ask, "Is that what you're calling yourself nowadays, my ward?"

He goes, "That's what I heard you tell someone I was at the last place we stayed at."

He seems so innocent, so young, and, yes, so pretty in a boyish kind of way. I never thought in a million years I'd be kind of hooked on Ronny's brother; I never thought of it, period.

I kiss his forehead and say, "Ya know what? I love sleeping with you, ya hot shit," and he goes, "Watch me disappear under the sheets, and then, very quickly, like magic, you'll feel your dick; being sucked."

Chuckling, I say, "That is so you, Cowboy, but please wait for a second, bro. I need to tell you something." 

He nods his head, asking, "What is it?"

I ruffle his short bangs to the side and then watch them drop right back down to be forehead-bangs again, as I'm thinking, 'That fucking Ricky.' Cowboy mumbles, "Yeah, I hate these fucking bangs Ricky gave me. Not at the time, I didn't, but now I look like a dink. Um, but what are you going to tell me?"

No way am I telling him everything, Nooo! Mostly I'm not mentioning how I did not handle myself well with Richard. Cowboy would think I'm a bigger dink than he is with the girlie bangs, those ridiculous ten-year-old girl's bangs. 

Fuck that, though; I come right out and say, "I met someone last night, Cowboy, and we had hot sex."

He laughs, "What's new about that?" I shrug, "Nothing, except he, um, well he shaves his pubic hairs like that asshole Ricky does, and like you wanted to do, so I did it too."

He opens his beautiful blue eyes wide, saying, "You cool bastard." and he rubs his fingers around my dick, saying, "Very cool, Zach," and then, his head under the covers, he puts my dick in his mouth and we're off and running into our normal morning activity, our morning sex. I never gave it a thought before now, but I recognize right away that Cowboy is a better cocksucker than I ever was. He's had much more practice at it, for one thing, so I take notes in my head; remember some of the clever uses of his tongue that I'll try using on Richard's cock.

Jeez, I'm squirming on the mattress at the serious sensations rapidly coming off my dick. When I can feel I'm ready to blow my load, I'm like, "Hold up, Cowboy! That's good, bro."

He takes my cock from his mouth and, holding it in his fingers and grinning up at me, "No pubes in my mouth, Zach, you considerate bastard, you."

Nodding, I chuckle, then mumble, "That's why I shaved those nasty pubic hairs. I did it for you."

He goes, "Bullshit, but I am definitely one of the benefactors, along with your other many admiring bottoms."

I mutter, "You overestimate my conquests greatly, but come up here and get your spanking."

Always eager for that, he scrambles up next to me, gets on his knees, pushing up his buttocks, and mutters, "Show me no mercy." I wail away, spanking his ass while thinking back at the smacks Richard laid on my ass. He smacked my ass to get my attention or to get me to stop doing something, but he never quote/unquote gave me a spanking. His ginormous cock is what caused way more pain than the smacks on my ass.

Huh, many Japanese are on the shorter side, right? I think that's right. Hell, small guy or not,  Richard packed quite a wallop with those ass-smacks. When with him, I rarely think of him as smallish. He seemed larger than life when he was dominating me. Jeez, that is odd, huh?

He sure plowed my ass like nobody else ever has. I'm not totally recovered as it is still a little tender back there, but nothing major, and it's reassuring knowing how fast my anus has bounced back from that pounding, very reassuring. I'll even enjoy Richard's huge cock more, knowing it's not doing permanent damage. It's just the initial pain, and I'm seriously looking forward to that again. There's an almost incomprehensible tsunami of pleasure I now know will shortly follow the pain.

Meanwhile, I'm whacvking Cowboy's buttocks, spanking the shit out of those cute, tught mounds when, finally I hear, "Okay, stop! Omigod, that was a good wake-up spanking, Zach."

I mumble, "Glad to oblige, my young friend," and I shake my stinging hand, thinking, maybe I will get a paddle for these spankings. My hand is taking abuse, and Cowboy will be thrilled about a spanking with a paddle. I can give him a better spanking, one that will hurt more, and I'm beginning to believe there is something to that pain/pleasure philosophy. For some, that is, for a minority maybe, but if that's their choice, who am I to assume I know better than they do what they like. 

Cowboy is wiping his eyes with one hand and holding a condom out to me with the other, saying, " Good spanking, Zach."

I'm stroking my boner that got hard while I was spanking him, which is another first. I never get aroused from spanking anyone. I hesitate to take the condom because I know he likes it bareback and painful, but then I take it and roll it on. 

He gets on his knees again, his head down on his forearms, and says, "Really hard, Zach, okay?"

Nodding, I mumble, "I always fuck you as hard as I can, bro," and give a thought to introducing Cowboy to Richard. He'll know how hard a fuck can be when Richard fucks him. Nooo! I'd never do that. I'm looking out for Cowboy, not putting him in danger. Richard would eat him up.

Sticking his ass up, "I'm your ready and willing bottom, Zach."

Mounting him, I force my condom-covered cock in past his ass muscles, hearing Cowboy scream into the mattress, and we're off and running again. As I'm doing full thrusting using most of my iron boner, I'm noticing the way Cowboy keeps his ass up. Oh, I see. He does lift off his knees a little, but there's also a bend in Cowboy's back that looks practiced. I never appreciated what he does to make our fucking extra special. 

Cowboy is quite a bottom aficionado, and I want to be one too. The problem is, I want Cowboy's ass up, but Richard's short, and he wants my ass down. I'm a little over six-foot-two, and Richard's eight inches shorter, so I keep my ass low to make myself an irresistible bottom for Richard. I can learn from Cowboy to be a better bottom. Jeez God help me, but I am ready to be a good submissive bottom for Richard.

Then, I get lost in the slapping sounds of my shiny hairless groin smacking into Cowboy's perfect buttocks, a steady flow of pleasure rolling over me preventing me from having any other random thoughts. Uncountable pleasure sensations are coming off my swollen penis, and I'm moaning quietly to myself at this extremely pleasurable endeavor. 

Yes, this is awesome, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is not as sexy-hot to me as being Richard's bottom pussy boy. Sure, for me, there was no pain this morning, but now I think perhaps I need the pain to appreciate the pleasure fully. That's what Cowboy and others have been claiming. It's not all that rare. I'm having a hard time convincing myself I'm a hundred percent on board with that, but with Richard, I can't get to the mountain top of sexual pleasure without the pain leading the way, so...

Once the pain in his rectum subsides, Cowboy begins his normal humping back at my thrusting, so for the next two minutes, my entire world consists of this fuck with him. It's as though we're dancing, a familiar exercise in perfect sync with one another. Then, as we've been doing lately, we climax almost at the same time. I go first, gasping and filling up the condom, and then Cowboy squeals as he lifts up, his hips humping, and there's a spatter from his cum-load on the pillow.

"Oh, Jesus, that was good, Zach. Omigod, haha, look at my pillow. It's soaked with cum."

Pulling my dick out of his sweet ass, I'm breathing deeply, nodding that I agree it was good, then I gasp and sputter out, "You are one hot bottom, bro. Holy shit, I like fucking that cute ass of yours." 

