My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 41

I'm glad Bruce got the job as a waiter. Hopefully, this job will be the antidote to the horseshit week he had in Philly, and he'll soon get back to a more agreeable sex routine. Leaving the cafe after breakfast, we head for the beach chair rental chair joint. Bruce tells me, "This job pays a lot less, but I feel ten times better being a waiter than a construction worker."

At the rental booth, I see Markie reading a paperback book. To get his attention, I slap a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, saying, "Hey, sexy, you've got business." 

He looks up and tries not to grin but grins anyway, mumbling, "Oh, it's my favorite customer." Bending the corner of the page in the book he was reading, he gets up and asks, "Whaddya want this morning?" 

"Two chairs and an umbrella. Whaddaya think I want?" He makes a face, snickers, then glances at Bruce but doesn't say anything to him. He puts two chairs in front of the counter and tells us, "These chairs have never been rented before. Your asses will be the first ones touching the seats."

Laughing, I go, "Well, damn, do you have a new umbrella to go with the new chairs?" Putting out an old umbrella, "No new umbrellas," then he adds, "Your brother and his friend haven't shown up yet," I hug him, lifting him off his feet, saying, "Hey, I told you ten times he's not my brother." 

He squirms in my arms, but not too much, saying, "And I already told you, I'm too young for you." Letting him go, I ruffle his hair, muttering, "Oh, yeah, that's right, I forgot." 

Trying to hide another grin, he gets the umbrella on his shoulder and starts walking down the beach, saying, "Jameson wants me to tell you a guy on the boardwalk called him a queer." 

Who the fuck is Jameson? Then I remember, "Ah, your boyfriend." 

He nods, and I mumble, "What does Jameson want me to do about it?" Bruce and I follow Markie, and Bruce says, "I can carry my chair, Zach." I pass a chair to him as Markie says, "Well, you are our 'effing bodyguard, so, yeah, he wants you to beat the guy up." 

"Well, yeah, that'd be fun, but if I need to beat up every homophobe in Atlantic City, I won't have time for anything else." He chuckles, and I say, "You wouldn't be pulling my chain a little bit, would you?" 

"A little, yeah, but my boyfriend is not a brainiac, so he actually does expect you to take action." Haha...

We stop at our usual spot to set up the umbrella and chairs. Markie starts screwing the umbrella in the sand while Bruce unfolds his chair, asking, "Did you bring sunscreen, Zach?" I nod, "Yeah." 

Markie finishes setting up the umbrella, looks at me, and goes, "So, what should I tell Jameson?" 

"Tell him I'll beat up anyone who gets physical with him or you. Unfortunately, though, you boys are going to need to put up with the slurs from the imbeciles among us." Markie nods, "Good answer." He pockets the ten-dollar bill I held out to him and says, "Before I go, do you want to hug me again?" I chuckle and give him a quick hug, and he stalks off up the beach, then starts jogging when he sees a family at the rental booth waiting for him.

I open my chair and sit down next to Bruce, who shakes his head slowly and says, "You've got a way about you that makes people like you. That kid thinks you're awesome." 

I told him about the bullies and how I dissuaded them from bothering the boys in the future. He goes, "Christ, you want to save everyone, don't ya, Zach?" I shrug, and we silently gawk at the majestic ocean; then he mumbles, "Well, um, how did that kid, um, Markie, know to tell you about the bullying? Why would he tell a random customer about it?" 

Shrugging again, "I don't know. I've been teasing him from the first day I got to AC, as well as over-tipping him like mad, and, um..." Then, thinking back on it, I add, "No, actually, he didn't tell me about it. I had to pry it out of him. Yeah, that's what happened. He had a black eye plus bruises, so I got him to tell me who beat him up." 

Bruce shakes his head slowly again, "He's kind of goofy looking, so why were you teasing him in the first place?" I mutter, "I took a liking to him because he was so ridiculously grumpy. For the hell of it, I wanted to see if I could make him grin. And, no, obviously, he's not cute like you, Bruce, but I felt a little sorry for him too. Then, when I found out he was a gay kid, I liked him even more. But, yeah, he's too young for me... I've never been interested in him sexually."

"Ah, I can't let your patronizing remark about me being cute slide without reminding you that I've seen myself in mirrors for years and, therefore, know I'm not cute. Why would you say that?" 

Looking at him, "Yeah, you are cute. That's why I said it." He makes a noisy, exasperated exhale, then says, "I never think of guys as cute or, um, un-cute. You are movie-star handsome; I recognize that. And, there are certain facial expressions you make when grinning or laughing that I suppose some would say are cute. Oh, hell, I'm not even sure what qualifies as cute, not where guys are concerned." 

"Well, it's rare to see a cute guy who is age twenty or older, but are you claiming never to have seen a cute teenage boy?" 

He shrugs and gazes at what appears to be an endless ocean, a frightening amount of water stretching to the horizon. He finally mutters, "I suppose I have. Whatever."

I say, "In your case, Bruce, you've got a cute nose and a cute grin. If someone has a nice nose, that's sixty or seventy percent of maybe qualifying them as cute... or handsome if that's your thing." 

He mutters, "I don't have a 'thing' one way or the other. Now that I'm living this life of leisure, though, maybe I'll have time to come up with a 'thing.'" 

"Hey, I haven't always had this life of leisure, ya know." He says, "Uh-huh, college days were probably a bitch, huh?" Chuckling, "Well, no, those were some pretty good days."

We spread sunblock on each other, and then, sitting in our chairs again, I'm like, "I'm wondering if the ramifications of this job you're starting tomorrow have sunk in yet?" 

