My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 51

So far, this has been a weird day! It started when I blew up my nutty idea of seeing what it would be like being a pussy boy prostitute by telling Jon Scheyer I'm stopping the retraining nonsense. That went better than I had a right to expect, except Jon warned me not to call Richard for at least a few weeks. That's a problem because Dickie won't agree to any more dates with him unless I go through the process of asking Richard. 

Well, never mind what Jon thinks, I'm going to call Richard for dates with Dickie and I think he'll say okay because he likes money more than holding a grudge. Continuing this morning's bizarreness, Dickie tried servicing a new client, Clark, and me simultaneously and blew his load while fucking Clark, which Dickie claims only happens with a client once or twice a year. He couldn't get me off and had Clark do it. 

If that wasn't bizarre enough, Clark asked me if I wanted to be his date later and I didn't really want to, but eventually said yes because I felt sorry for him. He's young and incredibly naive. Somebody will take terrible advantage of him, probably sooner rather than later. There isn't anything I can do about that, although I do have this silly desire to save everyone. That's egotistical of me for one thing, plus absurd and unrealistic in the extreme for another thing. 

Anyway, I've just finished my date with Clark. He fucked me in a mild manner but he is very likable so I pretended it was hot sex. When he wasn't looking, I put all the money I had on me in his wallet because he's broke and the money means nothing to me. I'd like to see the expression on his face when he looks in his wallet. He had twenty dollars left.

So, I've just stopped at my car and got two thousand dollars from the trunk. On my way back to joining the guys on the beach, I see a middle-aged man and woman giving Markie a hard time. Well, here I come to save the day... haha. When I get closer, I hear the man saying, "But the chairs were gone when we got back from lunch, so we're without beach chairs even though we paid for them. Are you slow? What aren't you understanding?" 

Markie says, "Sorry someone took your chairs, but it wasn't me. I can't pass out chairs for free. I'd get fired." Markie's eyes glance over at me, then back to the man, who is getting rude, "Don't be a twit, sonny boy, we rented chairs, and we don't have chairs, so provide us with two." 

Now, it's the man who glances at me, then the woman looks at me, too. I smile brightly at them. The woman steps closer to the man who says to her, "I don't get what this counter kid's problem is. This is so obvious." 

Taking a deep breath, Markie says, "I understand what you're saying, but it's your problem... not mine. I can't give you free chairs. Why don't you report your missing chairs to the beach patrol?" 

The woman, sounding aggravated, asks, "Are you stupid?" and I say, "Excuse me, but he's just following rules. It's not his rental booth; he's an employee, so he's got to follow the rules, right?" The woman goes, "This is none of your business, buster." I ask, "Hey, how'd you know my name?" 
She's sputters, "Huh? What?" 

Stepping closer to the two malcontents, I point at a sign that lists the hours of operation, plus the owner of the rental booth and a phone number. I say, "Call the owner if you feel you need to, or give the kid another ten dollars for two chairs or, better yet, beat it."

The man's indignant, "Who do you think you are to tell us to beat it?"  Taking a step closer to them, getting in their personal space, I mutter, "I'm someone who doesn't like assholes like you two trying to intimidate and take advantage of a kid who's just doing his job. If you don't like me butting in, call the cops. They'll be thrilled to be bothered with this nonsense. In either case, take off!" 

They exchange glances, clearly intimidated now me when they expected they'd be the ones intimidating Markie.

The woman gathers her wits and says, "Arthur, we're being threatened by this thug so we will call the police." Then to me, "It's against the law to threaten people with violence. You're in big trouble." 

I smile, flicking my fingers in a 'go away' manner, and say, "That wasn't a threat," and the man, taking a step back, says, "If I were ten years younger, I'd knock you on your ass, Wiseguy." I mumble, "Probably not, but that, right there, that was a threat." 

She says, "No, it wasn't, he said if he..." Interrupting her, I smile again, "Have a nice day, but have it somewhere else." The guy looks like he swallowed a dog turd, then goes, "C'mon, Deb, we'll find a police officer."

They stalk away, and Markie mumbles, "Oh, God, I hate this job." I nod, "Yeah, dealing with the public can suck at times." He mumbles, "Having a bodyguard is, um, helpful, though. Do you wanna come to school with me." 

I smirk, and he goes, "Seriously, do you think they'll call the cops?" Shaking my head, "Nope." Then, as I'm walking away, Markie calls out, "Thanks, Zach," and I shoot him with my thumb and forefinger.

Cowboy and Lee are on the beach blanket sharing Air Pods, apparently listening to music from one of their iPhones. Taking the pod out of his ear, Cowboy asks, "How was your walk, Zach?" 

Sitting down, I go, "Great, it was very invigorating." Lee starts singing along with a very upbeat tune, "I need you to stay. Da, da, da... I told you I'd change even though I knew I never would." His back is to me as he's nodding his head, unaware of anything except the music. He sings, "I'm afraid I'll fuck it up, ah, ah, whoa, whoa..." 

I look around to see if anyone's offended by that as Cowboy's telling me, "That song is called "Stay'. It's by The Kid LAROL and Justin Bieber." I nod, then go, "Oh." Cowboy pulls the Air Pod from Lee's ear. Lee turns his head and goes, "Hey... hi, Zach, cool song." I mumble, "I don't believe I'm familiar with The Kid LAROL, but you have a good voice, Lee."

Influenced by Cowboy's rejection of modesty, Lee goes, "Yeah, I know, thanks. Hey, whaddya say we get something other than pizza for lunch today, my treat." Not stretching the barriers of originality too far, we decide on hamburgers and fries. Lee and Cowboy walk to the boardwalk to get the food as I relax and enjoy the beach scene. Ah, the beach is excellent, the endless breaking waves on the shoreline, the breeze, the smell of the ocean, and the sound of squawking seagulls... mesmerizing. 

What isn't so great is the smell of sunscreen and fat men walking around with hairy bodies wearing bathing suits two sizes too small and the constant hum of all these people conversing. Ya know, when you get right down to it, I'm basically a misanthrope, except there are a select few people who I don't know how I'd get along without.

Hmm, I give a thought that Clark might check his wallet and come down the beach to thank me, but conclude there isn't any reason he'd check his wallet. Why would he since he knows, or thinks, he has only twenty dollars left. What he'll likely do is change into his swimsuit, probably one that looks like it's from the nineteen fifties, and then spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach with his parents. He's a good kid, but he's not too cool.