He tosses the cum-wet pillow off the bed and turns over on his back, saying, "I'm wondering, do you think I'm oversexed?"

Shaking my head, I'm like, "No, you like sex more than most, I suppose, but you have a life beyond sex as well. You're passionate about sports, you know a lot about music, you're wicked smart, and you take care of your body by exercising and whatnot. Plus, you're not hanging out in men's rooms or lavatories at rest stops on the Atlantic City Expressway. You simply like fucking, and sex in general, but who in their right mind doesn't? If you're oversexed, so am I."

We're both probably oversexed, but what's the harm.

He pulls on his dick, saying, "You're so good for me. This summer with you is the best thing that could have happened to me. I mean after Ronny was killed. Those first three or four weeks, I was in a fucking stupor of anger and hate, but you kept me sane, and I'll bet I've come to love you almost as much as Ronny did."

"I don't know about that. It's like comparing apples and oranges 'cause you and I fuck, and Ronny and I never even kissed."

He flops over on his stomach, mumbling, "He didn't know what he was missing." 
We clean up together in the bathroom, brush our teeth, get dressed in freshly laundered shorts and t-shirts, then have breakfast. I have eggs, bacon, and an English muffin for a change, while Cowboy has all that plus pancakes and ham. I don't know how he can eat that much all the time and yet stay slim. It's a gene thing, I suppose.

As we're eating, I ask, "How are you and Lee making out on the sex front?"

He shakes his head once, mumbling, "Remember how much trouble we had teaching him to swim?"

I shrug, and he goes, "That's how it's going sex-wise. He likes kissing and fondling, but he won't let me blow him yet. He says it seems too unsanitary, and he'd feel bad if I got ill from it."

I snicker but stop when Cowboy gives me a dirty look. Okay, good for him that he's taking this very seriously and not some lark at Lee's expense. He mumbles, "It's not funny. Lee doesn't want to be a virgin going away to college because he plans on coming out as gay there. He'll stay in the closet here at home, especially with his parents." 

I mutter, "Dumb, not to tell his parents," and Cowboy mutters, "Tell me about it. Of course, it's dumb." Cowboy's been 'out' since age twelve.

After breakfast, we go back to the suite to use the bathroom. Cowboy tells me how he really likes Lee and desperately wants to get in the kid's pants, so to speak, but he doesn't want to scare him off either. As we're putting on bathing suits, he asks, "Zach, can we stay here long enough for me to do my job with Lee?" 

Holy crap, that's perfect. I had every intention of staying here for however long Richard stays interested in me. I'm staying if Richard was truthful about maybe making me one of his steady pussy boys. He said something about that.

To Cowboy, I say, "Yes, we'll stay as long as you want, Cowboy. We're a team, a partnership for the summer, and we have no agenda other than that. I'll probably drive home to take care of some financial matter, but it'll be a day trip."

He hugs me, mumbling, "You're awesome, thank you!"

Now I feel like a phony for letting him think I'm totally staying on his account. I shouldn't feel that way, though, because I would have agreed to stay longer than I planned whether I met Richard or not. I'd do it for Cowboy. 

That makes me think deep thoughts about Richard again, and dammit, I hate the pussy way I act when I'm with him. I've never acted like a pussy with anyone, not remotely close to the way I act with him. It is pussy behavior on my part; I admit that, and I hate being that way. He's amazing, though. He knew how to get into my head with his step-by-step psychological technique that's perfection in the gay pick-up game. And I thought I was immune to being manipulated, and yet he did it so effortlessly. After saying that, I can hardly wait for tonight.

At the beach rental stand, I go, "Good morning, happy. How are you doing this morning?" The grouchy, surly beachboy goes, "Oh, it's you again. Are you renting something?"

I cheerfully go, "Of course we are, and if you are so kind as to set up our umbrella again, I'll happily tip the shit out of you."

He mutters, "Huh, what's that mean?"

"It means even if you're grumpy, I'm going to give you a twenty-dollar tip for digging the umbrella into the stand for me." 

He's unimpressed, asking, "Which umbrella? One of the big ones or a smaller one?"

I point at the line of large umbrellas, and Cowboy says, "Um, Zach, Lee will be coming down soon, so can I take a chair for him?"

"Definitely, you carry those two chairs, and I'll carry mine." Pointing, I go, "Those chairs behind the rope look good. Now, if this happy-go-lucky fellow will bring the umbrella, well get this show on the road."

I pay for the rentals, and, frowning deeply, the beach boy shoulders the umbrella, then looks at me, and I say, "This way, my good man." I find a spot on the beach without anyone too close and tell the surly lad, "This is an excellent spot."

After giving me another snarling look, he gets the umbrella steadily embedded and in the sand. I give him a twenty-dollar bill, saying, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

He mutters, "Sure," and stalks off. I'll bet half his customers don't give him jack shit. No tip, figuring it's his friggin' job. And those that do tip him give him a buck or two, yet he treats big-tipper me the same as the non-tippers... go figure.

Cowboy sets up his and Lee's chair; all the chairs are canvas foldable beach chairs. We spread sunblock on one another and then sit in the sun wearing shades. I'm, of course, daydreaming about last night and trying to unravel Richard's methods of intimidation, but can't come up with any reason I should be intimidated by that little Japanese fellow, four or five years younger than me. 

Huh, and yet I am intimidated. It occurs to me he's using techniques I'm unaware of. Duh, ya think? What difference does it make anyway as I've no intention, no desire, of ever dominating anyone the way he totally dominated me. That's not to say I didn't like it. I'm obviously enthralled by it, which I'm sure was Richard's intention. And, I'm not forgetting how good-looking he is either because that is a major factor, an important part of my infatuation, which led quickly to his domination of me and my ass. Then there's the intrigue factor too. I'm intrigued by him, and that got me paralyzed in my mind, confused, and submissive... and liking it.

Wow, that's impressive, and I'm wicked curious at how many other guys like me he's got wrapped around his finger. That would be interesting to know, and even more interesting would be meeting some of them. I'd settle for meeting just one, so I could compare him to me, or is that too creepy a thought? Well, he has me doing creepy things, creepy to me anyhow, and as I always add... and I'm liking it.

That's the secret, how he makes me like the rough, insulting, and sometimes humiliating treatment.

Cowboy says, "Here comes Lee now, Zack." Turning around, I glance at Lee and see he's carrying a beach blanket. And, huh, Richard does have a slightly larger frame than Lee, but not significantly. I can't imagine any circumstance where Lee could dominate me, not in a million years of imagining, but then Lee's so skinny his 'effing ribs show and Richard has an excellent build, plus he's a strong fucker too. There's no real comparison between the two.

"Hey there, Lee, good to see you again, buddy." He says, "Likewise, Zack," and Cowboy gets up to do a full hug, then he kisses Lee's lips while squeezing Lee's left butt cheek.

Lee grins and says, "Oh, that was a nice greeting, Carson," and then Lee kisses Cowboy, and then they have an arm around each other's waist, just standing there for a few seconds before Cowboy says, "Let's sit down. I've got some news to tell you."