"Yes, they have. I can hardly believe my good fortune. I haven't had any luck for most of my life, but that changed when asshole Richard assigned you to me as a trainee. Not to go into all the pussy boy horseshit, but if that hadn't happened, I'd still be on my way to nowhere. Sure, the funhouse was a nightmare, and so was that beast, Daytime, but compared to this life of possibilities I have ahead of me now, those things are nothing to me now."

I say, "We'll both forget those hideous two weeks." He says excitedly, "And, ya know, this job will provide the extra money, more than I actually need, for the rest of the summer, and then you'll come up with a business plan. I have faith in you. I'm in awe of how my life has turned around for the better; I really am."

Nodding, I say, "Uh-huh, but the ramifications I was thinking more about are along the lines of going to bed at nine o'clock and getting up at five. Those kinds of ramifications." 

He snorts out a laugh, then says, "Oh, Christ, see how selfish I am? I forgot you'll need to have the same schedule driving me to work each morning." I mumble, "That's alright. I'm happy for you... seriously. So, you're feeling really, really good about everything, right?" 

Looking at me, he does his cute grin, "Oh, I see what you're hinting at. You're interested in how this good fortune affects my outlook on, say... our sex lives. I hadn't thought about that yet, but I'm feeling good, Zach. Feeling good about my prospects of making it in this straight scary world and feeling good about you and me. Paying my way has freed me to see us more clearly, and I like what I see. I see you as great potential for my first boyfriend."

Some of that sounds promising, but the sex part is a tad vague, so I'm like, "Uh-huh, I like hearing that." 

He looks at me, "You're my favorite person on earth." 

Well, let's face it, I don't have a great deal of competition for being his favorite person, but I nod my head again, then ask, "And where do we stand as boyfriend sex buddies? You know, if that's not being too personal." 

He laughs, "I'm feeling terrific about us as sex buddies, Zach. How 'bout you?" 

I make a goofy face, asking, "Are you feeling good enough that we're like boyfriend sex buddies, um, twice a day, or...?" 

He gets up and walks behind me. Sitting in my beach chair, I turn my head to see what he's up to. Putting a hand on each side of my shoulders, he leans over and, with his lips brushing my ear, he says, "I've really liked having sex with you before going to sleep these past two nights. Wanting to have sex with a specific person, meaning you, is a new cool, and sexy experience. Plus, I've had the two best night's sleep ever!" 

I mumble, "Um, oh, I expected you'd want, um... well, yeah, sex before going to sleep is great." He rubs my head, "So, now that that's settled, let's do our swim. That's another new and awesome thing you've got me doing... exercising." Huh? He thinks occasional swimming is exercising.

As we're walking to the ocean, Bruce's hand is gripping the back of my neck, but not too tightly. I say, "Um, yeah, exercising is good. Ah, just so I'm sure what you meant there a minute ago. You want to continue, ya know, to continue having sex before we go to sleep, and that's it." 

He says, "Yes, that's right. I don't imagine you can understand this, but it's only been the past couple of days that I've partially been looking forward to our sex." 

"You weren't looking forward to sex with me before, and now that you are looking forward to it, you're saying we'll do it once a day?" He nods, "Uh-huh, that's it exactly. Wanting to have sex with you makes it new and special."

As we step into ankle-deep ocean water, he squeezes my neck and says, "You may find this hard to believe, Zach, but if I didn't like you as much as I do, I'd be perfectly happy only having sex once or twice a month, or even once or twice a year. But, I do like you, and, as I said, I've been looking forward to our sex in bed before going to sleep."

There was definitely a good comment in there somewhere, um, the one about liking me so much but only having sex once a day... that's a huge disappointment. What's up with that? As I'm sorting that out, he adds, "I'm not sure how it's supposed to work, but sleeping together and having sex, well, if we're not boyfriends by now, I don't know what the hell we are. It's a good feeling for the first time in my life to finally connect with somebody this way." 

I don't say anything because, obviously, I expected his positive reaction to getting this stupid waiter job would mean he'd think more about the job and less about his distastefully negative sexual experience with the fun house and then Daytime and, consequently, forget about us being one-fuck-a-day boyfriends. 

But his horrid sexual experience is not the whole story. It's not just Daytime; it's apparently all the whoring sex Bruce has had to do over the years in order to merely survive. That's what screwed him up as far as relationship sex goes. And, Jesus, it's very disheartening to find out he's only been having sex with me because he's felt he owed it to me. I didn't know that, but now that I think about it, yeah, it did seem at times as if he was going through the motions, sometimes pretending he was aroused the way he did it for paying customers. And it's all pretty fucking ironic. I mean, now that he's developed feelings for me, he's stopping the obligation-fucking three times a day, and in its place, he'll have boyfriend sex once a day.

We've waded out to where the water is almost to our waists. Bruce stops us here, then lets go of my neck, "Hey, cheer up, Zach, now I wanna be your man... your boyfriend. I didn't think I would, but now I feel I do. And, yes, I know I'm letting you down by not trying to wean you off three sex acts a day, which I'm partially responsible for in the first place. I'm sorry about that; I really am. The thing is, I'm afraid if I tried doing that, it would screw up my sincere boyfriend-type feelings for you. So, um, you'll need to do the weaning yourself." 

"Seriously? You're telling me to hire pussy boys, hire them a little less each period until I wean myself off of fucking three times a day?"  

He says, "Watch out, Zach!" and pulls me to the side as a dufus middle-aged guy pushes a surfboard and almost runs into me. I yell, "Watch where you're going!" 

Bruce mutters, "Zach, listen. You shouldn't need to pay anyone for sex. Step into any gay bar, and within ten minutes, you'll be propositioned ten times." 

I mutter, "I don't have much experience in gay bars because Ronny wouldn't, um, but never mind that..." 

He rubs my shoulder and says, "I'm really sorry for letting you down." 