Oh, that reminds me that I want to call Richard and set up a date with Dickie for six-fifteen tomorrow morning. I do that, telling him the hotel's name and the room number where Dickie will meet me. Richard doesn't even mention that I quit his pussy boy organization again. Instead, he is Mr. Businessman, saying, "Very well, sir, and should I use your AMEX card that we have on file?" 

I tell him yes, then says, "You know what, Richard? Can I reserve Dickie for every morning Monday through Friday? Ya know, same time, the same place." He says, "Of course, and the fifth date in a row is on the house. There is no fee for the fifth date when you pay ahead for four dates in a row. I'll run the one-thousand-dollar charge on your AMEX card... please hold on the line." 

He wants to be sure it clears, I guess. He's back on the phone, "You're all set for five-morning massage dates with Dickie. Thank you for your business." I mutter, "Uh-huh, your welcome," and hang up.

Next, I call the hotel and tell the friendly guy at the reservation desk I'll be needing the room for five more days... Monday through Friday. No problem. Then I'm like, "I know this isn't your responsibility, but there aren't any of those small toiletry articles in the bathroom. Did the hotel discontinue the practice of providing those items?" 

He goes, "No, Mr. McMann. I'll have someone take some up immediately." I say, "You're the best. Thanks a lot." I know Dickie is going to sleep in the room and probably do business in there too. I'm not planning on saying anything about that because I remember what happened last time when I did protest and ended up kissing his ass, apologizing. He's the man!

Okay, the hotel is two hundred dollars a day, so I just blew another thousand dollars on that, and I haven't paid Dickie his $200 a date yet, so that's another thousand. Money's the least of my problems, though. Maybe a miracle will happen, and I'll go cold turkey eliminating a date with Dickie next Saturday, and, say by two o'clock I'm not climbing the walls with horniness, so I'll then be able to discontinue future pussy boy side sex. 

If, however, a much more likely scenario occurs and I find I'm as horny as a hedgehog next Saturday afternoon, then I'll get a fix at Dickie's apartment from either him or Gordon. Yeah, I'll likely need to continue my pussy boy activities until Bruce finishes his job. Here's the thing about me weaning off extensive sex; I'm only having one sex event per day and nothing with Bruce. Sure, in the one event, I'll get fucked twice and there's oral sex involved but it's remains one event and that is down from three or four times a day. Progress!

Speaking of that, I keep thinking Bruce has two weeks left working as a waiter, but that's wrong. There are two weeks left in the summer, not quite two weeks till Labor Day when Cowboy and Lee go off to college, but Bruce told Anne, the cafe owner, he'd work as long as she needs him in September. So, for however long Bruce needs to work, I'll have the pussy boy support. Meanwhile, I'll work on slowly changing our best friend status to boyfriend status, taking as long as Bruce needs. I will not put pressure on him, but my efforts will be centered on Bruce and not in some insane pussy boy prostitute craziness. 

I'm very comfortable with Dickie's dominant ways, but I'm concerned that it's becoming too routine. While it is still hot sex with him, I hope Dickie has some variety to pump it up a little.. something new. I'm paying a lot for this, so I'll tell him to step it up, and if he can't, I'm going to ask Richard to suggest another dominant pussy boy starting next Sunday. That's if I still feel I need one, which I probably will.

It's ironic that it only took Bruce three weeks of pussy boy training, fucking me himself two times a day, plus using dildos up my ass to get me in this oversexed condition, and yet, almost three months later, I've finally cut it from four down to three times a day, and now to one mega sex event per day. For Bruce, I think it will need to be one regular making love event per day or maybe four or five times a week. That's what I'm working toward so Bruce will be happy and want to do it with me. I mean, the majority of humans are not fucking every day. Maybe the young are, but there are more older people than younger ones.

Oh, fuck! I'm thinking in circles again. Calm down! Yeah, but I can't imagine going lower than that. 

The boys get back with our take-out lunch, then later, we take a dip in the ocean with the guys staying in the water as I dry off in the sun. I'm sitting in the beach chair when Bruce comes up behind me, puts his hands on my shoulders, then leans over, and murmurs, "Hi, good-looking." I go, "Hi, best friend." He rubs my head, opens his rental chair, and says, "I'm getting itchy to hang out with you. I miss doing the stuff during the day that we used to do before I got the restaurant job. Mixed emotions because I like working and having money, but I miss you. I miss us, I guess is what it is."

Me being nicer than Father Flanagan is working with Bruce as he's been very nice back at me. Everything he just said was encouraging. Then, interrupting this very nice conversation, the boys come back and childishly spray cold water on both of us, flicking their fingers and patting us on the back, grinning while saying hello to Bruce. Boys will be boys, and these two aren't in any hurry to grow up.

Later, Bruce and I do our faux-mile swim, and then Bruce, Mr. Conscientious, decided there are errands we need to do. We leave the beach at six o'clock, shower at the apartment, put on shorts and tee-shirts, then go to the grocery store as we did a week ago. We need to restock the refrigerator, plus buy two rotisserie chickens and a container of premade mashed potatoes for tonight's dinner. Then we go to a package store for bourbon and beer, Jim Beam and Bud. Lastly, to Target so that Bruce can buy a pair of tan cargo shorts for work. He spilled cranberry juice on his shorts today and doesn't know if the stain will come out. I don't know either.

At the apartment, we put the bags of groceries and whatnot on the kitchen table, then Bruce hugs me, and asks, "Will you think I'm flighty or something if I've changed my mind about just being best friends with you?"

My heart goes bang, bang, bang against my ribs as I shake my head, mumbling, "No, not at all. I, ah, was hoping you'd..." and he kisses me on the mouth, then adds, "You've been fantastically understanding and everything is so beautiful. I mean, compared to my old life. I love you, Zach. I'd be a zombie is I didn't respond to your kindness and how much fun you are, and how generous, and not just to me... to everybody."

I'm choaking up here. I nod, "Thank you, but what, um..." Bruce lets go of me and says, "I was hoping we could, I don't know, um, be boyfriends who don't fuck all the time. That sounds terrible. What I mean, sex isn't what keeps us together. We love one another and maybe express it making love at times."