They're certainly uninhibited, hugging and kissing in public, which is very cool of them, but a tad too demonstrative at the same time.

Lee pulls his chair right next to Cowboy's chair, so I guess Cowboy has trained him to do that by now. He insisted Lee do it the first day we were on the beach. Ha, a little bit of dominance coming from Cowboy.

Lee asks, "What's the news?" and Cowboy tells him how I agreed to say as long as needed to break Lee's cherry. Lee looks at me, blushing, saying, Thanks, Zach."  

"No problem, Lee. And dude, your cherry busting shouldn't make you blush. We've all had our cherries taken by someone."

After Cowboy covers Lee with sunblock, doing it as sexually as possible, they talk about Lee's cherry again. Well, to be honest, I'm guessing that. They're speaking so quietly I can't hear them but assume the topic of conversation is Lee's cherry. Good, I don't want to hear that discussion; it's for teenagers' ears only, and their logic might be tedious to follow. There is a great long-distance to travel between nineteen and twenty-eight, longer than they think, but they'll eventually discover that.

Not having a full night's sleep, I doze off with thoughts of tonight and Richard. It's a nice doze lasting over an hour, so perhaps it was more than a doze, but I feel better now. The boys are almost on top of each other lying on the beach blanket, and it occurs to me that Cowboy simply likes to be in physical contact with another person, presumably preferring that person be male. And here I thought he couldn't get enough of my hot body when now it appears Lee's skinny one will do just as well. Haha, another comeuppance for me. I didn't think there was any comeuppance left for me after Richard hung about twenty of them on my last night.

Oh hell, speaking of Richard, I just remembered I need to get a haircut today. Well, Lee has a very short haircut, so I say, "Excuse me guys. Um, Lee, where do you get your hair cut, buddy?"

He goes up on an elbow, looking at me, saying, "At my dad's barbershop. It's here in Atlantic City over near the Boy's Military Academy."

Military academy? That's perfect! 

Cowboy mumbles, "You're going to get a haircut, Zach?"

Shrugging as if I just thought of it, I go, "I'm thinking about it. I haven't had one for ten weeks, or maybe it's been longer than that. I'd never pass inspection like this; I'll put it that way."

He thinks I mean as a Navy Seal, but I was thinking of Richard's inspection. Lee says, "But, Zach, most of Dad's, um, clients are the high school kids from the academy, although I guess he does some of the officers and teachers as well."

I say, "You know what? I'm going to your dad's shop after lunch." Lee frowns, then mutters, "It's tricky to find," and he tries giving me directions.

Cowboy says, "I'm coming too," and Lee makes a 'face' saying, Dad doesn't do, um, long haircut styles, Carson. I'm sorry, but there is a lady's salon two shops down from Dad's," Cowboy goes, "Fuck a whole bunch of lady's salons. I'm getting a haircut like yours, Lee. Then I'll comb up these 'effing bangs of mine the way you do yours." 

I'm kinda psyched that Cowboy is getting that long girlie hair cut in a guy's hairstyle, but surprised he's going crewcut length, and I hope he doesn't comb his bangs up like Lee's because that's as silly a look as his present girlie bangs. Not that I give a major shit, but I think I might like him even a little bit more if he steps up to a guy's haircut. A small thing, maybe, and I probably should give some credit to Lee for providing an example with his orange crewcut.

As I said, I feel pretty fucking good about the way things are working out. Then, later as we're having lunch, I go, "Oh, jeez, I forgot to mention something, Cowboy. I have a date tonight for dinner. You'll be on your own."

Lee looks quizzically at Cowboy, who says, "And I forgot to tell you something, Zach. It's that Lee's invited me to eat at his house tonight." 

See that; I'm on a roll; things are swinging my way one after the other. So, after lunch, we clean up in the hotel suite as Lee's saying, "Wow, this place is swanky."

Cowboy and I put on shorts and polo shirts; then Cowboy looks in the mirror pulling out his long hair, muttering, "Goodbye cunt hair. That's right, mirror, I'm gonna be a man the next time you see me."

We take the BMW to the barbershop with Lee giving directions. At lunch, I asked Lee to text or call his dad to alert him we're coming, but he told me his dad wouldn't appreciate that.

Lee said, "Dad would think it's weird 'cause he doesn't take appointments. As I said before, dad does butch or burr haircuts almost exclusively. That's almost entirely what his haircutting business consists of. He's always given me a burr haircut since I was two or three years old."

He had a very recent haircut, and the rest of his orange, ah, supposedly red hair is a half-inch or shorter, then the two-inch-high picket fence in front, very odd look, but I'm becoming very fond go him anyway. 

His dad sounds like a butcher. That what we guys at prep called the terrible barber on campus... butcher, not a barber. Yeah, but Lee's dad, the butcher, is perfect for me if I want to satisfy Richard, which I do.

We walk into the shop at three-thirty, which was a mistake. We should have come earlier because now the academy's classes are over, and three cadets are waiting for haircuts, with one in the barber chair getting scalped. The boys' uniforms are kinda sharp-looking, but then I've been brainwashed into thinking anythimng military is way cool.

Lee's father looks up when we come in and muttered, "Lee, and, um, Carson, right?"

Cowboy says, "Yep, nice to see you again, Mr. Patrick, um, me and Zach," pointing at me, "Are here for haircuts because Lee has spoken so highly of your barbering skills."

The man snorts, then says, "I seriously doubt that's what he said. Unless you two are looking for very short haircuts, you've come to the wrong place."

Cowboy says, "Nope, we're at the right place," and he joins Lee and me sitting in waiting chairs. The barber shrugs, mutters, "Suit yourself," and goes back to his clipper work.

During the four haircuts that I painstakingly needed to sit through, clippers were the only barber tool this guy used. His motto could be 'Scissors are for pussies'. That made me think of the number of times Richard called me a pussy. Haha, it's somewhere between twenty and a hundred.

On the plus side, this barber doesn't waste a lot of time with frills, and none of the four haircuts before Cowboy and me took more than seven minutes. As I'm getting up ready to get scalped, two middle-aged fellows come in wearing similar uniforms to the ones these cadets have on, so they're obviously instructors or teachers. Their presents ease the feeling I had that I'm intruding on a kids-only barbershop. 

Above the counter where the barber tools are laid out, there are pictures of military-type haircuts. I point at the picture that showed a young guy with a very gung-ho short haircut. Lee's father, not much for small talk, goes, "Uh-huh," wraps the barber cape around me and gets the clippers moving.

Taking the barber cape off, he mumbies, "That'll be fourteen dollars." I give him two twenties, saying, "This is for me and blondie over there, and you keep the change."

From the bored-sounding, "Uh-huh," he muttered, I'm guessing he must frequently get twelve dollar tips. Maybe he's an uncle of the beach boy. 

Cowboy walks over grinning his grin but looking apprehensive too, then he says to the barber, "Um, not like Zack's," pointing at me, adding, "Ah, a haircut like Lee's?" The barber, Mr. Personality, goes, "Uh-huh." and indicates with a nod of his head that Cowboy needs to first sit the fuck down, which he does. 

