My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 45

Jon and I are outside his apartment building smoking cigarettes when we see Billy come around from ^0th Street, heading toward us. Jon says, "It's about time this guy..." He stops talking because his phone rings. He looks at it, mutters, "Eli..." and turns his back to answer his phone.

Billy comes up to me and mumbles, "Yo, Zappy. What's up?" I mutter, "It's Zippy. Ah, how come you have a dentist appointment while living on the street?" He mutters, "I go home and recoup every couple of days."

"What?"

"Yeah, my old lady lets me decide what I'm doing." Jon heard that and mumbled, "Which is another way of saying she doesn't give a shit if you live on the street or not."

Billy shrugs, saying, "Oh, and I couldn't order the uniform because my old lady hid her credit card, and I spent the fifty dollars I earned yesterday." 

I mumble, "I'll lend you the money. Um, what size shorts should I order?"

Jon says, "Stop talking," and we look at him. He says, "We'll get a coffee at Sue's Cafe down the street. I've got the latest word from Eli, meaning it's from Richard."

Before today, Richard's name would have given me nervous shivers, but I'm merely curious now. I have this calmness about me, knowing I've got Jon Scheyer in charge. He can decide what is the best next move for me. It used to be Ronny making decisions for me, but now I have even more respect for my mentor/trainer to make those decisions. God knows I fuck up making them myself. Considering the trials and tribulations Jon's overcome from a poor background to homelessness to his position of authority today... I admire that!

Jon pays for our coffees, and we sit at a small table. He says, "First to you, Zippy. You were honest enough to tell me about Derick, and I told you not to do it again, but I was wrong. Technically, I can't order you to do anything. Derick was in touch with Richard who decided to take a chance on recruiting him, as he isn't going back to Delaware. He's staying with a cousin outside Atlantic City, and you're to hire him as an independent escort service should he contact you."

"What about my retraining with you? I want to do that."

Billy mumbles, "Yeah, me too. What's going on?"

I can see Jon is working at controlling his temper. He'd like to tell Billy and me to stop whining like two cunts, but instead, he says, "Heh-heh, if you two cunts wait a second, I'll tell you what we're going to do. Is that alright with you two?"

I look away, mad at myself for questioning Join. Billy says, "Yeah, what's up with us?"

He needs to be paddled, but I keep my mouth shut. Jon says, "As I told Zippy, I've lucked into some money-making escort jobs lately, mostly thanks to Eli. Anyway, it means I'll only have mornings free to reprogram, er, I mean retrain you two, and maybe Derick, too. So our sessions will run from nine until one o'clock, and then I need to be available as an escort."

Mouthy Billy says, "That's fabulous! Half days are right up my alley, but what are the chances I can make some money while being reprogrammed."

I say, "Jon meant to say, retrained Billy. Christ, you're..." I was going to say he's annoying, but Kon says, "Shut up, both of you." Then to Billy, "I won't be able to service Zippy as I've been doing, so maybe you can work something out with him."

Fuck that! I don't say anything now, though. Jon adds, "Unfortunately for you two, this means it'll take twice as long getting you qualified as official pussy boy whores and delay when you are officially whoring on the street making money as pussy boys. Of course, you can always whore on your own until we start the official last three weeks of training. Any questions?"

This is fantastic. I'll get to spend time on the beach with the boys and drive Bruce home after work and still be with Jon four hours a day. Fabulous! The daily paddling is a bitch, but Jon's cream mostly eliminates long-lasting pain, and I've had a new, calmer, relaxed, soothing attitude about life and making the best of new experiences because of the paddling. Somehow, it has made me see the light and brought me back to the reality that I need to do something to catch up with the rest of the world. I was merely drifting, not participating in anything. Yeah, I know that being a prostitute isn't a profession you're likely to boast about, like if you were a scientist or doctor or something, but it's available for me to start with. No need to do it forever, of course, or..."

I stop daydreaming when Jon says, "Hey, wake up, Zip! I asked if we were good. Are you on board with this new arrangement?"

"I'm absolutely on board, Jon. I'm excited and can't wait to get started."

"We already started with you practicing urine play and oral sex on Benny. Um, you graduated from Yale University and were a successful Navy Seal for years, so how come you seem clueless a lot of the time?"

"First of all, I resent that, Jon. I admire you, but I'm not clueless all that often. I'm book-smart but lack a lot of common sense. That's what my bud, Ronny, always told me. Give me something to memorize, or give me an order, and you'll be impressed. Ask me to make up a plan to do this or that, and we're fucked because I'm not good at that.:"

Nodding, Jon mumbles, "Goddamn, that was a good explanation, Zip! Jeez, I didn't expect... well, it was a rhetorical question, but.... Well, fuck it. Let's go to the apartment, and I'll read from the revised manual about kissing and how to elevate the experience for unattractive clients who you're fearful of vomiting making out with them."

Billy makes a face, muttering, "Holy shit. I've never made out with a guy. Are you shitting me?"

Why do I need this reprogramming, er, retraining with this idiot? I thought it would be Jon and me. That's what got me interested in the first place."

Jon mumbles, "Billy, you make Zippy seem like a genius by comparison."

Huh, Jon managed to insult both of us. Billy mumbles, "Well, I never kissed a guy. What can I tell you? That happens to be the truth."

Walking back to the apartment, Jon says to me, "Eli is interested in how you feel about your pussy boy's name. It's not unusual to change an escort's name to something unique so it'll be easily remembered." I ask, "It was Richard who decided on my name change, wasn't it?" 

Jon nods, "Un-huh," and I say, "I'm so psyched with being your trainee, Jon. I like my nickname. If someone asks my name, I'll say I'm Zippy Scheyer. Okay?" 