He still doesn't like the sex part, but what amazing progress toward my goal. I'm nodding at everything and he grins, "You are the most agreeable person anyone has ever known." Then, looking serious, Bruce leans on me, asking, "Can you make out what I'm saying. If so, please explain tome what I mean; what I'm trying to say."

I'm thinking 'BE CAREFUL, ZACH.'  Yeah, I don't want to sneak in my edited interpretation. Bruce is leaning on me so I put my arm around him, saying, "It's as clear as day, Bruce. We're best friends AND boyfriends, but we're not sex maniacs. Not even close. We want to do boyfriend things like, kiss and hug, hold hands and snuggle watching TV or whatever and then, who knows, when the urge to be extra demonstratable affectionate maybe once a week or once every ten days we'll make slow love, emphasis on love. It will be up to you tp give a signal if you feel the urge. My part is not to expect sex at all. It'll be a bonus because I'm happy just being in love with you. Is this what you meant?"

"Exactly, thank you. The being in love part has been a part of you and me for a while and I'm slowly realizing that. I see you after working all day and I want to hug and kiss you."

I smile, "Me too," and we snicker, hug, and kiss, then part with Bruce saying, "I've been thinking those thoughts for a few days but didn't want to sabotage your desire to be a prostitute." We laugh and I ask, "Did you think I'd last at that craziness as long as I did?" 

Bruce shrugs, "I expected you to persevere longer, but I don't know, this feels about right, I guess." 

I say, "As new boyfriends, let's have our favorite drink to celebrate a new beginning. We've already have had a few new beginnings and each new one gets better. Taking the bottle of Jim Beam, I crack open the lid as Bruce gets cold cans of Bud. Two shot glasses appear, I pour the shots. We tap shot glasses, the amber Jim Beam shimmering at the rim of each shot glass. Bruce says, "To the new us," and we flash down the shots. 

We take the beers to the balcony and light up cigarettes, seeing Lee driving his motorbike, Cowboy on the back. They look up and we all give one another the finger, smiling broadly. Five minutes later the boys join up on the balcony, Lee saying, "That whiskey doesn't get any better the more often I need to drink it."

Cowboy mumbles, "I saw the Jim Beam out and there were the shot glasses so we had a shot and beer to celebrate all of us being so fucking excellent." Lee puts his arm around Cowboy, mumbling, "You're babbling again." We all laugh. I can't remember being this happy. Bruce is coming to me willingly this time. The first time I feel it was all obligation on his part but this time it's him wanting to be closer. It's love but so far, without sex which has an important place as part of total love. Am I right? Anyway, this is a hundred times better place than where we were yesterday. 
All four of us on the balcony, but only three of us smoking. Lee says, "If somebody would score some pot, I'd smoke with you guys." Cowboys says, "Yeah, can you get us some grass, Zach?" 

"Why can't you get some?" Bruce says, "Zach, we can easily get it." 

"Oh, yeah, that druggie friend of yours, Bret Devers. Can we go after dinner?" Bruce shrugs, "I don't see why not."

Cowboy and Lee high five, then Cowboy says, "Get enough for us too." I'm like, "Well, duh." 

We break each other's balls joking around as we're finishing our beers, then Cowboy and Lee go off to shower and whatever else. Bruce and I have another shot and beer and smoke another cigarette talking about, well, it's more like we're trying to understand our form of being in love. How, What a great topic, though... it entails many compliments, which are always nice to hear.

Later, when we hear the guys turn the shower off, so we get the dinner ready by warming the mashed potatoes, adding butter, then Bruce makes a salad. The chickens are still warm, so dinner is ready. Fifteen minutes later, the guys come out glowing, so it isn't hard to guess what took so long after we heard the shower turn off before they came out of the bedroom. I'm like, "Jesus; you two are slow dressers." Lee beams as Cowboy mutters, "Haha."

The rotisserie chickens are delicious, and they only cost six dollars each! Good cheap dinner, after which Bruce texted Bret Devers, who said to come right over as he's going out shortly. We decided the boys should stay here as Bret doesn't know them, and it'll be less complicated if just Bruce and I go.

I forget how to get to Bret's, so Bruce gives me directions, and we get there in less than a half-hour. Bret answers the door and, he's a nice guy and all that, but he looks absurd! He's a rat-faced kid with tattoos on his neck and both arms, plus multiple piercings on his face and especially his ears. Still, he's a friendly motherfucker, although I assume he's not planning a career in the business world, as a banker, for example. This is the third time I've met him, but he gives me the same hug and kiss, patting my back as he does with Bruce. You know, as if we're all old long-time friends.

Bret says, "You two look marvelous. You're boyfriends now, aren't you? I can tell because both your body languages are very different from the last time I saw you. I've got to be very aware of body language in my line of work." 

Bruce says, "Very observant," and Bret's like, "First, we need a drink! Then we talk business." Jeez, last time he gave us shots of eight-hundred- dollar scotch, I think it was scotch. 

He brings out a bottle of Hennessy Cognac Paradis that I recognize from a wild night Ronny and I had during our next-to-the-last leave before our exit from the Navy Seals. We were celebrating and that exact cognac cost $1900. Bret says, "Lucky for us, a case of this cognac fell off a liquor truck, and my friend, Wiggle, stumbled upon it and gave me a bottle on my birthday. He says this shit goes for $1500 a bottle." That's either a bargain price or Ronny, and I got screwed.

He pours some into three juice glasses, and we tap glasses as Bret says, "It's good to see you guys!" He's high as a kite! 

We bought twenty marijuana joints from Bret two months ago, but we didn't get to smoke very many of them because Cowboy and Lee regularly got into our stash. One drink is never enough with Bret, so we have another as Bruce and Bret reminisce about this or that, and we don't get down to business for a half-hour. Bret apparently isn't in all that much of a rush to do whatever he told Bruce he had to do tonight. Or, perhaps Bret's so high he's completely forgotten all about it.

Bret finally brings out three different qualities of grass. He talks double-talk about each one, but the bottom line is cost. That's tricky because Bruce insists we split the price, which means we need to go for the cheaper stuff. We compromise by deciding on the middle grade buying fewer joints. It's tedious haggling over fifty bucks while knowing Bret is ripping us off at ten dollars a joint. These are very well-made joints, though, and, according to the Canadian grading system, this is AAA grade cannabis.