I don't stay to watch the destruction, telling Lee, "I'll be outside waiting for you guys."

What I want is a smoke, and I was not about to try lighting one in there, although it'd be cool making Lee's father say something besides, uh-huh. Outside, lighting a cigarette, I gawk at myself in the reflection off the big plate glass window next to the barbershop door. The barber, Lee's old man, is as fast and skilled as any of the barbers I'm used to going to on military bases. Like Lee's old man, those barbers are fast doing basically the same haircut over and over.

Fuck, no problem, I'm used to this type of short haircut. On the plus side, there's very little I need to do with it. Mostly, I'm pleased with the haircut because it is sure to please Richard. . 

A rather chunky cadet brushes by me and goes into the barbershop, and I'm thinking Lee's dad has himself a gold mine here even though he's only charging fourteen bucks a haircut. Fuck, why am I wasting my time thinking about that shit? I go back to admiring my new haircut and, I've barely finished my cigarette when out of the shop come Lee and an almost unrecognizable Cowboy. 

Holy shit, he looks so friggin' different! Of course, I knew he'd ask, and he does, "What do you think, Zach?"

Oh man, he seems embarrassed, so I, like, "Cowboy, you look fantastic, a hot stud of a young man."

He has the same look in his eyes that I once saw in a sheeps' eyes during a prep school field trip I was on as a freshman. The sheep got sheared, and it had the same puzzled look in their eyes coming out of the shearing shed that the sheered Cowboy has in his eyes.

Rubbing his short hair, Cowboy frowns, muttering, "I might have made a mistake. He wouldn't even leave my bangs, Zach. I was going to comb them up the way Lee does. I told his dad to please not cut the bangs, and he went, 'Uh-huh' and then purposely ran those clippers right through my bangs and all over my head, front to back. You wouldn't believe all my pretty blond hair on the floor." 

Lee looks crushed, saying, "I tried to warn you, Carson. Dad does only burr and crew..." and I go, "Yeah, yeah, we know, Lee, you told us already."

He looks hurt, so I add, "Hey, but I really like my haircut, and, Cowboy, you look good! Come on; it's just the shock of a big change. I'll bet you'll like your new look by tomorrow morning."

Jesus, I'm glad Lee's father ignored Cowboy's request to spare the bangs. Cowboy looks ten times better now than he would have with bangs to comb up like Lee's silly look. And, young guys with a blond burr haircut are hot! Seriously!

Cowboy makes a 'face' and mumbles something I can't make out. He's pissed off, so I say, "Let's have a drink. Whaddaya say? There's a bar in the next bock. I can see its sign from here."

Lee goes, "I can't get served," and Cowboy mutters, "Nah, I don't want a drink. Is it okay if we go back to the hotel?" 

I pat him on the back, "Sure, okay," and he says to Lee, "You should have tried harder talking me out going to your 'effing old man for my haircut." 

In the car, they argue back and forth, with Lee apologizing for no reason, really. I'm blocking out as much of their conversation as I can because I feel the opposite of Cowboy; I'm super psyched about my haircut! Hell, I'd like to celebrate with a couple of beers. Well, I'd really prefer a couple of Jack on the rocks, except I know better than to show up drunk for dinner with Richard. 

Cowboy will get over his disappointment, and as for me, as I said, I'm good. It's like a ten-minute ride to the hotel, and when I'm parking, Cowboy and Lee are laughing their nuts off about something. Yeah, Cowboy gets over stuff quickly. They want to walk the boards and play video games at an arcade, and, needless to say; I do not want to do that. 

I give Cowboy a few twenty-dollar bills and tell him I'll probably be gone by the time he comes back, and he says, "I'm going to pay you back every cent, Zach, but for now could I have, um, say a hundred. We'll be riding that fucking rollercoaster all night, and it's like six-bucks a ride." 

Lee says, "Hey, I work, Cowboy, I've got money," and I'm like, "No, Lee, let me treat you tonight. It was a big haircut day for Cowboy and me, and I, for one, thank you for your help with that."

He goes, "You're so nice, Zach. I pinch myself every day at how lucky I am that Carson saw through me and knew I was gay. These have been the best three days of my life. Thanks!"

Nodding, I go, "Oh, um, sure, that's great. We could, um, yeah, have fun, and I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

Cowboy hugs me and says, "Sorry, I was a pussy there outside the barbershop. I'm good now; it's all good."

So, yeah, everybody is good; I know I am. They take off, and, going inside the hotel, I can't help rubbing my hand all over my head. After four yers of Navy Seal haircuts, my hair feels familiar to me now. The last couple of months, it was feeling like someone else's hair.

It occurs to me I should stop at the front desk and tell someone we'll be staying longer than expected. When I tell the nice woman behind the counter, she hits her computer a few times and offers me a monthly rate considerably less than thirty days at the present daily rate. The drawback is, should we leave before we've stayed a month, I still get charged for the month. Hmm, who cares? I sign up for the month, and she puts the nonrefundable charge on my AMEX card. Swell.

It's only money, and I've got more pressing matters on my mind. As I'm going up in the elevator, I can't help myself from continuing to be frustrated at how much of a pussy I was with Richard. Then, I feel like a pussy again, wondering what I should wear tonight?  I never 'effing wonder what to wear. Other than uniforms in the Navy, I wear whatever's the first thing I pick up. I don't give a fuck. Christ, I buy only expensive cool clothes, so anything I pick up will be okay, so why worry about it. It's Richard who is turning me into a pussy.

Hmm, I think about Lee's dad, the barber and how he gave Cowboy a shorter haircut than he gives Lee. Is something is a little off with him as far as Cowboy goes? Does Lee's father have a negative feeling about my bro? Cowboy was telling me how nice Mrs. Patrick is, but my instinct has me thinking perhaps I need to go back there and smack that barber around a little, but that is just plain stupid thinking. I'll drop it for now, but I'm going to quiz Cowboy and see if he knows if Lee's old man, um, maybe thinks Cowboy is a bad influence on Lee. There's something not right there, although I hope I'm wrong about that.

I'm back concentrating on my date with Richard and quickly get myself back on track by saying out loud, "Fuck the clothes. I'm in Atlantic City, and it's summertime. I'm wearing the type of clothes I wore last night, shorts and a short-sleeve shirt. Fuck it.

With what I'll wear tonight with Richard addressed, I'm on the balcony smoking another cigarette and drinking a Rolling Rock beer, thinking I should try scoring some pot tonight. That would make Cowboy happy and get his mind off his new haircut. He'll get excited seeing me flashing around some joints. 

Goddamn, though, I'm right back thinking about being psyched about tonight. It'd be good if I could get the excited feeling in my balls under control. It's, um, not like me to get this revved up about anything. I can't help it, though... seeing Richard again has me geeked up, and then there's nervousness involved as well. The nervousness wasn't noticeable earlier, but now that I'm only a little over an hour away from being, maybe, one of his so-called pussy boys, I'm getting the jitters. 