Jon nods, "Jesus! Yeah, go ahead, though. Trainees often fall in love with their mentor/trainers but you're head over heels in love with me, ain'tcha?"

"Uh-huh," and I'm not blushing. I meant it, adding, "I'd do anything for you, Jon." He says, "See that you do that, okay?"  "Yes, Jon."

In the apartment, Jon instructs Billy and me to sit beside each other on Jon's bed. He sits on Benny's bed across from us. I'm thinking the room still smells like piss, but Billy corrects me, saying, "You smell like pee, Zip. What's up with that?"

Jon nods, "It's your polo shirt. Benny's pee overflowed your mouth. He gets up and gets a pussy boy uniform shirt from his bureau and gives it to me, saying, "Take your shirt off and wear this one. We'll switch shirts. This piss one will go in my dirty clothes."

As I removed my new polo shirt and put on Jon's old faded one, "Yes, Jon." 

He opens the manual and reads for a half hour about humans kissing. I've never given anyone my undivided attention like I'm giving Jon. It's interesting as well. Get over the gross thought about exchanging saliva and bacteria with your kissing partner by putting in your mind thoughts of, blah, blah, blah, and kissing started in prehistoric times when cave mothers chewed up food and passed it to their babies and in later history it became, blah, blah, blah, and the human lips have the thinnest skin on any part of human's body and yet are packed with nerve endings and this means, blah, blah, blah, the orbicular muscle enables you to pucker. Still, other facial muscles, blah, blah, blah, and while kissing, be sure of your hand's placement, blah, blah, blah, and stroke these areas as you pretend to moan when blah, blah, blah...

And Billy leans sideways against me, almost knocking me over. He fell asleep? I thought Jon was marvelous reading everything in his youthful musical voice. It gave me a hypnotic boner. I felt so peaceful staring at Jon's lips as he spoke. It was awesome. Jon says, "Are you awake now?"

Billy nods, "Fuck, I didn't know there was so much involved in kissing. That part about it being gross. That's what I think."

"You'll need to get over that, William. Okay, you two will kiss and make out for one minute. I'll time you, and we'll discuss what went right and wrong. Turn to one another, pretending each other is the other's client."

Billy turns to me and mutters, "I'm going to be terrible, but at least you'll be the best-looking person I've ever kissed, which includes my mother and sister." We both chuckle at that and even Jon snickers. Billy is okay-looking, too, and I wouldn't mind kissing him at all, except for his unattractive, flat, broad lips with no bow shape at all, so I'm not looking forward to this either.

Jon says, "Let's go!" I remember a form of this kissing exercise with Bruce, and it was sweet because Bruce was the one I practiced with. Billy is no Bruce. Nevertheless, we kiss, and there is no surprise as we both find it as unlikeable as we thought it would be. Jon gets us talking about why we didn't like it, and then we do it for another minute, then again.

Jon is tenacious, though. An hour later, Billy and I had exchanged a great deal of saliva and bacteria, and we were smiling after our latest minute make-out. Billy kept his arms around me as we critiqued it, agreeing our dicks got involved. Jon said, "Good. Now go at it without me call time's up."

Billy and I grinned, licked our lips, and gently at first kissed and grinned as we kissed until we were into it hot and heavy, Jon even needing to grope his junk. It was a four-minute make-out that we only stopped when Billy pulled away, mumbling, "Stop, I'm gonna cum..."

Jon did a fake clap, saying, "Esch morning when Zippy gets back from his paddling, Billy will rub cream on Zip's buttocks and then a ten-minute make-out to start the lesson. So, we've got two more hours, and I want to spend the time doing body-familiarity exercises and getting used to another person's body parts. I want to see lots of feeling and touching. First, get undressed."

It turns into making out with groping and touching for almost twenty minutes, both of us with leaking boners until Jon says, "If you want to take it further, be my guest. I'm going to get a Coke." Gasping, "Billy says, "Blow me. I've got blue balls." I get right to it. My mouth sucks his five-inch boner into my mouth, and I suck and lick on it for two minutes before Billy gasps and blows a load of cum in my mouth. It was sexy as hell, but I barely maintained the boner I got from making out, never mind blowing my load.

Jon comes back into the room with Cokes for us, saying, "It smells like sweat and sex in here." I didn't notice it. The rest of the time, Jon gets us talking about kissing, making out, and getting aroused to the degree that I sucked Billy off. 

The point of the discussion is that Billy and I took much too long arousing each other. We might not think one another is who turns us on sexually, but that's the whole point. We'll be servicing almost no one who turns us on, but we must learn how to convince them that we are aroused. It was a quick morning in retrospect, my paddling long forgotten. 

Walking out together, Billy says, "Um, you're getting my pussy boy uniforms, so thanks. I'll pay you back, but for now could you pay me for the blow job?"

"But I blew you, Billy." "Yeah, but I was the client. You were the submissive pussy boy." "Oh, yeah. Okay. Is sixty dollars enough?"

"Well, yeah. Fifty because UI let you blow me and a ten-dollar tip." I give him three twenties like I gave Benny early this morning for letting me blow him. "Thanks, Zippy. Wasn't it weird how we got to like kissing one another?"

"It was, yes. See you tomorrow, Billy." We walk off in opposite directions, me to the boardwalk and Billy to his cousins. It's become obvious that I'm still not getting any sex. In fact, since Jon won't be servicing me at all, I'm worse off than ever because before this, at least Bruce was giving me, what I now know, were pity fucks trying to be nice and providing at least one fuck a day.
Okay, it's a damn good thing Derick is a little interested in me. It cost a lot of money, but I don't care. If Derick doesn't call me, I'm calling him. Thank God for Derick!