"Ah, fuck it; that's okay. I'm being childish, and you're an understanding adult." He snickers, then, "Sorry for laughing, but the way you said that was funny."   

I smirk at him, mumbling, "You've got a big advantage over me, don'cha? You know I love you, so you think you can have everything your way." 

He looks startled, "What? No! I care about you, Zach, but having sex once a day makes our sex special. I mean, why isn't one sincere, sexy encounter together enough? At least for now." 

Oh, just for now... that's different.

Before I can reply, a little girl with a large pug-nose, the ocean water almost to her neck, punches my side, saying, "Mister, that's my doll." I look down and see a blow-up toy of, um, something she calls a doll floating between Bruce and me. I swat it away, saying, "You're too little to be out this far?" 

At least she has floating things on her arms. I add, "You need to be much closer to the shoreline." 

She says, "Go to fuck," and I say, "You messed up that curse. Now get your, um, doll and paddle your fat little arms toward the beach." 

She says, "Up mine," and she goes on her way.

Looking back at Bruce, I mutter, "You're right. I'm glad you've agreed we're boyfriends, and I'm okay with whatever you decide. I'm good with it, um, for now." I put my arms around him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. The pug-nosed girl points at me and screams, "He kissed that man!"

Bruce mutters, "Go away, little girl," then to me, "Let's do our swim." I nod, and we start wading out past most of the people, then start swimming. He can't keep up with me, so I float every hundred yards and watch as Bruce slowly but steadily catches up. Seriously, not many guys can swim a mile. Bruce has an abundance of determination, though, and while it's a strain for him, he won't give up until I do. When I see him reaching his limit, I stop and claim it was a mile. He doesn't argue.

Back in our chairs, drying in the sun, I look at him, and we exchange grins. Hell, I guess one fuck a day with Bruce is worth three or four with a paid pussy boy. Hmm, not if the pussy boy is Jon Scheyer, though. I have a serious 'thing' for him. Oh, Gawd, he's so hot!

This new job of Bruce's, though... I can't imagine he's going to love waiting tables. I know I'd hate it. Even so, I'd bet a million dollars, I'll never hear one word of complaint from Bruce about it. This is the best frame of mind he's been in since I've known him, so if he won't complain, he's not going to hear me complain about anything, either. That being said, I'm already feeling lonely thinking about what I'll be doing by myself until three-thirty every day while surviving on only the one fuck the night before. 

Of course, Jon Scheyer would flash past my mind. It's crazy how wildly attracted I am to him, especially considering he's basically a pint-size arrogant bully. I could wrap him up and put him in my pocket. Instead, his unfounded arrogance and dominance are attractive to me. Whatever the reasons, as I said, I find him sexily hot and pretty much irresistible, although I will resist him somehow. I'm not going back to him with my tail between my legs.

At one o'clock, Bruce and I have lunch at the cafe where he'll be working. As soon as we get seated, the lady at the register, Anne-something, motions for Bruce to go over to her. He gets up from the table and walks over, and, oh shit, I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that something bad is going to fuck up Bruce's good mood. Nope, I'm wrong about that. He comes back smiling and carrying two T-shirts. 

Sitting down, he says, "Anne gave me two T-shirts with the cafe's logo to wear when I'm waiting tables." He holds one up, showing me the logo under the left shoulder... cool. He mumbles, "She told me to wear one of these T-shirts and tan shorts at work." 

Jeez, that's almost the pussy boy uniform. Bruce mutters, "I should buy a couple of new cargo shorts, though. Mine are ratty-looking. Would you mind taking me to Target again?" 

I shrug, "No, not at all. We'll stop at Target on the way home. Hey, and I want to take you out to dinner tonight to celebrate your job. The boys will be at Lee's tonight, so..."

He puts the T-shirts on the chair next to him and says, "Great! Thanks, and with my first paycheck, I'll take you out to dinner." 

I grin, "Okay, sure. Someplace expensive." 

"Yeah, like McDonald's, maybe." We chuckle at that. I love seeing the happy expression on Bruse's face, but I still can't get over the irony that now that he sees me as his boyfriend, he's cutting out two-thirds of the sex we've been having. I suppose I need to be careful what I wish for. Knowing he wants to have this nightly sex with me is better than when he was fucking me only because he felt he had to. I'm pretty sure this is better...

The cafe is just as crowded for lunch as it was for breakfast. I got a chicken salad sandwich, and it was okay. It tastes fresh and comes with chips and a wedge of Koser pickle for $12.95. Obviously, they're not losing money here. Then, when we finish lunch and we're walking back to the beach, Bruce says, "I'm terrible at doing this, Zach. I mean, I'm bad at saying a proper thank you, but I need to tell you how much I appreciate that you not only said you'd drive me to work, you didn't even hesitate, and you're good with our reduced sex life, too. We're boyfriends, and you showed how much you care by supporting me with this job. Thank you very much, um, for everything." 

I mumble, "You're very welcome, Bruce. You've thanked me plenty already, and I thank you for hanging in there with me." 

"Hanging in there with you? Zach, that's the best move I've ever made in my life. You don't need to thank me for that." Lightning things up a little, I cheerfully go, "And, now we're finally real boyfriends, huh?" 

He chuckles, then mumbles, "Yeah, I think so. I have zero experience at being a boyfriend, so feel free to enlighten me if I do something, ah, un-boyfriend-like." 

Smiling, I say, "I'm not sure there are boyfriend rules, but we could Google it or, better yet, just wing it and make our own rules." Back on the beach, we goof off about what rules we should have as boyfriends, then take a walk. Bruce says, "Christ, the beach always makes me feel like I need a nap." 

"There will be no afternoon naps from now on. We have to be sleeping by nine o'clock if we're getting up at five." He says, "Or, asleep by ten o'clock would be alright. Seven hours of sleep is enough for me." 