It's certainly a better product than we'd get on the street. Bret is a high-end drug dealer. After an hour, plus a third shot of the smoothest cognac imaginable, we leave with two dozen joints at the cost of $240. The cognac drinks alone would have cost a lot more than that at a bar, one that was classy enough to have that cognac. Bruce doesn't know that, and I'm not telling him. He probably didn't believe the bottle cost $1500, never mind $1900. 

In the car, Bruce chuckles and mumbles, "Bret is such a bullshitter... $1500 for a bottle of liquor. Get the hell out of here with that BS!"    

See!

Anyhow, Bruce and I need this weed like we need another hole in our heads. I mean, we're three-quarters in the bag after the shots and beers before dinner and the three large shots of cognac with Bret. I'm super careful driving while Bruce falls asleep. Well, he's been up since five o'clock this morning, so he deserves this half-hour nap. After parking the car at the apartment, I tap Bruce on the shoulder, and he goes, "Whoa, I dozed off on you, Zach." I mumble, "No problem. C'mon, let's see what the guys are up to."

What they're up to is no surprise; they're playing that Xbox game, Fortnite. They're going at it hot and heavy when we come in but stop to ask about the pot. Cowboy asks, "Did you get it?" 

"Whadda you think?" He mutters, "Way to go, Zach." Bruce is getting a bottle of water, looking tired. After giving Cowboy five joints and telling him, "Do not smoke them all tonight!" He mumbles, "Yes, Daddy," and then I put the stash of weed in the pantry, saying to Bruce, "Let's not smoke one of these tonight." 

Cowboy and Lee are already on the balcony firing up a joint as Bruce nods and goes, "I agree, not tonight. It's only eight-thirty, but would you mind if we get to bed a little earlier tonight?" 

Well, in truth, what I'd like to do is smoke a joint and get high to see what our sex would be like, but what I say is, "Good idea." Bruce murmurs, "Thanks."

Sticking my head out the balcony's doorway, I say, "We need to get up at five, so we're going to bed." Cowboy goes, "What a bunch of pussies. This is good shit you're passing up." 

"Yeah, yeah, but we had three double shots of cognac while buying this good shit, plus Bruce is tired. He's been up almost seventeen hours, and he worked eight of those hours on his 'effing feet." 

Lee says, "We understand, Zach. Cowboy's just being a dick." Cowboy goes, "Yeah, what Lee said. We'll smoke with you guys tomorrow." 

I want to tell him again to not overdo the weed tonight but stop myself because he's nineteen, and I'm not his parent. Ha, even if I were, he'd do what he wants anyway. I say, "See you guys tomorrow."

Bruce is already in his underwear, going into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, we're both in bed. Bruce says, "I'm fucked up. It's that liquor, Zach. You can drink more than I can." He gets his arms around me, mumbling, "Don't be mad, but I need to get to sleep." Cuddling in against him, I go, "Of course, no problem. I understand." He kisses me, saying "Thanks." Two minutes later, I can tell he's sleeping already. 

Well, not to pat myself on the back, but as Bruce's boyfriend again, I appreciated his situation and was very considerate. Anyway, what was I supposed to do? I gave him my word we'd do it his way, Not in so many words, but that's the jist of our earlier conversation, and I'm thrilled we're this far!

Monday morning, when the alarm wakes us both up, Bruce mumbles, "Sorry about last night." I go, "No, that's okay, Bruce." He's hurrying, as usual, saying, "You, um, ah, I know you'll straighten everything out with, um, whatever you need to do." 

"Bruce, it's fine, really. I'm so happy to have a boyfriend again." He grins, "Me too." 

Of course, he was referring to me doing pussy boy sex to alleviate horniness. That's all we say about it. Anyway, we've never been ones to chat it up in the morning, but I sense that this morning there's a special vibe between us that I can't describe. Um, it's a closeness we never had before. It's a teammate kind of thing where we have each other's back. It's us against the world as boyfriend and maybe occasional lovers. After Bruce's change of mind yesterday, I don't know, it's a lot of small things, relaxing things like we trust each other, we share private thoughts, an unspoken understanding between us that no one else can share, um... Oh, fuck, as I said, I can't describe it, but I love where we're headed at last in a sincere way... no fulfilling obligations like in the past!

Wearing, a T-shirt and bathing suit I drive us to Atlantic City, and after a kiss goodbye, Bruce is jogging up the ramp on his way to the cafe, and I take inventory of my horniness level and conclude that I'm not climbing the walls, but still, I have a definite itch for sex. It isn't a major problem this morning, but it's there. That's encouraging, although knowing I have a date with Dickie in fifteen minutes probably has something to do with my almost blase attitude about the itch. 

It's only three-block ride to the hotel I set Dickie up in. As soon as I park in the lot, I slip into a strong sub/dom sex frame of mind. Yeah, that's understandable because I missed out on it with Dickie yesterday. Sex with Clark was NOT sub/dom sex. I don't know how to even categorize that sex. It was almost jerkoff sex, which I haven't experienced for years, so I might be wrong about that.

Getting out of the car, I check my pocket to ensure I have the card key for the room, although I knew I had it. Going into the hotel lobby, I feel shaky and getting more and more, um, needy for this with each step I take. Experiencing submissiveness during sex is like a drug, and it's been two days since I last groveled in it. Well, that's the other thing, though... I didn't grovel in it. Not like I used to, so I've decided I'm going to tell Dickie to pump it up a little. He's the pro, and he knows I'm not getting my submissive money's worth lately. Hell, he's already added the paddling, so he obviously notices when his 'S' types need more dominance.

Dickie's not in the room when I get there which gets me more jittery for my fix. Maybe something has come up, and he can't make it this morning. That would be awful! I text him, and two minutes later, he texts back: I'm running late. Pick me up at my place.'  How unprofessional of him! And I'm always complimenting him for being a pro.

Nonetheless, I'm going down the elevator while texting him that I'll be there in five or six minutes. It's weird that instead of being pissed off about this, I'm grateful that it's as simple as him oversleeping, and not a cancellation altogether. Jeez, I'm getting more jittery by the minute, so I guess my earlier appraisal of my horniness was undervalued. As I've speculated before, I think I'm addicted to Dickie. What was I thinking by even considering asking Richard for some other pussy boy? Dickie's my main man!