Walking on the boards at twenty-to-one, I'm feeling free and happy. I'll have lunch at the cafe, and maybe Bruce will be my waiter. Then, I'll have beach time with the boys. Goddamn, since Eli started me on my punishment paddling, I've been in the best mood of my life, and everything is going great, except I'm still not getting fucked. I'm thinking of paying Billy if Derick doesn't come through for me. Haha, God, I hope Derick comes through!

Going inside the cafe, Bruce gives me the happiest, friendliest smile I've ever gotten from him. He's happy to see his best friend, but he never was as happy to see his pretend boyfriend. I still love him as a best buddy, and I will not put the burden of my sex life on him. Bruce comes over, "Welcome to Anne's Cafe. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I wish you served alcoholic drinks, waiter." "Oh, no, sir, we're just your friendly lunch cafe." We exchanged grins, and Bruce mumbled, "Goddamn, Zach, I've never seen you so, um... so relaxed and contented as you seemed to be the last few days. That pussy boy experience is working for you, huh? Hell, it worked for me for a few years, too. What can I get you?"

I have a cheeseburger and fries, and as I eat, I look with pride at my ex-pretend boyfriend, knowing I made it possible for Bruce to turn his life around so successfully. Sure, it's ironic that I'm trying out what Bruce used to do, but I can do what I want. Why not?

Later, I'm teasing Markie and then taking a beach chair, walking with Markie as he carries the umbrella. He digs the umbrella into the sand, doing his job, and I do mine of overtipping him. Then, sitting in the beach chair, I'm feeling so good that it starts to worry me because when has my life ever been stress-free? 

Along that line, I'll still buy that second car even though I can drive Bruce to and from work now that Jon dismisses Billy and me before one o'clock every day. The paddling has made me see the value of being stress-free. The second car covers every scenario, and I don't need to worry about it. What's that old song you hear on the radio, 'Don't worry, be happy'?

Sighing, I opened my book about Alexander The Great, read a page, and then realized none of it registered. Looking up, I'm thinking about how much I miss Cowboy and Lee. I better get used to that because, as of this Saturday, there will only be three weeks left of this summer with Cowboy. It started as sex with Cowboy, but once he met Lee, a boy his age, he was off with Lee, and I am happy for both of them.

Yep, those two will be off to college. I've become very attached to them both, especially my young buddy, Cowboy... AKA Carson Myers. I feel guilty for missing Cowboy more than I miss his brother, although I'm broken-hearted that Ronny is dead. That sounds like a contradiction, I know.

Well, that's life. Anyway, from now on, I'll bring a bathing suit with me and change in the locker room after Jon dismisses me. 

 The paddling has improved my attitude about life, but I still need to wean myself off needing sex three or four times a day. Not that I've done any weaning yet because it's been done for me. That is another way Of saying, except for Derick, I haven't had a good fuck even once every day. I'm not weaned: I'm horny as a rabbit. Well, it's only been four 'effing days. In those four days, I had sex with Derick when he fucked me twice and once with Bruce.

If Derick were willing to go on a triple escort date, I'd do that. Embarrassingly, I tried talking him into doing it the other day, and he flatly refused. The final paddling today lingers in my mind but in a good way. Derick talks about paddling me without knowing what Eli and Richard got me into. Maybe Derick would do me two or three times on a date if he can include more paddling. It's getting to be; the more paddling, the better.

Getting up off the chair, I walk down to the ocean, giving my buttocks a break. It's a miracle my buttocks feel this good, but I'll give it a rest and walk for a while. Another thing I feel so Goddamn good about is Bruce being so much different now. He has a totally different mindset than when he was under the pressure of taking care of my sexual needs. Looking up the beach to the boardwalk, I can't see the cafe, but Bruce is close by, and he'll join me here at five o'clock. That's a nice thing to look forward to.

After meandering along the wet sand from the ocean runoff, I walk in the dry, warm sand, thinking positive thoughts about Derick being my sexual escort. My ass needs some good fucking on it. I turn around to head back to my rented beach chair and bump into a tall guy who goes, "McGag? Is that my bottom boy, McGag?" 

Shocked, I stare at the guy, then go, "What the...? Arnold? Arnold Decrich?" He bumps fists with me, saying, "That's me, McGag! What the fuck are you doing in Atlantic City?" That's what he always called me at prep school... McGag instead of McMann. It's a nickname he gave me because I'd always gag when he was deep-throating me. And, at prep, everyone called one another by our last names. Not close friends, but I didn't have any close friends, just the gay group for sex when I wasn't tagging after Ronny. 

I tell Arnold, "I'm just chillin'. How 'bout you? Are you on vacation?" He says, "Nah, I'm here on business."

I don't know how I feel about this. He was my most dominant top at prep school, but now he looks too old to have gone to prep school with me. Well, he's always looked older than he was. Without getting carded, he could buy beer as a sixteen-year-old kid, and now he looks as though he could be forty-something. He was two years ahead of me and a huge prick of a bully, but I spent a lot of time sucking his cock and getting fucked by him anyhow.

He roughly rubs my hair and says, "That's a shitty haircut, McGag, but I heard you joined the Navy Seals with that buddy of yours; that kid you ran errands for, Myers, um, Bobby Myers, right? And I see you're still a Seal with this haircut." 

My hand goes to my hair as I mumble, "Um, I just finished my enlistment actually. And, it was Ronny Myers, not Bobby." 

He nods, looking just as arrogant as I remember, as he mutters, "You always did what that Myers prick told you, didn't you?" 

I frowned at him, not feeling I needed to defend my friendship with Ronny. Arnold roughly rubs my head again, asking, "Did any of those Navy Seals assholes convert you to their side of the sexual aisle?" 

I mutter, "No, not really."

He puts his arm across my shoulders to roughly bump me against his side, saying, "Working on Wall Street hasn't converted me either. I'm still queer, although neither my wife nor anyone I work with knows it." 