I mumble, "Anyway, it's not the beach; it's swimming a mile and walking two or three miles on the beach; that's why you want a nap. You're not used to this much exercise." 

"I know, but this is wonderful; the exercise feels good. I never did much of it in my previous poor excuse for a life." 

I'm thinking that over the past seven weeks, I've been doing the least amount of exercise I can ever remember doing. I can get back into working out at a gym while Bruce is waiting on tables. After finishing our walk, we sit under the umbrella without talking much. Then, I think of another thing I can do on my own, and it's read a book on the beach. What I don't want to do is intrude on Cowboy and Lee. They'd welcome me, but I've no interest in doing teenage stuff on the boardwalk or checking out boardwalks in Ocean City or Wildwood. Even if I did want to do that, I'd feel like a third wheel. Hmm, I can't remember the last time I read a book. 

Bruce says, "Let's pack up, Zach. We should shower before going to the Target store, and it's almost four o'clock already." Christ, I didn't realize that. I mutter, "Yeah, okay," and we close the chairs and pull the umbrella out of the sand. Dropping the chairs and umbrella off at the stand, Markie says, "Hey! It's my job to collect those things from the beach." 

Why's he upset? Oh, yeah, he doesn't get his tip this way. I mumble, "I'll remember next time, but here's your tip for being such a hot shit." I leave ten bucks on the counter, saying, "See you tomorrow, Markie." 

He says, "It's gonna rain tomorrow, Zach." Ha, that's the first time he's ever said my name. I say, "A day off for you then, huh? You and Jameson can, um, sleep in. I'll see you Saturday, hottie," and we walk up to the street.

Bruce says, "If it's going to rain tomorrow, there'll be fewer people venturing out for breakfast and lunch. There go my 'effing extra five dollars an hour in tips." We both chuckle as we get in the car, and then I say, "Yes, but an easy first day on a new job is perfect for get comfortable with, um, whatever." Bruce mutters, "I'm nervous about anything new, but I want to get started, too."

At the apartment, we both drink a bottle of water. I ask, "So, you want to shower before going to Target, right?" He swallows the last drop of water in the bottle and says, "Yes, since we're boyfriends, you, as the submissive one, need to bathe me as the dominant boyfriend." I grin and shrug, and he goes, "I'm pretty sure that's a boyfriend rule." Still grinning, I mumble, "I think it is too." 

Omigod, the change in Bruce's demeanor is incredible. It's so refreshing! He's so much more relaxed now, and he actually jokes around a little. The defensiveness that always seemed to be present with him is gone. It was a pride factor where he didn't feel he was carrying his weight, and now the relatively insignificant amount of money, insignificant to me, that he'll earn from this job makes all the difference in the world to him. That's honorable of him, but it's a little sad, too. 

"I'm ready when you are, Bruce," he says, "You are one agreeable boyfriend." He puts his hand on the back of my neck, chuckling and muttering, "This turn of events is unbelievably cool, really it is!" He's walking me into the bedroom, where we drop our bathing suits. Bruce asks, "Hey, Zach, Thursday is the day you usually do the wash, right?" 

"Uh-huh, I'll get the washing machine going right now." He nods, "Good. Put my bathing suit in with everything else. I'll take it with me tomorrow and change into it after work, then meet you on the beach." That's a plan.

This apartment has the luxury of a washer and dryer, which is one of the reasons Bruce chose it. And, yeah, he assumes that washing and ironing our clothes is my job. It's no big deal. I did random wash loads in college, although I never ironed anything. Being a spoiled trust fund brat, I'd buy new clothes rather than iron old ones. Reprehensible behavior, I know. Anyway, since Bruce moved in, I have ironed some things for us. It's not brain surgery, so I picked up on it right away. I don't mind doing it; in fact, it's something I crazily like doing for Bruce. He makes the bed up in the morning and, um, well, that's about it as far as Bruce doing chores, although he can cook a little, too. Mostly, he's in charge, so he needs to make decisions and all that. 

After starting the washing machine, I go back to the bedroom and see Bruce has laid out what he wants me to iron for him to wear to dinner. Looking in the bathroom's open door, I see Bruce is shaving, so I get the ironing board out and iron khaki pants for him, then the button-up-the-front short-sleeve shirt he put on the bed. Sadly, all of Bruce's clothes are pretty old-looking and worn out. He definitely needs some new clothes. 

Coming out of the bathroom wearing boxer shorts, Bruce mutters, "Thanks, good job ironing my khakis, Zach. Um, do you want a beer?" 

"Yeah," he says, and he gets me a beer and a Coke for himself. Then he makes a federal case out of hanging up the khakis I just ironed. Getting the pants on the coat hanger just right, he says, "We need to be at the restaurant before seven o'clock if we're going to be in bed by nine or ten. Getting to bed that early is going to seem weird, but we'll get used to it." 

That's doubtful.

It's great we're boyfriends now, and it's nice to see how calm and relaxed he is. It makes me realize how tense he was before. It was just how he was, so I got used to it, but the difference is very noticeable now. It must have been stressful for him to always be on edge. He was extremely apprehensive about that Philly job, but he felt he had to do it, and then it turned out to be shit, just like both of us felt it might. Not that either of us knew that the worst part would be unwanted rough sex from that guy, Daytime. I had no idea Daytime would be a sicko when I met him.

Well, I popped him in the nose a few times. He bleed all over himself, too. Anyway, I say, "I thought we'd have dinner at the upscale restaurant in the casino where you and I met. Whaddaya say to that?" 

"Wow, you've got iron balls, Zach. Richard hangs out in that casino's bar." 

"Ha! You can't possibly think I give a shit about running into him! I'd like to smack him a few more times, actually."

Bruce mumbles, "We need to get over that. Anyway, the casino is twenty minutes away, and we need to get to bed early. Find a restaurant around here." 