Idling outside Dickie's apartment, I wait two minutes for him to show up; then, off the engine and walk into the apartment building. At Dickie's apartment, I knock on the door and wait almost a minute before knocking again. This time Dickie opens the door wearing only boxer underwear, mumbling, "I fell back to sleep." He looks exhausted and he needs a shower and a shave. Why is everyone letting me down lately? I whine, "What the hell is going on, Dickie?"

He goes, "Get the fuck in here and keep your voice down. My roommate is sleeping. Um, I had a late-night date that ran overtime." 

I follow him into his bedroom, where Gordon is quietly snoring with the top of his head the only part of him showing above the covers. Dickie starts to pull on a wrinkled polo shirt as I mumble, "Um, don't you want to take a shower first?" 

He gives me a nasty look, muttering, "You, shut up! I'll shower at the apartment after I finish with you." He's such a prick, but that's part of his dominance, so I murmur, "Yes, Dickie... sorry."

Talking low, he snaps at me, "I need you to stop staring at me. While you wait for me stand in the corner. The one I put you in yesterday." I whine, "In the kitchen?" He gives me a look like, duh, and I go to the kitchen and stand in the corner. At first, I'm pissed off, but then I smile 'cause I've already got some submissiveness going for me.

It's maybe five minutes before I realize I'm floating in submissiveness, my nose touching the corner the way Bruce taught me to do it months ago. Well, this is what I've been missing. Startling me, Dickie clamps his hand on the back of my neck, mumbling, "Let's go." He squeezes hard, and, as Clark did yesterday, I need to hunch my shoulders and whine, "Ow, Dickie..." He's carrying a satchel that obviously has the paddle in it, but there is a lot of other stuff in there too.

Outside, he lets go of my neck, saying, "I've gotta hand it to you 'cause I like the way you put your nose right in the corner. Did your trainer, um, Bruce was it? Did he insist on that, or was it, Richard?" Rubbing the back of my neck, I go, "It was Bruce."

In the car, he says, "Alright, let me get this out of the way. I need to apologize for being inexcusable late for our date. So, I apologize." Driving away, I go, "That's okay, I was afraid maybe you were going to cancel." He's like, "I almost did because I've been busy these past few weeks, and don't need the money. You've reserved me all week, though, so that's why I didn't cancel on you." 

The submissiveness I enjoyed in the kitchen evaporated when he apologized, so I'm like, "Ah, um, that is, do you think I'm getting into my submissive money's worth lately?" 

He says, "No, I don't. Funny you should mention that 'cause I was thinking about it while getting my shit together to bring to the apartment. The paddling helped for a while, but I need to up my game, and I will." 

Being with Dickie makes me squirm, and I'd love to grope my junk, but I resist doing that because he doesn't allow clients, his 'S' type clients, to touch themselves. Oh man, though, I'm excited about this morning with him and finding it hard to breathe regularly. I'm exhaling in little puffs. He glances over at me, mumbling, "I told you yesterday to stop overdoing things! You're getting yourself too worked up."

Nodding, I go, "Sorry, but you're an excellent dominant top, and you get me excited." Shaking his head, he mutters, "Christ, of all mornings I need to deal with you. I'll paddle it out of you, be sure of that." 

"Yes, Dickie." Oh God, the frame of mind I'm in is so perfect for this. Obviously, I'm much hornier than I thought I was. Well, Dickie makes me horny, so I glance at him. He's so cool. Short and young with a short, but big-headed penis, and, even though he's scruffy this morning, he's still sexy hot, and dominant. Yes, and his confidence is off the fucking charts. Dickie is worth every penny I pay him.

At the hotel, seemingly bored, he walks me through the lobby to the elevators gripping the back of my neck. We make an odd couple with me seven inches taller and much larger than Dickie, and him reaching up to squeeze the back of my neck, with me hunched over as if he's bullying me. The guy at the desk watches us with furrowed eyebrows but doesn't say anything as we go by. He's not the desk guy who knows me, though. That guy comes on duty later.

I start to say something as we're waiting for the elevator, but Dickie mutters, "No more talking this morning." Outside the room, the one I rented yesterday for Clark and me, Dickie holds out his hand, and I give him the card key. He opens the door, pushes me inside, then pockets the card key, mumbling, "This key is mine for the week, and, just so you know, I'm telling you to your face that I will use the room for other clients." 

"Yes, Dickie." I expected he would and I don't care, but his arrogance about it ignited a flare of submissiveness that's buzzing around in my head. He holds his hand out, saying, "Two hundred dollars." 

After giving Clark all my pocket money yesterday, I'd restocked my spending money from the cash in the BMW's trunk. When I give Dickie the money, he goes, "Gret undressed, quickly!"

After taking my shorts and t-shirt off, I lean over and hold onto the bed board because that's what he told me to do yesterday in his bedroom. He grunts approval and opens his satchel to get the paddle. 

Pushing my ass out and up, I hear the "Swooshing" sound the paddle makes as Dickie takes practice swings with it. That sound makes my cock tighten up. I'm like Pavlov's dog's learned response. The dog's response to getting food, and my response to submissive sub/dom sex. "Swoosh," "WHACK!" Dickie doesn't paddle as hard as Bruce or Sandy during my bogus training, but each whack still stings, and each one stings more than the one before it. 

After three whacks, he asks, "Do you deserve another?" I grunt, "Yes, please, Dickie." "Swoosh, WHACK!" 

"Ohh!" He asks, again and again, accommodating the fifth and sixth times I ask for it, but won't do the seventh, saying, "There you go again, overdoing it. Get up."

Getting up, I'm rubbing my buttocks with both hands as I watch Dickie get a cock ring from the satchel. He mumbles, "This will help you maintain the paddling submissiveness," and he takes hold of my semi-boner, explaining, "I'll experiment adding the cock ring to our sex play. I'm not charging you extra for it because I'm not doing the massage. They equal out." 

Not really, but I, of course, don't mention I paid $250 for the alleged massage.

Stroking my cock, he mutters, "I've had my hand on a hundred guys' cock in my career and they all feel pretty much the same." He's stroking my cock tightly as I bend forward slightly, grunting, "Ah, ah..." His hand feels good, though, and my cock gets wicked hard. He keeps stroking it until it's so hard it sticks straight out like a two-inch diameter wood dowel. He gets the cock ring around the root of my cock, then pushes my scrotum through it too, then tightens it until I I'm like, "Nah, no, um..." 