He's at least three inches taller and has maybe seventy pounds on me. Same light-red hair and bright, almost scary-looking green eyes that always appeared frantic to me. He's got a summer tan now, but when I knew him back at prep, he was so pale he almost looked like an albino. 

He says, "Ya know, McGag, when we were kids, you were my favorite bottom boy to torture, heh heh. Remember how I always put my dirtiest sweat sock in your mouth when I cornholed you?" I shrug, and he goes, "You survived, though, didn't you? Well, hell, you're quite the good-looking stud now, and I see you got your buck teeth fixed."

I give him a quizzical look and mumble, "I never had buck teeth." We're walking in the direction Arnold was walking when I bump into him, meaning away from where I was going. His arm across my shoulders is uncomfortably tight as he says, "Shit, I probably should apologize for the rough treatment and bullying I did when fucking you, but I won't because you liked it too much, so you should thank me. Hell, you asked for it, so you mostly deserved what you got. Don't ya think?"

God, I remember it so well. I mutter, "No, not really," and do a nervous snicker because it's like we're back in prep school. It wasn't only me; Arnold intimidated everybody with his size and bigger-than-life personality, which included a big arrogance and big bullying element. Still, he was always smiling and had a way about him that made a person feel important while bullied or humiliated. I always felt inferior to him and, at the same time, felt sort of honored he was paying more attention to me than anyone else. 

He asks, "So, I'm guessing a gay fairy such as yourself never got married, but how in the fuck did you ever get in the 'effing Navy Seals?"  

"You're the only one who knew what a fairy I was." He says, "Oh, no, I wasn't! Mitchell knew, and so did that fat fag kid, Birkenstock. They were there that time I made you dress like a girl and then blow all of us. Remember?" 

Oh, fuck, yeah, I do remember now that he mentioned it. I had that humiliation nicely suppressed until now. Suddenly, we're walking up the beach toward the boardwalk. I try stopping, and he pulls me forward. 

"Arnold, I need to meet someone in fifteen minutes, and I'm way up the beach from where I need to be." 

He says, "This won't take long. All I need is a blow job before my next appointment. I had a breakfast appointment and another at one o'clock; my next one is at three o'clock, then a nine o'clock meeting tonight with a bunch of losers who want to know how to get rich in the stock market. As if I'd tell them... haha, ya know?"

No, I don't know. He says, "So, a blow job will do for today, but you'll meet me at my hotel room tomorrow, and we'll recreate old times." 

Yeah, Arnold was my number-one dominant top for three straight years! He wasn't my only dominant top, but he never took no for an answer, and, as I said, I felt flattered he chose me to bully and dominate sexually. He had a half dozen choices, and he fucked them all sooner or later, but I was number one.

Like back in prep school, I'm giving in to what Arnold wants, sliding right back into my role, not that he's giving me much choice. I mean, I'm not about to get in a fistfight on the beach with him, although I know I could kick his ass. That wouldn't be fair, though, and I've changed. The paddling made me realize I was a bully, too. I don't want to be one, and, anyway, I need to get fucked, so...

Arnold walks us into a classy boardwalk hotel, his arm still firmly across my shoulders as he's saying, "I met up with Mitchell, Mark Mitchell, remember him?" 

I nod, "Yes, he wore glasses, and he was the one with buck teeth." He mutters, "Was it him? Anyway, he doesn't have buck teeth now. We were at the same huge financial conference in Hawaii about eighteen months ago. The fucker made a fortune from a dumb-ass marketing strategy for some kind of glue product he sold through TV ads. He sold millions of units of the stuff." 

We're waiting for the elevator in the lobby. I go, "Huh," and he says, "The cunt pretended he's straight now. Said he was married with two kids."The elevator door opens, and in we go, then up to the tenth-first floor. Getting out, he says, "My suite is just down here. Tracy, my admin assistant, got me a shitty suite. I mean, the view isn't overlooking the ocean; it looks at that huge parking lot in the back. The dumb bitch." He stops, "Here we are." 

Inside, he looks at his big ugly Rolex watch and says, "I've only got time for like a ten-minute blow job, but I want you to at least be naked for old-time sake. You always had a good body and a nice-looking dick."

I look around the room, unable to think how to avoid doing this. I sigh, thinking, ''Pretend he's a client who hired you. Good experience.' Surprising Arnold, I say, "Yes, Arnold. Sure," and pull my polo shirt over my head and drop my shorts to the floor, then get on my knees in front of him. Meanwhile, he's unbuttoned his shorts and smirks, saying, "I'll be flying back to New York City Friday, so you'll need to make the best of it while you can." 

I'm trying to remember what I used to do, and he says, "You remember what I like, right, McGag? Pull my 'effing shorts down, dummy!" 

Nodding, I do that. Ha, he's so lucky I've changed after Eil's paddling of my ass. Well, he did do it, but he ordered it done, and I thought he was a pacifist. Oh boy, I would be kicking his ass in my old personality. How could I forget what he likes? I must have blown him a hundred times in the three years I knew him. I met him just before I turned fourteen. I was in eighth grade, and he was in tenth grade. Then, during his senior year, he transferred to another prep school on the West Coast because his father got transferred there. God, I remember wildly missing him!

Anyway, it was always my job to pull his shorts down, proving it was my idea to suck him off if we ever got caught doing it. Memories flood my brain as soon as his underpants are down. Then, oh, shit! That's right, Arnold is the hairiest kid I ever knew, even as a sixteen-year-old. All that hideous, crinkly, stiff red body hair and, of course, his thick pubic hair. It's startling, almost frightening, to see all this hair after being with the hairless pussy boys I've been blowing all summer. 

He gets short hairs at my bangs between his fingers, pulling it hard until I go, "Ow, please, Arnold." Chuckling, he lets go and says in a conversational voice, "After I left, you must have grown a couple of inches, McGag. I don't remember you being this tall." 