Rubbing my dick, thinking about him, l get this intimidating sense all over again. I know I'll be intimidated by Richard, and yet I can't wait to experience whatever he has in store for me. And I know he knows what he's going to do before he does it. None of it is extemporaneous... he plans things. No way does he think all that shit up on the spot, plus he's done the things he did to me with many other guys, I'm sure of that.

Okay, I know I'm overdoing this Richard thing, but I want some connection with gay guys after dropping Cowboy off at college. I mean, friend-type-gay guys and this so-called pussy boy shit I'm thinking is a club of like-thinking gay guys who are friends and get together for parties or whatever seperate from their professional lives doing whatever it is they do to make a living. I haven't had any gay friends since leaving college. There sure as shit aren't any Navy Seals advertising their gayness, so I'd like to have a gay friend or two. That, plus being Richard's steady fuck buddy, would be perfect.  

Finished my smoke and my beer, I go inside to shower and get ready for my, um, date. In forty minutes, I'm ready to go wearing ironed shorts and a cool sort of Hawaiian shirt, untucked. Maybe it's an uncool look in Atlantic City, but I like it and, God only knows, Richard is not a connoisseur of fashion for men. Anyway, I'm ready to go but it's only a ten-to-twelve minute walk from here to Richard's locker room where I'm supposed to be at six o'clock sharp. 

I'm nervous. Fuck, I'm a pussy, he made me into one, and now I'm 'effing nervous for real. He intimidates me, but there is no way I'm not meeting him. No way! I'm going to be there just like he knew I would.

After fidgeting around and thinking every bad thing that I might do to screw things up tonight at dinner, I say out loud, Fuck it," and leave the hotel. Walking up the block to the boardwalk, I'm smoking a cigarette and patting my shirt pocket to be sure I have the Tic Tac breath mints with me. I need the breath mints because I don't think he smokes. 

Walking fast and, jeez, I feel like I'm twelve years old going on my first gay date. I remember that too. It was a date with a guy; I forget his name, but I'd met him at prep school, and our date was during the three-day Easter break. He lived close to me, so I knew his family was rich and, um, our kind of people, as my old man likes to say. Anyway, at the time, I'd already been fucked, and I'd fucked a kid too, but this kid I was going on a date with hadn't done either, so... 

So what? Why am I thinking about that? Jesus! Get a grip on yourself, for fuck sake! I've got a big deal going for me here with Richard, and I don't need to have flashbacks about me when I was a twelve-year-old precocious beyond my years gay prodigy.

Oh, yeah, I was a freak of nature in that regard which scared off some damn cute boys who were struggling with their sexuality. 

Yeah, well, that was then, and this is now, and now I feel as if I'm struggling to wonder if Richard will turn me into primarily a submissive bottom? It's a little scary knowing he could probably do that, and maybe he actually will. That scares me a little, yeah, but not enough to cancel seeing him. I'm beginning to think Richard is capable of doing with me whatever he wants. That's sort of the allure, too, because it's exciting and scary as well as a challenge. It's not boring, that's for Goddamn sure, and I'm no longer in a sexual rut. 

I was never scared of anything before meeting Richard, certainly not scared of anything in a sexual situation. Not even when I was a kid in prep or even much older at Yale, and these last four-plus years, I've always been the man, so to speak. I'd tell anyone who thought they were going to top me that they needed to stop dreaming that, take a hike, get lost, or, better yet, go fuck yourself. I'm the TOP.

When I'm with Richard, I'm at the other end of the spectrum in that regard, and I'm worried he might tell me any of the things I used to tell other lesser desirable pick-up candidates. Richard may be capable of turning me into a submissive bottom for good, but even worse is he'll think I'm not worth the trouble, that I don't qualify.

Qualify for what, I'm not exactly sure. Pussy boy could mean anything.

And why am I thinking these worse-case scenarios? Obviously, I'm nervous and intimidated meeting with Richard again, and why wouldn't I be? There are so many things I do that piss him off, ya know? I never get my feet under me, and it's like... oh, for Christ's sake, never mind that. He makes me nervous and timid, but it's because this is new to me. 

Hmm, other than him, I never get fucking nervous! Hell, I've fought hand-to-hand combat with savages. Of course, that's what they thought we were too, but, oh, man, my mind is going in circles, and it's because Richard put an 'effing spell on me. I know that sounds stupid, but he did something to my head. I sound irrational, but Richard did some fucking thing to me because it's not like me to allow a five-foot-six-or-seven-inch dude fuck with me the way he has, and worse, make me want more of it. That makes no normal sense, so something nefarious is up with that. And I'm getting irrationally pissed off about that as I'm walking up onto the boardwalk. 

Christ, I need to stop all this nonsensical thinking and concentrate on what I actually need to do. Like, for instance, remember to say 'Yes, Richard' and do what I'm told. Well fuck, that's simple enough. Yeah, as I admitted before, doing what I'm told is nothing new to me. I did what I was told for four 'effing years as a Navy Seal. 

I see the locker room up the boards a little, but Richard's not there. Pulling out my cell phone, I see it's ten minutes to six. Okay, I'll hang out over at the railing across from the front door. Then, a minute or two before six o'clock, I'll casually walk over and be at the door exactly on time.

Richard plays mind games, and I need to be alert to them.

Standing directly across from the front door of the locker room, staring at the front door, I light another cigarette and automatically tap my pocket again to be sure the Tic Tacs are there. I seriously want another go-round with Richard because I want to feel that dominance to decide if it truly is eye-opening spectacular or just so different I've built the whole thing up in my mind as being way more than it actually was. 

And, I'm kind of proud about getting that Nair last night and used that shit perfectly, plus my haircut is perfect, so heh-heh, I guess I'm expecting to blow Richard away with how well I did what I was told. There is no fucking way I'm not good enough to be one of his so-called pussy boys. That's if I want to be one, and how stupid-sounding is the nomenclature, 'pussy-boy'. 

I know I'll be an A student in his pussy boy class, but Richard is wildly unique, so maybe there's some obscure reason, one I'd probably never think of in ten years, why I won't qualify. Nothing I can do about that, and at least I'll have tonight, this second chance to see if he really is as hot as I think he is.

Hmm, again, I gotta wonder why I'm dwelling on the possibility he won't think I'm good enough? Why am I preparing myself to be content with one last time with him? That makes no sense! I'm better looking and better put together than ninety-some percent of guys my age. Why wouldn't Richard want me to be one of his asshole pussy boys? And, so what if that name is childish and offensive? It's a matter of principle that I will be accepted into his group, or whatever it is, his club, maybe.  

Jesus, I'm getting all worked up about being someone's pussy boy? I need some serious psychiatric help 'cause I'm losing it. That fucking Richard has done this to me. Well, I've got a hairless body and almost hairless head. I went through some trouble with that so that I will have another go-round with him. That's a promise to myself. Once is NOT enough, but, haha, I can't possibly be this pathetically needy, can I? Never mind any of that; I will get fucked tonight.

Checking the time on my cell phone, I see, what the fuck? It's six-oh-one, and I should have been at the door a minute ago. As I chew on some Tic Tacs, I'm looking over but still don't see Richard, so that's good. What's this, though. Hmm, standing next to the door is a guy I'm going to assume is a Richard pussy boy who I'll bet is waiting for me.