He mutters, "It'll be fine in a few minutes. That'll hold you for a while because I've changed my mind. I am going to shower before continuing our date. While I do that, you need to stand in that corner," and he points at it, adding, "Nose pressed at the corner. It'll help you maintain your submissive frame of mind while I clean up." "Yes, Dickie." He mutters, "Go ahead, get in the corner now, and don't move your nose away from it until I tell you to."

As I walk to the corner, I'm still rubbing my burning buttocks and telling myself not to ask for the extra paddles again. In the corner, my nose at the junction of the walls, I'm in a deep fog of submissiveness, my ass still stinging and my cock and balls feeling as if the whole package is petrified bone. I hear the shower start as I glow with submissiveness. I knew Dickie would know exactly what to do. He's the very best!

This submissive sense I have is sexual. It's sex with a capital 'S,' perfect for an 'S' type client like me. I shiver in it even though I don't understand why I like it. I didn't understand why I liked it in prep school either. As I said, it becomes addictive for reasons unknown.

After a while, I noticed the wall had a smell of its own, although I couldn't describe it any more than I can describe Bruce's scent. Bruce smells like Bruce, and the walls smell like walls. By now, I'm floating in this goofy fog of submission, perfectly content without giving a thought to moving away from the corner. Bruce is in the shower so, theoretically, I could have a seat until I heard the shower turn off, but I don't because I do what Dickie says.

After I don't know how long, I totally lost track of time, Dickie is all of a sudden in the room, saying, "On your knees." Turning around and there he is naked, sitting on the upholstered armchair drinking a bottle of orange juice from the over-priced convenience bar. I wonder how long he's been sitting there? The bottle is almost empty. He says, "Over here, get on your knees over here, and you can get your money's worth sucking my cock as I sit in this chair."

I realized I'm stupefied, a submissive zombie, as I squeak out, "Yes, Dickie," and did what I was told. On my knees, in front of the chair, Dickie is smelling much better than earlier. He appears very clean; his body hair continues to be as missing as if it was never there. He's obviously used the MAN creme since yesterday, or more likely had someone apply it for him. He could have told me to do it, and I would have gladly done it. Both Dickie's and my haircuts are fuzzy as both are about ten days old, but that's the only thing about Dickie that isn't the perfect pussy boy. I mean, now that he's had a shower and he shaved.

In a daze, I stare at him, thinking how awesome he is. He drains the juice bottle, then says, "See if there is another orange juice in that mini bar," and he holds out the empty bottle. I take it and, for some reason, my mind not functioning properly, I go over to the mini refrigerator/bar on my hands and knees, but there isn't another orange juice. I look at him and shake my head. He shrugs and wiggles his fingers for me to get back over there, and when I'm in front of him again, he asks, "How are your cock and balls doing?" 

I look down at them, then back at him, saying, "I can't feel them." He nods, then asks, "Are you feeling enough submissiveness?" "Yes, Dickie." He goes, "Yep, standing you in the corner, your nose against it with your cock and balls poking out from your body worked." 

Nodding at that, I'm sitting back on my heels, as he says, "Lift up and lean over. I'll take the cock ring off. Your dick's head isn't looking too good. It's purple and swollen too much. Maybe half an hour was too long to leave you in the corner. Yeah, now that I'm thinking about it, I read where twenty minutes is about as long as you should wear a cock ring."

Thirty minutes? I had no idea it was that long. Jeez, I'm sure Bruce made me wear a cock ring for longer than thirty minutes. It wasn't as tight as this one, though. Going up on my knees, leaning toward him, Dickie fumbles with the Velcro strip under my blue balls until, finally, I hear that sound Velcro makes when unpeeled, and the cock ring is off. Casually holding it, he leans back in the chair, saying, "I want your very best cock sucking now, then I'll paddle you again, and let you take a nap with me for free. I'm exhausted." 

My cock just flopped over, almost flaccid already with none of the pleasant throbbing, just a flop over, and that was it. Very disappointing, but my head, the one above my shoulders, is clearing a little. My other head has gone from purple to dark red, but it still feels petrified. Picking up the big-headed four-inch penis between Dickie's legs, I lick it, then suck on the head and feel his dick tighten in my fingers. Taking it out of my mouth, I lick it from his nuts to the big head a half dozen times, and it gets firm enough to press against his belly so, licking I move his balls in his scrotum. 

As I'm doing that, I'm not getting a boner as I always do when sucking cock. That cock ring did me no favors. Sure, standing in the corner wearing it got me deeply submissive but now I'm not getting hard. So, no more cock rings! Lifting Dickie's scrotum and licking under it, I finally get a shiver and my dick stirs. Encouraged, I lick up the side of his nuts to where his scrotum meets his torso, then lick the inside of his thigh and my submissive state of mind returns to normal submissiveness... that's a relief.

Taking a break for a second, I inhale deeply beginning to feel like myself again, and then really get into licking and sucking Dickie's cock and balls and all around them while inhaling his scent... and my dick finally fully comes to life. I'm licking up to his belly button, then down under his balls, trying to reach his hairless asshole but can't get there, so I put his cock back in my mouth and begin bobbing up and down on it. All this time Dickie has been holding my head, making grunting sounds, and squirming in the chair. He holds my head tightly now and begins humping his hips fucking my mouth and throat. His boner is just long enough for the full head in all its swollen big fat glory to go in and out of my throat with every thrust. 

I'm gagging like mad but don't pull my head away. My cock is a full boner again, feeling good as I'm sensing the beginning of a climax, but, before it reaches the tipping point, Dickie makes a strangling sound in his throat, jerks his hips back, and unloads a large amount of cum in my mouth. I tried swallowing it, but some of it gushed out the sides of my mouth at the initial explosion. He pulls his cock out, gasping in a big inhale of air while pushing my head away. I want to stroke my boner but don't for reasons I've already explained. I sit back on my heels, swallowing the rest of his cum, and, no, I can't make out a specific taste for it.

He goes, "Ooh, Jesus, heh heh. That was random. It was me who overdid it this time," and he laughs... good-naturedly for once. Shaking his head, he goes, "Yesterday I get carried away fucking that dipshit with the freaky tongue, and then I can't stop deep throating you today. I'm overtired is what it is." 