Picking up his big heavy cock, I mumble, "You're right. I had a late growth spurt that my family doctor said was pretty rare at my age." My old man said the same thing happened to him. Arnold hits the top of my head with a knuckle, saying, "Drop my cock, knucklehead, and start like you're supposed to by flattening all my unruly pubic hair." 

I did forget that. Oh man, I start doing long wet licks from the root of his cock up the mass of red pubic hairs, then drag my tongue through his stomach hair to his belly button. I'll have a half dozen curly red pubic hairs in my mouth by the time his pubic bush is saturated with my saliva and plastered to his belly. He mutters, "Uh-huh, yep, that's how you used to do it. Press your nose into it, too." He gets two fingers on each of my ears and holds my face against his crotch, just the way he did it back then.

After the fifth or sixth lap in his pubic hairs, I slip into a shallow submissiveness, but at least it's something. I've been missing the submissive sense. He does a short laugh and says, "You haven't lost a step, McGag; you still know how to do what you're told." Why does that sound familiar?

He finally says, "Nice job, fairy boy," and he laughs, adding, "Even after all these years, you're still my favorite cock sucker, so go ahead, enjoy yourself. Yeah, it's okay, you can suck my cock now... you earned the right." I pick up his cock in a dizzy fog and begin licking the big blunt head, then up and down the heavy shaft. His cock is a little over six inches long and thick, but not as thick as Derick's, although thicker than Bruce's cock, and forget about Jon's little thing.

Still speaking conversationally as if talking about the weather, he says, "Remember that time I made you blow me in the stands at that pep rally? Right in the fucking football stands. Haha, I made you take it out and suck me off right there. Christ, you were so thrilled I invited you to sit with my boys and me. That was so fucking naive of you. Of course, I was considerate and pulled your hoodie over your head, so it looked like, um, well, it looked like you were blowing me. Hahaha, Jesus, that was so random."

With my lips carefully covering my teeth, I'm bobbing up and down on his now iron-hard penis, precum drooling out as he goes on with his reminiscing. "Of course, my posse boys were sitting around us in the stands, shielding us a little, all of them hammered like motherfuckers. Me too, plus Wilkinson had that super shit we all smoked. Christ, those were the days, huh?" 

My cock is as hard as Arnold's now. It didn't get hard sucking off Benny or Billy. Damn, this feels good! Making a gasping sound, he puts both hands behind my head, pulling my face tightly against his crotch, then begins to hump his hips driving his fat iron boner down my throat, over and over with me gagging at every thrust, which, as I said, is why he calls me McGag. I prefer gagging from this than gagging from the ball gag, although I know it's part of my rehabilitation punishment, and I deserve it, too.

In thirty seconds, which feels to me like a half-hour, his cock head expands as precum drools from it. Then, making a breathy groan, he blows his load just as he's pulling his cock from my throat. He goes, "Ahhh! Umm, motherfucker, oooh, yeah..." cum shooting, a huge load of it into my mouth, some of it drooling out the sides to roll down my chin. Creamy, warm, thick semen and lots of it. The volume, when swallowed, took most of the pubic hairs in my mouth down my throat.

As I'm sitting back on my heels, swishing my tongue around in my mouth, then picking inside my mouth at a couple of pubic hair that I didn't swallow. Arnold steps back, taking a deep breath; he laughs and points at my boner, saying, "Holy fuck, McGag, I forgot you're the cocksucker who always got a boner while blowing me. You're the only one who did that." 

I resist stroking my boner, snorting out a chuckle myself. Hell, that brought back some good memories, alright! 

Lying like a sailor, I tell him, "You're the only guy who ever gave me a boner during a blowjob." He wipes at a cum bubble forming at his cock's piss slit, then pulls up his underwear and shorts, saying, "And you blew everybody back then, but dude, you used to climax before I did." 

Yeah, I did do that, but I didn't blow everybody unless he meant the four or five gay guys in his posse. Plus, yes, I would have blown my load during this deep-throating, except my paddling has changed something, and I'm not climaxing as easily as I used to. 

Arnold pushes his forefinger under my nose and yanks it upward, smearing the cum from his finger, the cum smear going in my nostrils, him laughing and saying, "I believe that belongs to you. It's the rest of my load for you to swallow. Fuck, this was great fun, McGag." 

Wiping my nose, then breathing hard out my nose with a few snorts, I stand up, muttering, "Yeah, great fun." He picks up my shorts and throws them at me, saying, "I gotta shower and get ready for my appointment, so you need to leave now but be back at one o'clock tomorrow. I'll have finished my eleven o'clock appointment by then." 

"I don't know about that because..." and he says, "Just be here. Now go!" He pushes my back as I hop on one foot, trying to put my shorts on. Arnold drapes my polo shirt over my shoulder and opens the door, pushing my back, "I'll see you tomorrow, McGag, and you can do the oral sex all over again; plus, I've got a sweat sock for your mouth. It's one I stuffed in a whore boy's mouth I hired on the New York streets, so ya better hope you don't catch anything from him. You'll be getting a good fucking on your ass too. Okay?"

Before I can say if it's okay or not, he slams the door behind me. I pull my polo shirt over my head and walk down the corridor, not sure how I feel right now. As trashy as he was with me, it was considerate treatment compared to how he treated me at prep school. Although more bellicose and obnoxious, he's mellowed too, which tells me what a horrendous bully he was then.

As I leave the hotel and walk across the boardwalk, then down the steps to the beach, I try convincing myself this wasn't a sexy experience even though I sprung a hard boner. 
Walking back down the beach toward my beach chair, it was just bad random luck to run into Arnold after all these years. Yeah, but it brought back some hot memories. He was, and apparently still is, a terrible person. Yet, he was the one who taught me, who insisted actually that I become super submissive to him, and, hell, I grew to like being submissive during sex and still do today. Hmm, do I like it even more now than I did at prep school. No, I liked it more back then when my conscience wasn't as developed.