He can still be very bossy. "Okay, I'll Google for restaurants in this zip code." 

Bruce is watching me ironing his shirt, mumbling, "Any restaurant close to the apartment will do." 

"No, it won't! This is a special official boyfriend dinner celebrating your new job." He reaches for the shirt and makes another federal case, hanging it up. When he's done that just right, he mutters, "C'mon, let's go! Get in the shower, Zach. You can iron your clothes afterward." 

Well, he says we're officially boyfriends now, but, ha-ha, nothing has changed regarding who's in charge. Actually, that's good to see. For old time's sake, I go, "Yes, Bruce." He chuckles and mutters, "More pussy boy shit, huh?" He doesn't realize it's him who slips back into pussy boy mode.

Going into the bathroom, I lift his arm and put his hand on the back of my neck. He laughs, "Seriously, Zach?" I shrug, "I like that you're my leader, Bruce." Then I say, "Um, and I gotta tell you something." 

Taking his hand off my neck, he turns the shower water on, asking, "Yeah, what do you need to tell me?" I say, "Keeping with our being truthful trend; I had my twenty-eight birthday two months ago." 

He makes a face, mumbling, "Well, I knew you couldn't be twenty-three, um, unless you graduated college at nineteen." I shrug, "I never said I was twenty-three; it's what everybody assumed." 

He says, "Who cares? C'mon, what'd I tell you to do? Get in the shower stall!"

A small, cool shiver of submissiveness streaked through my brain as I did what I was told, and he followed me in, asking, "Do you think I'm going to act differently with you because you're twenty-eight?"  

"No, why would you? I just wanted to be upfront about it." He says, "Did you forget I lied about my age too?"  

"No, but as I said, I didn't actually lie about mine; I just didn't correct a misassumption." He says, "No problem, boyfriend, but, um, are you going to bathe me or not? I was under the impression you liked doing that." I grab the shampoo and say, "Now that you're soaking wet, you're supposed to stand here, and I stand under the showerhead." 

He grins and goes, "Yes, that's correct, but I have no intention of correcting anything you do wrong because we're not pussy boys; we're boyfriends doing something goofy." Squeezing shampoo on top of his head, I mumble, "Doing something goofy is new for you, isn't it?" He says, "Yes, but I'm feeling goofily happy about doing this. And, ya know, we can imitate Cowboy's and Lee's goofiness if we can't think of anything goofy on our own."

Shampooing his hair, I murmur, "Nice hair, Bruce." He mumbles, "I'm just getting used to not having a pussy boy haircut. I'm not sure I like it, but when I was a street whore before the pussy boy thing, my hair was shoulder-length. That sucked." Guiding his head under the shower to rinse the shampoo, Bruce wipes his face and says, "And we both agree that you look best with the haircut Jon Scheyer's gave you, right?" 

Ha, I couldn't care less one way or another. I mutter, "Whatever. My hair isn't something I care much about."  Washing his body, my hands sliding all over him, I get an achingly hard boner that bumps him repeatedly, but he doesn't say anything about it. Ha, I can tell he's trying not to laugh, though. 

I can't get over the fact that this is a brand-new Bruce Dunlop. I mean, except for him casually still a little bossily in charge, and I don't think he can be any other way except in charge. Fortunately for us, I'm more than willing to follow him. When I'm done bathing him, he goes, "That was another excellent job of spoiling me, which you do so well and which nobody else in the world has ever done even a little." 

He gets out of the stall, and I wash as he dries himself, saying, "I have a surprising urge to fuck you, Zach. I mean, it's surprising, considering that after that animal, Daytime's sex, I could easily and preferably do without sex altogether. But, after fucking you, I want to see if I have another one of those fabulous night's sleep." 

Well, I've agreed that; for now, we'll do one fuck per day. I like the direction other things are heading, so I'm not going to spoil that by complaining about anything. Whatever Bruce can give, I'll be grateful for, but I'm going to need more from a rented pussy boy. That's simply the fact of the matter.

Aside from that, we're going to Target, plus we'll do some food shopping, so, for now, we put on shorts and T-shirts. As Bruce gets dressed, I finish my beer and iron the clothes I'll wear for dinner. Then, when we're in the Target store, Bruce buys two pairs of tan shorts and a pair of tan skinny khaki pants. After he pays for those things, I suggest he needs new sneakers for the waiter job, and he says, "You're right, but I'm out of cash, Bruce." 

I offered to lend him the money, and without hesitating, he said, "Thanks. I'll pay you back when we get home." He means from the eleven hundred dollars he has at the apartment for next month's rent. I liked what he said when we got home. He thinks of the apartment as home. Sweet!So, Bruce is smiling again, mumbling, "This is fun, right." 

Seriously, he's not sure what it means to have fun.  So sad!

At the grocery store, I push the cart, and Bruce dumps in the stuff we need. Waiting at the deli section, a lady with a tattoo of a fist giving the finger on her neck slices cold cuts for us. Bruce asks me, "What restaurant did you find on Google?" 

"A restaurant that's ten minutes from the apartment," and then read from my cell phone, "Cafe 2825 is a white-table-clothed Italian-American restaurant bringing Brooklyn cuisine to the Atlantic City area since 1958," and then show him a picture of the classy-looking exterior, then the formal-looking interior. Bruce nods, "It looks pricey enough to satisfy you, and I love Italian food. Nice job, Zach." 

Oh man, I get all jittery when Bruce praises me. He liked how I ironed his clothes, liked my idea he needed new sneakers for his job and now this. I shrug, "I didn't do anything except Google." He smiles and says, "So, this is what life is supposed to be like. Gee, the shit I've been missing, and without a clue that I was missing it," and he hugs my shoulders. He's done more smiling today than all his other smiles in the past seven weeks combined.