Did Richard send some flunky to meet me? And, I'm almost positive the guy is a flunky of Richard's because the guy is looking down the boardwalk in the direction I'd be coming, and he has a very similar haircut to the one I got this afternoon. Having the same haircuts is a coincidence? I don't fucking think so. 

No, I'm guessing this guy is here to tell me some bullshit story about Richard, um, being called away blah, blah. blah, and I'll need to come back tomorrow and try again. Sure, and be humiliated again. I don't fucking think so! Enough is enough, no matter that I wanted this. I'm not going to be a sucker, fuck that.

My first inclination is to just leave with my tail behind my legs, but then, no, I'm not doing that. I'm not some wimpy dork, no matter what Richard thinks. He hasn't met the real Zachery McMann yet. This is insulting, being stood up like this.

Yeah, so maybe I need to be more like my normal self and start coming on a little stronger—no reason not to do that, starting with this messenger dork who's waiting for me.

Walking across the boardwalk, bumping into a few people because I'm staring at the back of the guy's head instead of looking where I'm going. The closer I get to the flunky, I'm getting doubtful he's who I think he is because he looks fat. Not fat-fat but definitely chubby and out of shape. I can't imagine he's a pussy boy, or why in the fuck wouldn't I qualify if fatty qualified?

The chubby dude is wearing long pants, um, khakis, and his fat ass, seemingly sticking up naturally, sticking up on its own. Haha, I've seen asses like that one, but they're mostly on fat ladies. Well, an ass like that could be convenient since he won't need to push it up while getting fucked, assuming he can find someone to fuck him. I've heard that fatties aren't in big demand with doms like Richard.

Well, I don't know what he looks like yet because I can only see his back. Maybe he's the best-looking guy in the world. Still, I can not believe this is one of Ricard's so-called pussy boys with that body. If he is, I'm reevaluating what's required to be a pussy boy. And why am I even justifying a term like that ridiculous, 'pussy boy' one?  God, I'm so fucked up, and it's all because of Richard.

Alright, for sure, I'm not running away from this. Navy Seals, even ex-Nany Seals, do not run away. I confidently approach the back of this guy and ask, "Are you looking for me by any chance?"

He turns around quickly, looks at me, then says, "Probably; who are you?"

No smile or anything from him, but he sounds normal. I introduce myself and hold out my hand to bump fists or shake hands, whatever he chooses.

He's about Richard's age, meaning three or four years younger than me; however, aside from that, all other similarities to Richard stop there. This guy is wearing skinny-leg khakis that emphasize his roly-poly torso, plus his belly hangs a little bit over the belt he's unnecessarily wearing, and his man-tits are poking at me from his t-shirt. He's not ugly, but he has what I call a 'moon face.' It's round and pale, and he has a very high forehead.

He doesn't hold out his hand, so I drop mine and ask, "So, where's Richard?"

He goes, "Perhaps he'll see you later, um, that is if I text him that you've passed inspection."

What the fuck? I ask, a bit snottily, "And is it you who decides if I pass?"

He says, "Yes, I'm Art Pictcarin, Richard's assistant, and it is I who will decide if you qualify to move on to see Richard."

I'm dumbfounder again. This is the fourth or fifth time in my limited association with anything to do with Richard that I've been dumbfounded. I've never felt dumbfounded before in my 'effing life besides these four or five times.

Art Pictcarin says, "So, hold open the door for me; we'll go inside and get started."

Hold the door for him? I say, "Fuck this, it's not what Richard said was going to, um, happen, or..."

Interrupting me, this fat fuck snaps back, "Don't talk back to me, faggot! I didn't ask you what you thought. If you don't like it, get lost, go fuck yourself, get out of my face." 

Truly stunned, I back up a step, worried this guy might be unbalanced and dangerous. He says, "This isn't my idea of a fun time, shit-head. Richard will take you to dinner and then fuck you, or whatever he does with his pussy boys, but only if I say you're qualified. See if you can comprehend what I'm going to say next. If you want to see him again, first, you need to get past me. If you don't pass my inspection, you won't see him again, and don't fool yourself... neither he nor I give a shit one way or the other."

This tubby dork yelled right back in my face when saying all that, his spit sptay in my face. I didn't expect that at all! His moon face got bright red, and he leaned his head to about two inches from mine when he was yelling all that shit at me. I had to move my head back, and now I'm stuttering, "Nah, no, no, I mean, I meant no offense, this wasn't what he, um, I didn't expect this, that's why I was rude, and I apologize."

He's calming down a little, mumbling, "Yeah, that's what all you pussy hopefuls say, and I always say this. Tell it to somebody who gives a shit because I don't."

What the fuck is wrong with these people? I have a strong urge to toss fatty over the railing and then kick his ass into the Atlantic. Jesus Christ, do all these people have a hair up their ass?

Oh man, though, I've gone to a lot of trouble already, and I'd like to get something out of it. So, trying to be reasonable, I say, "I'm sorry, Art, ah, can I start over?"

Ignoring that, he says in a monotone, "This is the last time I'm going to tell you to open the fucking door for me and then follow me inside. Your only other option is to walk the fuck away. Those are your two choices. You've already gotten on my nerves to the degree that I'm thinking of sending Richard a one-word text. That word can either be 'yea' or 'ney,' so which one do you think I'd send him?"

I'm shocked this tubby boy has it in him to dominate our little discussion like this. Yeah, well, he does hold all the cards, so to speak. It's an easy choice because I'm not chucking all my efforts away without seeing Richard. I open the door for Art and say, "I'm, ah, you know, I'm sorry."

I didn't need to pretend I was timid when I said that to him because by now; he's bullied me into being timid for real. Then, embarrassingly, I rub my dick because it's getting firm and tingling a little. Rubbing myself again, I follow Art inside, where he points at a door. It's the one that last night I assumed was an office.

He goes, "Get that door for me and don't say a word; there are a lot of customers in the building." 

I hustle over and open the door for him, glancing back quickly at the guy we passed coming in here. A good-looking kid behind the counter ringing up someone's locker payment. He's maybe twenty, with the same haircut Art and I have. Rubbing my dick again, I follow Art into the room. Inside I unconsciously adopt my pussy boy persona, the one Richard embedded into my brain last night. It's not a bad feeling being in this submissive pussy boy frame of mind. Less so, however, now that it's fat-boy Art I'm feeling submissive to, and not Richard.

In a bored-sounding monotone voice, Art says, as if by rote, "Close the door, lock it by pushing in the button on the knob, then get undressed."

I do the first two things and then hesitate until Art gives me a moon-faced 'look' that somehow replicates Richard's 'look.' I immediately begin to unbutton my shirt, mumbling, "I couldn't find the exact hair removal stuff, but..." and Art holds his hand up saying, "Stop talking. Remember Richard's rules?"

I'm like, "Huh? Richards rules?"

He rolls his eyes as he sits down on the swivel chair behind the desk. This is an office, but I also see a bathroom in the back with the door ajar. Art mutters, "His rules for talking. You can remember that far back, can't you. All the way back to last night..." 