If I show up at his hotel room tomorrow, I know I'll get a good, hard fucking. More practice being a pussy boy. Yeah, he said he'd be going back to New York on Friday, so what are the chances I'll run into another somebody like him? If at all possible, I'll stop in to meet Arnold tomorrow and get a good fuck. In my present situation, good fucks haven't been easy to get. Wow, though, those glory days at prep school were something alright.

Thinking those rationalized thoughts, I head back to where my beach chair and umbrella are set up while trying to get the last red pubic hair from my mouth. It's partially in my throat, I think. Swallowing exaggeratedly, then getting two fingers in my mouth, reaching as far back as possible, but coming up empty when I pull my fingers out. Dammit! Giving up, I shake my head, then swallow, swallow, swallow, but it still feels like one pubic hair is in there. Hmm, it could be a phantom hair that I'm imagining is in there. Giving up again, I plop down on my chair and go over in my head the strange happenings with my first dominant top, Arnold. First, it was so odd that he insisted on being called Arnold at age sixteen. Not Arnie or Art; it had to be either Decrich or Arnold. 

I was gay and open about it, at prep, well, not open. More like I wasn't hiding it as so many gay guys do, so Arnold had an easy target in me. He didn't waste any time, either. My second week after gym class, he showed up and pretended to befriend me. As I said, I was flattered by his attention, and within a week, I was in his room blowing him. Two weeks after that, his big boner was up my ass, and from then on, he pretty much owned me. He taught me submissiveness to him by putting me across his lap, both of us butt naked, my penis between his hairy thighs, and he'd spank me as I jerked off. The spanking continued until I climaxed. That, and other humiliating activities like dressing me like a girl, or putting girl's makeup on me, and then sending me to fetch shit for him. That was later, though. The first semester, I was so proud to be his bottom boy, and it wasn't until the third semester that he became abusive. The smelly sweat socks in my mouth when he fucked me or making me blow him as Ricardo Commaro fucked me. Then I had to suck off his roommate and anyone he said, and so forth.

I spent almost three years of that, but I came to accept and expect it and didn't complain because I kinda liked it, sort of. Plus, I was getting into my idolization of Ronny then as well, and, yeah, in retrospect, I was Ronny's flunky just as Richard analyzed that first night he had me under his influence, and I told him my darkest secrets. Well, I eventually got the best of Richard, but after all these years, Arnold still has me doing what he wants. How sick is that? Haha, some therapist or psychiatrist will have quite a challenge helping me figure out, um, when I get around to seeking help.

The more I think about this, though, the more I can do a little something to help myself by NOT going to Arnold's room tomorrow. Yeah, it'll be one teeny-weeny victory for me after one hundred and one losses in a row to him. I'm never likely to see that dominant prick again, so I'll have one teeny-weeny win in overtime, so to speak.

Now, all I need to do is follow through on that, and I think I will. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to his room. For now, I feel like a milkshake in the cafe and see Bruce. It'll clear my head after being with that ball-buster, Arnold. While walking up the beach, I'm making a long gagging sound trying to dislodge that fucking pubic hair either at the back of my mouth or the top of my throat. Fuck!

In the cafe, smiling, I get seated in Bruce's section and watch him running around serving late lunch. It's two o'clock, so it's still hectic in the cafe. Bruce comes over smiling and saying, "Hi, boyfriend. You're looking, um, awfully contented." I shrug, "That's because you're so close I could kiss you. " He mumbles, "Uh-huh, please don't. There's no fraternizing with the customers, so you'd only get me in trouble." 

"I'm sorry. I had lunch an hour and a half ago, but I have the urge for a chocolate milkshake and a slice of pizza." He smiles, "Sounds good. Coming up."

Seeing Bruce so clean, fresh, and friendly. That nails it, Arnold has seen the last of me. I will not let myself down, and, anyway, I'm depending on Derick coming through for me. If I can hire two escort dates with Derick, I'll skip Arnold tomorrow. If not, maybe I'll need to see Armold, after all.

After the milkshake and pizza, I stop at the rental stand and say to Markie, who is reading another paperback book, "Young dude, when does school start for you?" 

Looking up, he mutters, "September third, why?" 

"In three weeks, huh? Gee, it's just that I realized I won't see you until next summer after that. That's disturbing." 

He cheekily mutters, "I might not work here next summer, so you might never see me again. How do you like that?" 

I say, "I think I'll stalk you, then," and I point at him, adding, "Yep, that's what I'm gonna do." He says, "I'll call the cops on your ass if you do." Chuckling, I walk away, thinking how much more normal Markie is than I was at his age. He's a gay kid with a boyfriend but not obsessed with it as I was, as I still am. Huh...

Sitting in my beach chair, my ass isn't sore at all, like it's never been paddled, so that's encouraging. I'm thinking about the last smile I got from Bruce, which makes me think about missing our sex before bed. See, I'm obsessed with sex. I should be thinking about Bruce's progress in all the other aspects of his life. The sex is eight minutes long if we're lucky. So, how about the other 1432 minutes of each day? I should be proud of helping Bruce deal with all 1440 minutes. Well, I was thinking earlier that I am proud of that. He's told me many times how much he appreciates my help.

Hmm, but am I helping for his benefit or mine? Well, it's both, right? You see, I can't function very well on my own. I don't know what to do with myself, so I think up crazy shit to doubt myself about. Crazy shit to worry about, and crazy shit like being a pussy boy... hahaha. I'm going to do it, though! 