The tattooed deli counter lady puts our wrapped cold cuts on the counter, and when I pick them up, she says, "Thank you for your service." Because of my haircut, she thinks I'm in the military. Well, I was a Navy Seal, so I say, "It's my pleasure to serve." After checking out at a register, Bruce says, "Rounding off half the cost of these groceries is $30.00, and my sneakers were $75.00, um, I owe you a hundred and five bucks." 

I get the three plastic bags from the kid who bagged our stuff, and while carrying them out, I say, "Pay me back when you get paid. There's no need to dip into the rent money." To my surprise, he doesn't argue, "Yeah, okay, thanks." 

It's the new Bruce.

At the apartment, we put the grocery items away and get dressed for dinner. Bruce looks nice and shiny clean with an extra gleam, also known as a smile. He combs his hair, and I go, "Bruce, don't take offense but, um... Here, let me have the comb." He chuckles, muttering, "What...?" I use the comb to turn his bangs into a little pompadour, saying, "There, now you look perfect and good enough to eat." 

He does one of his exasperated exhales, mumbling, "I suppose I need to let my boyfriend do gay shit like this, don't I?" 

I nod, "Uh-huh, you do; it's one of the rules." 

I called for a seven o'clock reservation, but they sat us early when we arrived at twenty of seven. Bruce says, "This is good; the earlier, the better." I

"You're feeling hyper about not being late your first day, right?" He says, "I like to be on time for everything, and I've never been a waiter, and I haven't eaten in many restaurants with waiters, so I guess I am a little nervous about doing it. I'm always apprehensive about doing something for the first time. I learned how to whore and then stuck cock, but that's my total working experience... almost my total life experience." 

"You're selling yourself short, Bruce. You know how to survive. You know how to do normal, everyday stuff that I never had to do, and so still don't know how to do. I'm learning from you." He mutters, "Thanks, Zach. I need to start seeing everything as half positive, half full instead of half empty the way you do."

We order drinks, and Bruce gets carded. I have a double Jack on the rocks with a splash, and Bruce orders a Manhattan." The waiter leaves, and I go, "Manhattan? Where'd you come up with that drink?" 

He shrugs and snickers, mumbling, "This place is too classy to order a shot and beer." I nod, "But why a Manhattan?" He shrugs, "It's what I thought of first. I've had a couple of Manhattans. Richard ordered them for me one time after a Florida shoot. For that video, I had to blow an entire baseball team in the dugout. That was the storyline... each player got a blowjob before going up to bat, and they all came in my mouth or on my face. Gross!" 

"Omigod!" He mutters, "And I only got paid six hundred dollars because it was my first video. Richard said I was a rookie on a rookie pay scale. He got paid ten times more than me, and he didn't do anything, but he was my main man... that's how it works."

When the waiter takes our dinner order, we get a second drink, and I order an overpriced $150 bottle of Chanti Classico. Bruce is having veal scallopini with spaghetti, and I ordered chicken parmigiana; both are pretty good. I know that because we shared our entrees. I drank about two-thirds of the wine bottle as Bruce isn't used to drinking wine and didn't appear to like it much. It's an acquired taste. I drank a glass of wine at dinner with my old man, Mac, from age fourteen... like the French.

We both had expresso and cheesecake for dessert, although Bruce didn't appear too fond of the expresso. It was another acquired taste. Still, he said it was the best meal he's ever had and was full of 'thank you, Zach' comments on the drive home. It wasn't the best meal I've ever had, not by a long shot, but it was okay. Bruce is checking the time on his cell phone, saying, "We're good, Zach. It's only eight-ten." I nod, thinking about getting fucked tonight. To say I'm horny would be a vast understatement, but I haven't mentioned it once.

Back at the apartment, I get our clothes from the dryer, and Bruce helps me fold them, saying, "You should have done this before we left for dinner. Plan ahead, okay, Zach? Don't make me do half your job like I'm doing right now." 

"Sorry." He shakes his head, "No, dammit. I was acting as your mentor again. I need to get over that." 

Still, I got the message.

After we finish folding clothes, Bruce wants a cigarette, and we each smoke one on the balcony. It's a cloudy night, so Markie was right; it is going to rain tomorrow. Bruce squeezes the back of my neck and shakes my head a little, saying, "Would you be pissed off if we skipped sex tonight?" 

"Yeah, very pissed." He chuckles, mumbling, "I would be too." Huh, he's into joking around now. He adds, "This is the beauty of having sex only once a day... it feels more special." 

I think sex anytime is pretty fucking special, but I murmur, "Yes, it sure seems that way."

I've got that jittery feeling now that it's this close to happening. It's like when you need to take a piss but hold it in without much difficulty until you're just about to do it... then it's like you're going to pee your pants. Bruce flicks his cigarette butt and says, "Let's wash up and brush our teeth." 

"Sure thing, boss." In the bedroom, we get undressed, and I'm fidgety as hell watching Bruce take forever hanging up his clothes. I tossed mine in the hamper, and now I'm standing here in my underwear, waiting for Bruce to stop getting the crease just right in his khaki pants before putting them on a hanger. Then he takes two hours, making sure his shirt is hanging just right on the coat hanger. Rubbing my face, I mumble, "Here, let me. I'll hang that up for you," and hang it next to his pants. 

He mumbles, "Thanks," and we go into the bathroom to stand together, pissing. I glance at his dick and lick my lips, saying, "Did I tell you that Jon Scheyer peed in my mouth once." Bruce makes a face, muttering, "That's disgusting."  "I know," although it wasn't disgusting. I felt incredibly submissive when he did that and then stayed submissive all through our sex that afternoon. It was scalding hot sex, actually.

Why did I tell him that?