I again wonder... what the fuck is wrong with these people? Well, by 'these' people, I mean Richard and Art, the only two I've met so far, but both of them know how to intimidate the balls off me. I need to remember my goal, which is to experience Richard's dominant fucking again to verify that it's as hot as I thought it was. As I keep telling myself, I've gone through some trouble already, so I'll forge ahead to get past this fat piss ant.

Sounding a helluva lot timider than I expected, I stand at attention in front of the desk, saying, "I'm not to speak unless you ask me a question."

He points at me, "Correct answer. Now finish getting the fuck undressed, and I mean quickly. I'd very much like to get this inspection finished as fast as possible so that I can be on my way." 

In fifteen seconds, my neatly pressed clothes are in a pile next to me on the floor. I'm naked, standing at attention again, my dick feeling heavy. Then I start blushing because my cock is boning up. It's this fucking place, and the way Art, as unattractive and fat as he is, still reminds me of Richard's mannerisms, confidence, and dominant demeanor.

Art also has an unmistakable 'I-don't-give-a-shit attitude' about him which is obviously very real, and that's intimidating. He doesn't give a shit. He doesn't care if I pass the inspection or not. He'll text 'yea' or 'ney' and go on his way. Now, with a bored moon face expression, he puts his foot on one of the desk's open drawers, then leans back in the swivel chair and silently stares at me as I stand naked and at attention in front of him. 

I feel perspiration beading under my arms as I stand here, not looking at him. I'm looking straight ahead, the same way I stood inspection in the Navy. Overweight Art is doing an annoying tapping of a pencil on the desktop. I can actually feel him staring at me, making me think that maybe I'm supposed to be doing something else now, but what? One minute, then two minutes pass as sweat rolls down my sides from my underarms. 

Then, with a long sigh, Art heaves his flabby out-of-condition body out of the chair, mumbling, "I hate this. I only do it so I can hang out with Richard. He trusts me to evaluate all you hopeful second-interview pussy boys. He already has his opinion of you but wants a second one, and mine is final."

Still looking straight ahead, positive I didn't hear a question there, so I don't speak. He walks over carrying a clipboard, muttering, "Hands in the air," and I put my arms straight up, and he asks, "Weren't you told to lose the underarm hair?"

I say, "No, he said it was okay, um, not to remove it, and I..."

Art goes, "Shut up. A simple yes or no is all I needed," and with his pencil, the one he was tapping on the desktop, he puts a check on the clipboard, then scribbles a note.

He mutters, "Bend over and spread your ass cheeks wide." Gulping, feeling like a piece of meat, I do that, and he touches my anus with the eraser end of the pencil, making me gasp and stumble a foot away. He snickers, and then, "I can see a few hair stubbles that didn't dissolve completely. It's enough to disqualify you, but we'll see. For now, go to the bathroom and use the MEN creme around your asshole. Be back standing right here in five minutes with no stubble."

I hesitate for a second, hardly believing what I just heard and hardly believing I'm going to do it, then I quickly walk into the bathroom, see the creme right away and squeeze some of it on my forefinger, then carefully wipe the creme around my asshole. A mirror would help, but the one in here is too high. I do an application two more times and, without a cell phone or a watch, I'm counting in my head, 'one second, wait, then, two seconds, wait...' until I've counted to sixty a total of four times, and only then do I use a wet paper towel to wipe the creme off. Thankfully, my skin is tolerating this without a problem.

Hoping upon hope that the creme worked, I walk directly to the spot I was in before, bend over, and tightly spread my ass cheeks. While I was in the bathroom, Art sat his plump body in the chair again. With another sigh, he slowly gets up as I'm straining to hold my ass butt cheeks wide apart. I do that for almost two minutes before he comes over and touches my anus with the eraser end of the pencil again, then mutters, "Stand up." 

He checks something off on the clipboard, then puts it down on the desk and leans down to look closely at my groin. His damp hands rub around my cock, then pick it up, so he can lift my balls to look under there. I'm standing at attention again. Art holds my balls in his sweaty hand, just sort of weighing them for a few seconds before giving my scrotum a tight squeeze making me yelp. Without a word and without changing his moon-face expression, he lets go of my balls and checks something off on the clipboard again.

Yes, this is beyond belief. I can't believe I'm putting up with it, but in my head, I encourage myself because I've held on this long, and why waste all that effort? Just go ahead and suffer through another humiliation. I've come this far, and there has to be an end to Richard's imagination for testing me, for teaching me my place, which this is obviously all about.

Art, with some groaning, gets down on his fat knees and closely looks for hair on my legs, then his fat-damp hands rub up and down my legs, one leg, then the other rubbing from my feet to the top of my thigh, bumping my cock and balls with his knuckles. He does it three times with my dick getting firmer and firmer. When my cock is just this side of a boner, Art stands up, grips my cock, and strokes it until he's finished turning it into a hard boner. 

He starts to walk away but sees my boner listing to the left, so he strokes until it's hard enough to stick straight out with a pre-cum bubble at the pee slit. No change of expression on his moon face at all as he picks up a ruler and measures my boner, then he checks a block or two on the clipboard and says, "Hold out your right arm."

He looks for hair on both arms, rubs his hands over my back and shoulders on the lookout for a random hair, and not finding one. A couple more blocks get checked off as my boner recedes. He glances at it going soft, looks at his watch, and then scribbles something on the form fastened to the clipboard. In his same bored monotone voice, he says, "Okay, get on your knees now and suck me off." 

Motherfucker, this is too much; I go, "Nah, um, what?

Bored, he mutters, "You heard me."

Hesitating again, I'm pissed off, but I've come this far. He's standing there making a couple of noisy exhales as though he's used to this entire familiar routine with others trying to be one of Richard's so-called pussy boy, and he's bored with it. Rolling his eyes, he mutters, "You know you're going to do it, so just do it already, and yes, it's Richard's requirement, not mine."

I get down on my knees as he's dropping his pants, then his silk panties, girl's panties. Ah-ha, he's not as bored with this as he pretends to be because his cock is already fairly firm. His pubes are shaved, of course, so that's good, and his cock is a normal-sized one, meaning in the normal range, his being about five inches long. On the other hand, he has the biggest balls I've ever seen! And, thankfully, he has a very clean scent down here. That's kinda rare, actually.

Taking his cock in my fingers, I stroke it a few times. Hey, this is no big deal. I mean, what the fuck? I've blown forty or fifty guys. Almost exclusively in my early life, sure, and, of course, I blew Richard a couple of times just last night, so what's one more blow job to me? I put half his cock in my mouth and start giving him a damn good blow job. Art's feet shuffle, his big tits bobbing up and down as he holds my head in both hands, making quiet grunting sounds as his five-inch, slightly pudgy cock gets hard.

My eyes are closed as I'm getting into this oral sex, realizing I like doing it. It essential, of course, that I block from my mind whose cock I'm sucking. When I taste his pre-cum, or feel it on my tongue more than taste it, he says, "That's enough, faggot. Now, get on your hands and knees. I'll give you a routine doggy fuck to get that out of the way." 