Then, standing, he says, "Okay, enough of that. You need to get in position for your paddling," which I do right away, realizing I'm feeling submissive in a good way now.

Three "Swoosh," then "Whacks" has my buttocks stinging and quivering. Dickie asks, "Do you deserve another?" I told myself I'd say no to that, but the three paddles sunk me deeper into my submissive trance, so I go, "Yes, please, Dickie," and I get three more. 

He says, "Get up! Six whacks are the proper amount for you from now on. I won't ask if you want more until after the sixth one. That will be your regular paddling before and after both the oral sex and the fucking sex. That should allow you to get your submissive money's worth both times."

Standing straight, my hands rubbing my paddled butt cheeks, I glance at Dickie's cock that's now half a boner which happened from the paddling. His spanking fetish is none of my business, though, so, in my submissive frame of mind, I murmur, "Yes, Dickie." 

He puts the paddle in his satchel, saying in an offhand manner, "I see you're as docile as a baby lamb, so the extra paddling works. I'll forget the cock ring from now on and continue with enhanced paddling. Um, you're the client, though. You tell me if you're getting your money's worth submissiveness-wise from the extra paddling." 

I hesitate, and he asks, "Well, are you?" 

Still rubbing my ass with both hands, I feel too submissive to contradict him, so I murmur, "Yes, Dickie." 

"Good, that's settled then. Close the window curtains so we can take a nap, after which we'll finish this morning's date." He gets in bed and, after a long sigh, says, "You are a helluva client providing us with this room all week. I'm so tired I can hardly see straight." 

That wasn't a question so, after closing the curtains, I get in bed and scoot over to sleep against him, his arm under my neck, pussy-boy-style.

My ass still feels hot, but the stinging is beginning to fade already. Willingly accepting corporal punishment in the form of paddling is a stupidly submissive thing to do, and the extra paddlings make it submissively even stupider. Lying against Dickie, I'm beginning to rethink things. Am I getting enough out of the submissive sub/dom sex to put up with the extra paddlings? It's a vicious circle. It used to be simpler... a dominant sex partner was all that was needed for me to get off having sub/dom sex.

Recently, though, it hasn't been enough so Dickie needed to include the paddling and again I'd get that gooey sexy submissive feeling. Now he needs to double the paddling. What's next, tripling the number of whacks? Suddenly, it occurred to me that it was Bruce's accelerated frat-house-initiation-type corporal punishments that got me back into my prep school fascination with sub/dom sex, and this experience with Dickie is turning into Bruce's bizarre so-called training. Something is going on in my subconscious mind... perhaps a desire for recreating that three-week experience with Bruce.

As a teen in prep school, sub/dom sex was the most fun with sex I had. Then, during college, I was versatile, switching back and forth between topping and bottoming, sometimes in a sub/dom fashion and sometimes not. Then, in the Seals, I stopped bottoming altogether, resulting in me eventually not having nearly as much interest in sex as I previously had. Hmm, then Richard restarted the cycle all over again, except I'm not a teenager now, so getting submissive enough required the stupid corporal punishment.

Dickie's deep asleep already, but I was asleep before nine o'clock last night, so, as my head clears of submissiveness, I roll away from him and think about this some more. What's the bottom line here? Bruce followed up Richard's dominance taking it higher and higher, and I somehow fell in love with him. Who knows why... 

That's a mystery, but not the point here. Or is it? Hmm, but Bruce and I are currently not doing sex, so why do I need the sub/dom sex with Dickie? Why isn't any kind of sex enough when I don't have any at all? Circles within circles, which is why I think my subconscious mind must be to blame. Hell, I've got what I wanted, which is Bruce on his way to falling in love with me, so why the continued fascination with submissive sub/dom sex? Do I want to relive the experience of high school thrills?

When I wake up, I see the digital clock on the nightstand... it's teno'clock. Wow, almost three hours of sleep! Christ, I'll never be able to sleep at nine o'clock tonight. Glancing at Dickie, I see he's still deeply asleep, but he isn't going to sleep forever, so I slide over to lie against his side where he'll expect me to be when he wakes up. He has a nice body, albeit a smallish one. I don't especially like him, and I certainly don't love him, but I don't dislike him either. I'm neutral in that regard, although I admire him. I always say he's a real prick, but he's not actually a mean person. He's doing his job, and he's good at it too. He feels I need all this paddling, and, as a side benefit, he gets off doing it.

I don't care about that, though. What I care about is why I put up with it, and, even as I ask that, I'm feeling very horny. Things haven't gone well in the area of sub/dom sex, or in the area of sex, period. I'm horny for it. Dickie makes me horny for it. It's the supposed need for the paddling that's screwing up the works. The crappy sex I had with Clark yesterday afternoon generated no submissive feeling in me at all. Yeah, it was crappy but relieved my horniness, sort of. 

Oh man, I'm back where I started... why do I still desire sub/dom sex? Well, I'm not frantic for it, am I? No, but I'm horny. Hmm, I wonder if maybe a simple generic fuck would be sufficient to curb my horniness until sex with my lover boy happens again? A generic fuck that's at a hotter level than Clark was capable of providing. Yeah, I'm interested in keeping my horniness under control until Bruce quits that job, but it doesn't need to be sub/dom sex, right? Maybe it doesn't.

Thinking about that for a while, I finally get tired of waiting for Dickie to wake up, so I do little nudges against his side, and he goes, "Huh? What, um..." Then his eyes open, and he sees me. Automatically, his arm comes out, and I lie the back of my neck on it as he mutters, "Damn, how long did we sleep?" I tell him, and he yawns, then says, "Shit, that's fantastic," and he stretches his arms out to the sides. Stretching, I feel his hard bicep muscle under my neck. I knew he was a strong little fucker, so I'm not surprised he has good biceps.

Looking at me, he says, "That trainer of yours did one helluva job. Even though you're out of the program, you're still right where a good pussy boy should be, next to your man, even after hours of sleep." 

That wasn't a question, so I don't say anything, and he adds, "I already tried talking you into being my trainee and you declined the offer, but you'd be fabulous as a pussy boy working for me." 
IHe's breaking my balls as he knows everything that happened between Jon and me, so I merely smirk at him, and ask, "How's your trainee coming along?" 

He makes a face, mumbling, "I suspended that asshole for two weeks. He's not a submissive type like you, and he gave me some backtalk, so I suspended him." 