After washing up at the twin sinks, Bruce takes a hundred years to brush his teeth with his new electric toothbrush. I finally mumble, "Um, it's getting late, don't ya think?" He turns off the toothbrush and rinses out, then says, "I think we timed this really well." 

I gulp, "Um, do you want me to suck a boner on you here?" He laughs, muttering, "Don't mess around, Zach. I'm getting anxious, but you need to get your ass lubed." We go into the bedroom with my dick beginning to throb. As I'm pushing KY lube in my asshole, Bruce gets in bed. What? I ask, "How about me sucking your dick?" 

He says, "Yes, but you can do that in bed," and then he yawns! Oh, no!

Well, he did say he needed a nap five hours ago. With my ass feeling gooey, I hit the light switch and said, "Don't you dare go to sleep on me, Bruce." He says, "No way! I'm up for having sex with my submissive boyfriend." 

Okay... I like the sound of that.

The light is off, but our bedroom has a window, so the light from outside, the moon, and a street light allow me to see Bruce. The bedroom window is another reason Bruce chose this apartment, but I mentioned that before. Whatever, I'm really anxious to do this!

Bruce is lying there with covers to his chest, his hands behind his head, and a welcoming smile on his face. In just enough light to see one another, I smile back at him. Getting on the bed, I pull the covers off him and get between his legs, forcing myself to be calm, although I'm anything but calm. I've got shivers all over me, shivers of excitement and anticipation. My fingers are shaking as I pick up his limp penis and squeeze it a little. It's a beautiful penis, and while there isn't enough light to see its color, I know it's pinkish/white, as is all Bruce's skin except where he's tan from the sunbathing we've been doing. Moving my eyes slowly up his slim body, even slimmer than mine, I see a taut, hairless body with subtle muscle definition, which is Nature's gift as he's never exercised or worked out. Well, except for the recent swimming we're doing together.

When my eyes reach his face, he grins, mumbling, "Whaddaya waiting for?" I murmur, "I want to drag out the experience because you can't imagine how much I love doing this with you." He murmurs, "Ahh, that makes me feel good." Nodding, my eyes go back to his cock, and I drop my head to lick across the curved mushroom-shaped head, then do it again, and my shoulders shudder on their own.

Oh, man, Bruce smells nice, so I lick his hairless groin, tasting and smelling him as my cock begins getting seriously hard, and that feels good too. Putting his cock's head in my mouth, I slide my tongue over it a few times, then push a few inches of the shaft in, too, making a pathetic-sounding, "Mmm..." I want to do everything at once but settle on covering my teeth with my lips and bobbing up and down on three or four inches of his cock until it's wicked hard. Taking it out, I lick up, and down all seven inches and Bruce goes, "Ahh, umm," and squirms as his hands go to my head.

His cock is hard as wood, so I push it against his belly and hold it there as I lick his balls, lick the inside of his thighs, and then all around his hairless pubic area. My cock is a raging boner sticking straight out as I moan while going crazy, licking Bruce under his balls, almost to his asshole. He goes, "Unum,' pushing my head away, grunting, "I'll turn over for you."

I sit up, panting and breathing heavily as my engorged cock bobs around with every move I make. He flops over, sticking out his ass, and I spread his buttocks and lick over his asshole. I know it's clean because I washed it myself. Precum drools from my boner as I lick over his tight rosebud anus with quick licks to loosen it up enough to get my tongue inside. I don't get a chance to do that, though, because Bruce moves away from my lapping tongue, grunting, "I'm gonna cum, Zach. Stop..." 

My heart's pounding, my boner throbbing as I sit up on my knees and take a deep breath. Bruce gets on his knees, saying, "Turn around on your hands and knees." I do that, and Bruce's boner pokes next to my asshole, then right on it, and, "Ahhh," the mushroom head plows right in past my sphincter muscle. I hardly notice the pain because it feels so good having a hard cock in my ass after all this time. Um, well, after more than twenty-four hours...

As usual, Bruce pushes it all the way inside my ass and humps against my buttocks a couple of times. A pain/pleasure thing is going on, and then he starts the short stabbing thrusts really fast as I'm like, "Ah, ah, ah!" The pain quickly takes a back seat and then a few longer thrusts, and I already feel as though I'm going to blow my load. My cock is pointing straight down with precum dripping on the bed, drip, drip, drip.

Bruce is breathing in gasps, doing long thrusts, smacking against me as I sway to a fro on my hands and knees; his hands on my hips grip hard, pulling me back into his thrusting. It's "Slap, slap, slap," and "Ah, ah, ah," with my fast-building climax reaching a dangerous point of no return. It's happening much too quickly, and then I go, "Aiiii," with cum streaking out from my petrified boner straight down to go 'Poof," against the bedsheet. Soaring climax sensations bloom and spread out from my groin as I shake and shudder, then shiver at the after-effects. Great climax, but it all happened in less than two minutes. Bruce doesn't last much longer. I hear a kind of garbled yell, him tight against my ass, one hump, and my insides gushing with cum. 

Bruce lies against my ass, his hands on my back partially supporting him as he gasps, then mutters, "Okay, that was quick." He pulls his cock out, sounding relieved, and falls over on his back, reaching for Kleenex on the bedside table. Relieved it's over or relieved his horniness has been taken care of?

Going up on my knees, Bruce gives me some tissues, and as I'm holding them to my asshole, I quietly mumble, "That's what happens when we go all day without fucking, Bruce. We blow our stuff in two minutes." 

"Well, I wasn't near a climax until you had yours. That kinda got me overly aroused or something."

Getting off the bed, still holding the tissues at my asshole, "Oh, no! Don't blame it all on me." He gets off the bed, wiping his dick with more Kleenex, saying, "Calm down. It felt fabulous, didn't it?" 