Smiling because I can't shake this great sense I have about me and my life ever since getting my ass paddled. It's as if I'm paying dues for my past screw-ups. Hey, where's my book? Somebody stole my 'effing book! Fuck this! I go for a long swim, concentrating on finishing a whole mile, and I do. 

Jesus, that's exhausting but feels good too. Now I can enjoy relaxing in the beach chair and not think about too much. Just watch the scene in front of me as a normal person does. Then, holy fuck, here comes Derick with his beach towel, saying, "Hey, Zack, wassup?" 

Oh yeah, I perk up, "Yo, my favorite pussy boy. How ya doing, Derick? You're looking terrific." He spreads his beach towel out ten feet from my chair, not right next to it, saying, "I'm good, especially now that I've got this awesome client who's making me rich. I heard you're trying to get in as a pussy boy yourself. Does my extraordinary escorting on your ass have anything to do with that?"

Nodding, I say, "I didn't think of that, Derick, but you are my favorite pussy boy ever, you being a super attractive dude and all." 

Lying down, he says, "Spread some sunblock on my back," and he holds out a bottle of Beach & Sport 100% Mineral Sunscreen. Damn, the bossy way he ordered me to do that made me grope my junk before hopping up and kneeling in the sand next to him, saying, "Of course, Derick. My pleasure." He snickers and says, "I know it is."

Oh man, spreading the sunscreen on his back and shoulders gives me only my second boner of the day. I used to spring two boners before getting out of bed in the morning. Well, this makes my boners more important when I do spring one. I say, "I'm being paddled for past insults to Richard."

"Yeah, I know, but I'm still paddling you before fucking you."

Wow, his body, while smallish, is so fucking hot. I relive the tough sex he laid on me a couple of days ago... twice. And our making out! He charges a lot, but I'm helpless around him. He and Jon Scheyer.

Lying on his beach towel, he has his hands together under his chin, saying, "How hard is your dick about now?" I laugh, "Wicked hard, that's how hard it is." 

He says, "I figured as much. Hey, I want to concentrate on hiring a recruit." Spreading the sunscreen down the back of his legs, I ask, "How'd that go?" 

He shrugs, "You know how Richard is. He dragged me into his office, and I had to blow him as a pretend punishment for exporting you without giving him his cut. He's my main man. Richard hired me but had other recruits, so he sent me to the Delaware pussy boys. A friend of Richard trained me and put me on the street and so forth, and now I'm back working for Richard, so I do what he says..."

I mutter, "I used to think he's an asshole, but now I admire him. He's a wicked cool celebrity to me now." 

Derick goes, "Yeah, everybody thinks he's pretty cool. I enjoy giving him oral sex, and he knows I do." 

"That's interesting. Are you, um, submissive to him?" He goes, "Whadda you think? Of course, I am. Well, not as submissive as you are to me, few people are as submissive as you, but he dominates me, yeah. Everybody has somebody who they're submissive to in one way or another."

Rubbing sunscreen down his other leg, I mutter, "Yeah, I agree," and he says, "That's enough with the sunscreen, or I'll need to charge you for fondling me." 

"Yes, Derick," and put the cap on the tube. I want to lie on him the way we cuddle during our nap. Reading my mind, he says, "Go sit in your chair; don't even think about lying with me on my beach towel." 

Sitting down, I go, "Ha, that thought never entered my mind." He mumbles, "Yes, it did. What would Bruce think if he saw us lying together?" Holy shit, Bruce will be coming down here in a half-hour!

Staring at Derick's closely-cropped blond hair, it's obvious he's a pussy boy. Well, not to the casual observer, but Bruce will know. I'm like, "Does Bruce know you?" Derick mumbles, "No, how the hell would he know me?" 

That's right; he transferred here from Delaware. I go, "Um, don't say anything, okay. I mean about you and me." He looks at me and says, "I won't, but why do you care? You and Bruce aren't boyfriends now.

"Richard gave me a potential client from the locker room who will be coming down to join me any minute now. We'll move away from here when he shows up." 

I shrug, "So what?" 

He says, "No need to get snippy, Zippy. Haha, Richard told me he changed your name. I think it's cute."

"Yeah, Ilike it, too." He says, "You know, I like you even more now!" 

A guy about forty-five or so stops next to Derick and says, "There you are." Derick sits up and goes, "Oh, hi, Bob. I'm here for you." Derick stands and takes the beach chair from the pot-bellied guy, saying, "Where would you like to set up on the beach?" The older guy says, "For one thing, you should have waited for me at the rental booth. I did not appreciate needing to look for you, and I thought you said your hotel was on Ocean Street. Why are we three blocks from there."

As I smirk to myself, thinking, I'll be like Derick apologizing to some old client I'm hoping to make a big tip from.

Derick gathers his beach towel, saying nicely, "This is the closest to the locker room, so I thought..." and Bob goes, "Let me do the thinking. We'll walk down the beach to Ocean Street and set up there." 

As they walk away, Bob says, "Three hundred dollars for three hours! I expect better than this." The last thing I hear is, "Yes, Bob, I'm sorry."

Huh, Bob isn't submissive, so the pussy boy becomes submissive. Derick changed to submissive in midsentence without missing a beat. Just doing his job, but three hundred dollars for three hours? I'm paying almost three times that for about three hours. Well, maybe Bob isn't getting a blowjob and the make-out. Just the fuck and he isn't getting to sleep with Derick. All that shit costs money. He's paying for sitting in a beach chair with Derick lying next to him, then I suppose Bob gets to fucks Derick, and that's it. Three hundred sounds about right for that. 

Then, there's Bruce! A big smile broke out on my face when I turned around to look just as he was leaving the rental booth. How'd I know he was there? I could sense his presence. Getting up, I meet him halfway, mumbling, "Let me take that for you, best friend," and pull the beach chair from his hand. 