I knew this was going to happen when he told me to blow him. You know, it's just one more thing in a never-ending chain. I've come this far, as I've been saying since I first met Richard, so I timidly do what I'm told even including, as I get on all fours, submissively saying, "Yes, Art," without even realizing beforehand that I was going to say that. 

Now I realize I've passed the point of anything recognizable as normal and slipped into an intense submissive frame of mind. Art's so-called inspection finally dominated me to the point of no return, and he's my dom now. 

It gets easier and easier to slip into this state of mind the more often you do it. Art says, "Get that pussy ass of yours way the fuck up for me; up on your toes, boy." I'm telling myself, 'This is almost the same as if Richard's doing this, but I'll only need to deal with half the cock.' 

That was very dumb, though, but I'm in another very dumb frame of mine. The other thing is, in this dumb frame of mind acting submissive to pudgy, Art is beginning to feel alright. And I only need to do what I'm told, which is relaxing, plus Richard showed me how good it feels being fucked, so that's a huge attraction of being a submissive bottom.

Art fucks me bareback without any lubricant. I groaned mightily and squealed like a pig when his dry cock goes up my ass. Art smacks my ass, grunting, "Shut up, faggot."

His dry cock forced its way in past my sphincter muscle and went fully into my rectum all five inches. Then, with no hesitation, he immediately starts fucking me so hard I'd move a few inches forward on the floor with every thrust, his loose belly-flopping against my lower back every time he hopped to catch up with the few inches his thrusting moved me forward. He constantly uses all he's got, all five inches impaling me every thrust as he's smacking my ass every two or three thrusts, grunting at the effort.

It's not a bad fuck, and after like four or five minutes, I have a sharp climax that burns a little flying out from my dick's piss slit. Not a great climax; it was more like the ones I have the rare times I jerk off.  All climaxes are pretty fucking good, though.

I was done, but Art fucks me for close to ten minutes more before finally making a weird girlie sound leaning against my back, his fat belly feeling strange and alien, then he humped against my buttocks and filled up my ass with his semen. I'd never been fucked by anyone as overweight as Art, not that I can remember, so this was another brand new experience. 

His heavy breathing is moist on the back of my neck, his tits sliding over my shoulder blades as he tries catching his breath, groaning and sporadically thrusting his wide hips, driving that average-sized boner inside me. Then, we're both motionless until he gets his breath back. I lie docilely under my fat dom, contented to be his submissive bottom and not thinking about much. Then he starts fucking me again, and I do my best to keep my ass up the way he wants it.

It's only a dozen thrusts before he lifts off me, pulling his cock out, then smacks my ass hard a half dozen times, spanking me and saying, "Keep your ass up and take your spanking like a pussy boy needs to."

I feel swear droplets from his forehead splattering my back as I push my ass up, whimpering and now totally submissive to him. He stops spanking me and then humps his cock up my ass again and starts thrusting in my ass that's now slippery and sloppy with a large amount of the cum Art deposited in me from the biggest nuts I've ever seen.

His third go at fucking me only lasts for another two minutes, and I think that's because my fat dom got tired. He isn't in great shape. Two minutes is plenty long enough as he'd already dominated me fifteen minutes ago and didn't realize it. He thought I wasn't broken yet when I was. I'd become as submissive to Art as I was to Richard last night. 

Again gasping, Art lifts up, pulling his cock out with cum that's lost its creaminess during the extra thrusting dripping off his now flaccid sloppy cock, drippings droplets, splat, splat, splat onto my buttocks, drip, drip, drip. Then, some drools drop onto the back of my legs when he stands. I'm now lying flat on the floor in my cum, totally broken in by Art and as submissive as a kitten, completely dominated by that fat fucker.

Dominated to the degree that I don't dare move until he tells me what to do next. As I mentioned, my dom is not in shape. He's still breathing deeply, then finally, sort of gasping, he says, "Get some warm wet paper towels and clean my cock, boy. And, do it on all fours until I tell you differently."

Completely under his control, I meekly say, "Yes, Art," and do what he said. He doesn't sound bored now. In my hazy state of mind, a thought occurs that the assumption I had about Richard's astoundingly good looks being an important factor in him dominating me was wildly wrong. I scratch that misassumption off the list in my head because Art is an unattractive slob, and he dominated me faster than Richard did.

Going into the bathroom on my hands and knees, and not even minding it, I need to stand to reach the paper towel dispenser on the wall. Standing, I rip off three paper towels and run the water in the sink until it's warm, then wet two of the towels and save the other to dry Art's cock after I clean it. My mind is a dense forest of confusing thoughts as I drop down to my knees and one hand, the other I need carrying the towels back to Art, who is now sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk again, his fat legs spread wide and his sloppy cock lying on his large ball sack.

It's as if I almost completely lose my identity in these submissive frames of mind these two can put me in, and that's helpful, actually. It helps get through this. I'm not even thinking about Richard now because Art is my man. Wow, a twenty-minute bareback fucking! I'm thinking how impressive that was. I'll worry later about his cum in my ass and wonder if I should be tested, but right now, I'm doing what I'm told.

Staying on my knees, I lift up to gently wipe his cock, which has some shit steaks on it. Thank God he didn't make me suck it clean. After cleaning his cock, I wipe off his balls all the time, half expecting him to tell me to lick them, but he doesn't. 

He's checking something off on the clipboard, scribbling notes, then mumbling, "I should flunk you for the stubble around your pussy and for the back-talking you did outside, but I won't because you redeemed yourself okay. In the end, you learned your place okay. Not great, but okay. So, I'll pass you with reservations, but now you owe me one." 

Finished drying his cock and balls with the surprisingly soft paper towel, I timidly say, "Yes, Art."

He snaps, "Yes, Art, what?"

 I cower, saying, "Yes, Art, I owe you one."

He nods his moon head, saying, "I'll collect tomorrow afternoon. Richard will be in New York then, so you're to be standing at attention at the front door at noon tomorrow. Do not be late!"

I say my rote, "Yes, Art."

He's back to his bored monotone voice now, saying, "Well, get dressed."

 I immediately stand and put my clothes on, my underpants immediately become wet from Art's cum dripping out of my asshole, and then my now-wrinkled Hawaiian shirt sticks to the cum on my chest from when I was lying on it. Art's cum will undoubtedly drip through, making a wet spot on the outside of my shorts that people will see and know what has caused the round wet spot below my asshole.

Art sighs again, muttering, "Put my dick away and pull up my pants, then you can go."

Hurrying back over to him, I pull up his girl's panties, then his khaki pants, ignoring his order to put his dick away because it flopped into his girlie underpants when I pulled it up. Where else do you want me to put it, ya dumb fuck?

Oh, that anger is encouraging. Yes, I'm getting back a tiny bit of myself, but I've still got a long way to go. He says, "It's only quarter to seven, and you're to meet Richard at the bar you met him at last night in fifteen minutes. Be there at seven on the dot, and he'll do whatever he does to you pussy boys. Now get your pussy ass out of here."

With one last, "Yes, Art," I quickly leave. One last 'Yes, Art' until tomorrow that is.

To be continued...