"Yes, of course, but I wanted to enjoy it for five minutes at least." We're walking into the bathroom as he's saying, "It will last longer once we're used to having sex once a day, and until then, you know what's available to help you if you need it, um, you know... wean yourself." 

"I know, but I'm not doing that." He says, "Your choice. And, damn, now I'm anxious to see if I have that fantastic night's sleep again." 

Okay, for now, I'm satisfied that Bruce finally likes us being boyfriends. It's new to us both, but I never expected having a boyfriend would mean less sex. On the other hand, I've admitted many times that I'm oversexed and intend to seek professional help about it in a few years. There are sex clinics, so it's not as if I'm the only person afflicted with this, um, malady. Bruce has unintentionally provided an opportunity, whereas I can do something about my oversexed situation myself. My motivation is strong to ensure that our current boyfriend status grows stronger, so I'm not going to bitch and complain about our one-fuck-a-day routine. After all, he has his problem of overcoming his whoring days and the various recent sexual mistreatments he's had to endure. We have opposite problems, but we can help each other overcome our hang-ups.

Wow, if that isn't a glass-half-full rationalization, I never heard of one. It's also a mature way of approaching what seems like a huge challenge, but I'm determined to give it an honest chance of working. Bruce said something about me getting used to it, used to having sex once a day with him, and that's what I'll give an honest chance to work. And, I'll be helping his nemesis of forgetting the whoring sex so he can fully enjoy relationship boyfriend sex. I'll do that by cooperating with his idea of nightly sex. Sure, it's like I have the harder task, but I'm the one who is more invested as I'm in love with him, and he isn't in love with me.

All of that is twirling around in my head as we cuddle in bed, getting ready to fall asleep. Then, I think of Jon Scheyer. I'm trying not to, but Jon made a significant impression. Goddammit, I almost wish I could be his recruit and be in business with him. Jesus, though, that's so immature and stupid beyond words. GAWD! 

Bruce's arm moves around me, and I lie partially on him, hugging him intimately. This makes me even more determined to make our relationship work and then watch it grow into something deeper as time goes by. That means no side sex for me, and I need to stop daydreaming about Scheyer! I have one last thought before falling asleep. It's that what was missing with Bruce and my sex tonight was passion on his part. Passion when fucking me is what Jon Scheyer has tons of. Probably for all his clients, but I've got to believe there was a little extra passion when John fucked me. Every time he fucked me...

The next morning, we woke up at five o'clock, and Bruce was a little nervous. He manages to smile while admitting he's anxious to get day one over to prove to himself he can do it. Of course, he can do it, who couldn't? He'll feel better about everything once he's actually experienced it. He finishes his bathroom routine while I iron his new cargo shorts. Coming out of the bathroom, he says, "I had another fantastic night's sleep. Sleeping with you is habit-forming." He rubs my head like he'd rub a ten-year-old's head, adding, "Nice job ironing my shorts." 

I quickly do my bathroom stuff, then get dressed as Bruce makes us coffees. When I come out of the bedroom, Bruce sounds nervous, mumbling, "I put the coffee in these take-put cups we bought at the grocery store yesterday." 

I nod, "Thanks," and take the cup he's holding out to me. He says, "Let's leave now. I'll be early, but that's a good way to start my first day." We go down to the car, Bruce remembering to bring his bathing suit. He has it in what he uses as a satchel—one of the plastic bags our groceries were bagged in.

With the top down on this cloudy morning, we smoke cigarettes and drink our coffees without talking during the twenty-minute ride to the boardwalk. I pull up and idle at the boardwalk ramp closest to the boardwalk cafe, which is also the ramp closest to the locker rooms. Bruce says, "Um, please don't come to the cafe for breakfast this morning, Zach. It would put extra pressure on me." 

I shrug, "Sure, okay."

Now, it would be perfect if Bruce leaned over for a quick boyfriend kiss goodbye, but he doesn't think of that. As he mumbles, "Thanks a million for driving me, Zach," and starts getting out of the car, I say, "Wait! There's a boyfriend rule about a quick kiss goodbye." 

He smiles, "I'll work on being comfortable doing that, but I'm not there yet. Kissing with guys is hard for me."

"Do you want to practice?" He smiles, "Oh, hell, why not? You're continually nice to me," and he leans over to kiss my lips so quickly I'm not sure he kissed me. Did our lips touch?

Still grinning, he mutters, "I felt silly doing that." 

"Good luck on your first day, Bruce. I know you'll be the best waiter that place ever had."  

"Thanks," he gets out, gives me a little hand wave, and jogs up the ramp. Jeez, it's worth being horny all day to have him as my boyfriend. I can't wait for three-thirty when I'm with him again.

Driving back to the apartment, I'm feeling optimistic and, well, fortunate that things between Bruce and me are going okay. It was a quick turnaround the way he's embracing our boyfriend status. Once the roadblock, in his mind, of not carrying his weight money-wise was lifted in the form of this job, he quickly embraced being my boyfriend. I'm not sure how sincere he is about it because, as he's said himself, he's not above taking advantage of a situation to further his cause of, um, his cause of what? Well, in his mind, surviving. 

Even if that's what he thinks he's doing now, and I don't think it is, even if it is, though, I believe I'll win him over in the long run. Hell, I may have done that already, but considering Bruce's history, a life history that I can't even imagine, there could be more to all of this than I can understand. And how does this line of thinking go with my glass-is-half-full outlook? It's negative thinking, but it's worth considering just the same.

At the apartment, I intend to go back to bed. Bruce fell asleep last night quickly, but I didn't, lying awake for a long time enjoying our snuggling. I need some more sleep, so I take three Tylenol to deal with a bit of a whiskey/wine hangover. I fall asleep, encouraged about the way things are going so far.

To be continued...