He chuckles, "Yeah, okay, thanks. Anne sent me on my way early today." Walking beside him, I bump against his side, asking, "Did you have a good day?" He chuckles again, saying, "Yeah, I made almost fifty dollars in tips. This one dude left me twenty bucks, and he only had a slice of pizza and a milkshake." 

I snicker, "Jesus, he must be a sap, huh?" He goes, "That kid at the rental booth said you were in your usual cheerful frame of mind, and I see you are. The pussy boy deal is agreeing with you." 

Setting up his chair, I go, "I told you about me beating up the homophobes who abused him and his boyfriend. He asked who my boyfriend was, and I said you because you sort of were at the time." 

Sitting down, Bruce says, "Oh, yeah. And now I remember him saying once he liked me better than another guy you were with." 

Yeah, the other guy was Jon, who, like Derick, works in the locker rooms. I should change the subject, but Bruce does that for me, asking, "Do you have cigarettes on you?" I give him one, and we smoke, discussing what to have for dinner tonight. Ah, domestic shit with my best friend and roommate. I feel so good being with him.

He's been on his feet for hours, so we spend two hours simply sitting on the beach chairs without talking much. Bruce looks very relaxed, and we finally take a long swim and chill out some more, not leaving the beach until almost seven o'clock. Markie is long gone by then, so we leave the chairs and umbrella on the beach for the late crew to collect them. If Markie is there, we help him by bringing the stuff to the rental place.

Back at the apartment, Bruce says, "Ya know what, Zach? Order us a pizza for dinner; keep it simple." I do that and then put my arms around him, telling him how sexy and good-looking he is, especially with his longer hair. Bruce shrugs, mumbling, "C'mon, Zach, you're the good-looking one, not me." Finger-combing his hair off his forehead, I say, "You're beautiful to me."
That's the most I figure I'll get away with considering we're best buddy now and not sex buddies or boyfriends. We take our beers out on the balcony to smoke a cigarette, and when we're done, I put my arm around him again and lean over to kiss him, mumbling, "Gay friends kiss, Bruce." He smiles, "Un-huh, Zack." 
"Call me, Zippy."

"No, I'll call you by your name." Looking down from our balcony, we see the pizza delivery car double park below us. Bruce nods at the sliding glass doors. Hee-hee, he's still bossy, so I go in to buzz the delivery kid into the building, then open our apartment door slightly and wait for him. Bruce only likes cheese pizza, so that's what I ordered. After paying and over-tipping, I take the pizza into the kitchen and get out the round-bladed pizza cutter to finish the job the pizzeria should have done. I've never had a pizza that was fully cut into wedges... ever.

We have another beer and sit at the kitchen table, eating the pizza right from the box. Bruce says, "I'm so happy I could cry. This is working out so perfectly, Zach. I never knew life could be this peaceful and beautiful." His eyes looked moist. Before I could reply, he stood up, collected the paper napkins we'd used, put them in the pizza box with uneaten crust pieces, and, bending the box in half, stuck it in the trash. He gets the beer cans, saves them for recycling, then spays the table with kitchen cleaner and wipes it down with paper towels. Done that, he says, "Let's watch some of the Phillies game.

Sitting on the couch beside Bruce, I dream about the sex we had together only a week ago. Fucking while standing,  my back to Bruce, our bodies seemed almost like one as Bruce smoothly moved, his very hard sex organ back and forth inside me, generating a tsunami of sexual pleasure that was so obvious I could almost see it as well as feel it. I'd limply bump against him, the back of my head on his shoulder as he moved only his hips driving all seven inches of hard cock back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in my ass with my quiet mantra of, "Ooh, ooh, ooh," slipping from my throat, my eyes closed as I'm floating in Bruce's cloud of pleasure.

Oh, man, those steady and hypnotic waves of pleasure, his soft sounds of breathing close to my ear, the scent of him in my head, the feel of his arms around me, my back against his chest as he takes care of me on this magic carpet ride that I never want to end. But there are rumblings ahead as our climaxes always built dangerously on their own, growing into disturbingly loud noises that can't be ignored. Bruce would make a grunting sound and begins thrusting faster, and then harder too until the slapping sound of his crotch smacking into my buttocks was heard, "Slap, slap, slap," and everything became desperate, including my moans that now are, "Ahh, ahh, ahh, oh Bruce..." but he'd ignore me and hump like he was driving a hundred miles an hour down a dead-end street trying to outrun his climax. It can't be done, and I'd hump my hips, "Eeeiii, aaahhh!" with cum exploding from my hard, straight out penis.

It's a streak, a blast of semen, burning my piss slit; always it came out with great force about four feet in front of me to land "Splat!" against the second from the bottom drawer of the bureau. Sensations blinded me for a second, and then pleasure would spread out from my groin even as pleasure blossomed brightly in my rectum before fading out. Then, it would be Bruce's turn, and he'd gasp, hump once against my buttocks, gasp again, and fill me up with his creamy hot cum. 

Captivated by my recreation of our sex, I murmur, "Omigod," and Bruce asks, "What's wrong, Zach?"

"Huh? Oh, it pisses me off that batters step out of the box after every pitch."

"Yeah, well, there is going to be a clock next year, and pitchers will have maybe twenty seconds between pitches, and the batter will need to be ready for it. Speed up the game. C'mon, let's go to bed."

Those four words, 'Let's go to bed', used to get my dick alert with anticipation of getting hard as stone. Yes, but it's almost worth giving up getting fucked seeing Bruce this happy... almost worth it.

We wash up and go to bed, Bruce murmuring, "Thank you, Zach. You're my idol and savior. Er, not in a biblical sense. 

We chuckle, snuggle together, and both drift off to sleep; my last thought was, 'Oh fuck, paddling in the morning!'.

To be continued...