"Do you think he'll be back?" 

He says, "It's not your business. You need to get up now," and as we get out of bed, he says, "Yeah, he'll be back. At first, I told him he's suspended for a month, but he got submissive real quick and begged me to continue with his training, so I dropped two weeks off his suspension."

He's getting the paddle, mumble, "Assume the position." Oh, fuck, I'm wicked horny, so I don't want to complicate things by protesting the paddling now. I grab the bedboard at the foot of the bed and get six paddles and sink right into submission to Dickie. My buttocks are burning hot as he mumbles, "Get on your knees and suck a boner on me, and as soon as I'm hard you're to stop sucking immediately! I don't want to cum in your mouth again." Then he mumbles to himself, "I need to finish this date." 

I'm still rubbing both butt cheeks like mad and through a fog of submission so deep that I'm barely able to murmur, I go, "Yes, Dickie." It's delicious submissiveness. I stop rubbing my ass when I drop to my knees. Leaning my face right into Dickie's crotch, I begin frantically licking all around his cock and balls.

A minute later, he hits the top of my head with a knuckle, saying, "Just suck my dick to get it hard. You already got your money's worth with the earlier oral sex." Mmm, as I put his cock in my mouth I hear a condom packet rip open. Dickie's all business. He wants to finish this date and get on with his day. 

The big head of his cock is so hot to suck on. I suck it and swish my tongue on it until he pushes my head away, mumbling, "Put this on my cock." Huh? Oh, I take the condom from him and slide it on his fat-headed boner. He yawns, then says, "I'll fuck you in your paddling position at the foot of the bed. That might keep the paddling in your head and increase your submissiveness. I want to be sure you get your money's worth from this fuck." 

I grab the bedboard keeping my ass lower than it is when I'm being paddled because Dickie's short. He rams his bulbous hard cock head inside me, and I stifle a scream. That really did hurt but my buttocks are so sore it's hard to separate one pain from the other. Pain lingers, but I'm ignoring it as he thrusts his full four inches of hard cock into my rectum. He's in a hurry, so immediately the slapping sounds ring out in the room as he humps his boner back and forth quickly, "Slap, slap, slap." Pain and pleasure duel it out until pleasure wins the battle, and I'm in a sea of rough and tumble sexual pleasure that feels really good, I'm like, "Ah, ah, ah..."

Dickie's pulling my hips back hard and my ass slaps into his crotch with every hard fast thrust. It goes on for three, four, five minutes of sexual bliss, "Ah, ah, ah... ooh, Dickie..." Then,  my bully of a climax takes over, and I shake with anticipation as it quickly builds and then "Eeeeiii, aah..." My boner straight out from my groin blasts out hot creamy cum that splatters against the end of the mattress. Sensations soar all over me as I shudder, then the after-effects leave me shivering with the pleasure of it all. Dickie pulled his cock out when my cum hit the mattress. He mutters, "Stay as you are."

I'm holding onto the bedboard, still enjoying that climax as I hear the toilet flush. There goes the condom. Oh man, that was a good climax... I needed that! Then I hear the swoosh of the paddle, and Dickie gives me six whacks, one right after the other. I never moved my ass, keeping it still for my paddling. With pain pulsing off both my butt cheeks, I'm staying stationary as I hear Dickie zip up his satchel, saying, "I'm leaving my satchel and stuff here in the room because this is where I'll be staying this week, obviously."

He goes, "Whaddaya doing? You can stand now, your date is over! You're done until six-fifteen tomorrow morning. Um, give me a good tip now so I can get outta here? I've got a lunch date with Richard in twenty minutes." In a deep fog again, I murmur, "Yes, Dickie," and slowly stand, both hands rubbing my butt cheeks again. 

Getting my wallet, I hand him a hundred-dollar bill. He mumbles, "Thanks, um, not to be pushy, but could you be out of this room in five minutes at the latest? I have someone coming over." 

I nod, "Yes, Dickie." He's dressed and I didn't even see him do that. He pats my shoulder, saying, "We definitely figured out the submissive question, huh? The paddling gets you super submissive and docile to me. I'm glad it works for you... I'm happy for you.  See you tomorrow morning." "Yes, Dickie." 

He laughs, rubs my head, mumbling, "You'll snap out of it in a half-hour or so," and then he ushers me out the door. My buttocks are burning and stinging like wildfire. It doesn't take a half-hour to get over my submissive sense, within minutes any trace of submissiveness is gone. It left pretty quickly when I left Dickie. I still have a sore, spanked ass, but that doesn't last long either. As I've said before, Dickie doesn't paddle nearly as hard as Bruce did during my so-called training, and defintely not as hard as Sandy. Not even close. 

Huh, I read a book some years ago titled 'The Fatal Shores' about the late seventeen hundreds when Great Britain began shipping their criminal element, which included a person stealing a loaf of bread, to Australia for seven to fourteen years. Australia became England's prison system and it was unimaginably cruel... sadistic beyond belief. The beating they gave those poor prisoners using a cat o' nine tails is one of the most inconceivable things I've ever read about. The men would get tied to a triangle frame and be given one to three hundred lashes. That was common, and it sometimes exposed the muscles in their backs and even the spines of the one receiving the corporal punishment. The six paddles I get would be less than a mosquito bite to those sad people.

I shrug at the fact I did nothing to stop the paddling. He was in a hurry to get going and I lost my determination to raise the issue today. I intend to put my foot down in that regard tomorrow, though. I want to see if a plain old regular fuck will satisfy my horniness during the day. It's important that I get my rocks off during the day. Yeah, spending time with Bruce after he gets done work is so much better for both of us when I'm not feeling horny. 

Yeah, I'm calmer when not horny, and he can see that. I think it helps Bruce psychologically, knowing I'm using pussy boys and not random prostitutes from the street. The roadblock to doing away with the paddling, though, is that Dickie insists on doing it. When I've tried rejecting it, like yesterday when both Clark and I said we didn't want it, Dickie told us he insists on it for type 'S' clients. 

Well, I may need to ask Richard for a pussy boy date with someone other than Dickie. He's been great, Dickie has, but the extra paddling, ironically, has me questioning whether I need submissiveness with sex. This is a positive move that might break the circle I was thinking about earlier. So, we'll see...

To be continued...