My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 38

During the ride back to the apartment, Jon says, "The whole time we were on the beach, I kept thinking we're wasting our time. We could be reviewing training exercises from your first three weeks." 

"But you said we wouldn't be doing any of that humiliating fraternity initiation horseshit." 

He huffs, annoyed, mumbling, "And we won't! Not during the final three weeks, anyway. We have a few weeks before starting the last three weeks of training for you and Bruce, who will be doing the weeks for a second time. Until then, I need to refresh your mind on some of the earlier training, which is important for reemphasizing that you know your place at all times You need to believe, not pretend, but actually believe in your brain that you're inferior to your trainer/mentor. That eases the way so future clients can sense that you're humble and that you want only one thing... to please them. Allow them to feel superior to you even though, in actuality, they're pathetic losers." 

Damn, some of the early training Bruce put me through that Jon wants to refresh in my mind sucks. I plead, "Please, Jon! I already know my place. I acknowledge that you're my boss, in charge. Plus, pussy boys I've hired all had superiority attitudes, not inferiority ones." Dammit, I sounded like I was begging.

Jon, sounding as if he were explaining something obvious to a ten-year-old, patiently says,  "Yes. Zack, but that's because those pussy boys were trained to recognize submissive clients so they can provide them with what they need. A blind pussy boy can tell you're a submissive individual who wants to be told what to do."

Sounding very whiny, I say, "How do they know, though? You don't need to do all..." 

Interrupting, Jon, getting irritated, says, "You'll learn how during the last three weeks of training. Goddamn! It's not foolproof, but when pussy boys realize they've misread a client, they immediately adjust their behavior accordingly." 

Hmm, yeah, that happened a couple of times with pussy boys I've hired. And Jon is trying to be nice about this. As I park the car at our apartment's assigned parking spot, I calm down and mumble, "Well, okay, but can you tell me which exercises from the first three weeks you're planning for me to do over again?" 

He mutters, "No, but none that are dehumanizing. The old manual has some bullshit exercises that are being greatly revised; some are eliminated. Richard spent three days in New York with his stepdad, reevaluating the pussy boy clubs and the old training manual. You heard him talk a little about that." 

That still doesn't tell me what he has in mind, and now he's out of the car walking toward the building's front door, so I catch up with him to use my key, opening the door for him. Going up the steps, he says, "Here are some general exercises I have in mind for you to do. Minor things like putting you in the corner so you'll have solitude to think about your attitude, you'll be naked at all times while I'm not, they'll be full-body inspections, I'll spank you, obviously, but only with my hand, you'll re-watch some of the how-to videos, and generally reacquaint yourself with a docile and obedient frame of mind that will help the last three weeks go smoothly. These are very basic exercises. Now, I don't want to hear any more whining from you. Okay?"

Yes, Jon."

Huh, well, that doesn't sound like any fun, but as long as it doesn't include the horrendous exercises, it's doable, I suppose. Hell, Bruce was talking about spanking me with a paddle right up to the day he went to Philly. He claimed spanking me was doing me a favor by helping me feel submissive to him. Being submissive makes sex better for me. In a way, he's right, and, anyway, I said I'd have a positive attitude about being a trainee again for Joh Scheyer this time, and I did give my word of honor, so we'll see. Plus, Jon makes my dick dance in my pants. He's so fucking cool!

Inside the apartment, Jon goes, "So, are you going to cooperate?" I nod, "Yes, Jon." 

He rubs my severely barbered head, muttering, "That's a good boy... heh-heh, good trainee, too."

How the hell can a homeless teenager as small as Jon turn into a hard-ass like Jon with so much confidence and control over men older and larger than him? I have no idea, but Jon's got it, and sometimes he makes my dick shrivel up and other times he makes my dick hard. Interrupting my musings about him, Jon says, "Okay, listen up, Zack! I worked out the program we'll follow while you were on the balcony earlier, but it doesn't begin until tomorrow. For now, I'm going to give you your freebie sex for today. Later, we need to get our asses to downtown Philly and see what's up with Bruce and tell him the good news." 

Oh, okay! The sex freebie will get my mind off Jon's retraining plans. Who am I kidding, though? I'm committed to doing his training, and I'll be trying to impress him, too.

I grin, nodding, agreeing with him as he adds, "Let's go in the bedroom and, um, but first, I gotta take a piss; then you can suck my cock, but not all the way because there won't be time to recharge by nuts if I blow my load down your throat." 

Like a good boy, I'm nodding in agreement with whatever Jon says again, my ass twitching as I lick my lips. Oversexed? Well, yeah, I've admitted I'm oversexed twenty times already, but so what? We drop our bathing suits, pull off our T-shirts, and then go into the bathroom naked to stand beside one another, pissing. Jon says, "I can save a drizzle of urine for you. Would you like that?" 

Rolling my eyes, I mumble, "Surprise me." 

He slowly shakes his head and says, "See, Zack, that had a smart-ass tone to it. I prefer you phrase comments in the form of a question. For example, you should have said... please surprise me, okay? Always, more or less, asking permission to be sure I'll be okay with whatever. That's the proper way to communicate with your superior. Eventually, it trains you to do it automatically with those clients who insist on being in charge of the situation. The submissive clients, you don't need to say much because they'll be anxious to please you."

"Yes, Jon. Sorry."

Back in the bedroom, Jon says, "All freebie sex will be basic sucking and fucking, so lubricate your asshole." 

I quickly put a lot of lubricant in and on my anus, anxious to have his cock in my mouth and then inside my rectum. Jon watches me lubing up, then says, "That's good; now get on your knees and hunch over. I'm shorter than you, but pretend I'm a short client whom you need to accommodate. Freebie sex will double up as a minor training exercise." 

"Yes, Jon." 

"And, please begin saying that with conviction, as if you sincerely mean, Yes, Jon." 

Sounding humble and very sincere, I clearly say, "Yes, Jon!" 

He mutters, "That's better. Now, do you see why I need to retrain you in certain areas?"

Trying to look as humble to Jon as I feel, I say, "Yes, Jon," and he nods, "Very good."

Christ, though, it seems like almost everything we do is a form of training in Jon's mind. Bruce was like that when he first recovered from the funhouse horrors, but since then, he's consistently been moving away from relating everything to pussy boy training. He'd begun acting more like my boyfriend by the time we went to Philly. Of course, he's still my man in charge, but without pussy boy affiliation. I thought I was winning him over to a boyfriend's way of thinking. Now, Goddammit, I'm sure Jon's right that Bruce will jump right back into the pussy boy program.

Meanwhile, I'm back under the control of a committed pussy boy again, and Jon's getting into it heavier by the hour. And I'm going along with him. I can't help it!

Blanking that from my mind, I get on my knees in front of the diminutive Jon and pick up his chubby, almost five-inch penis with my thumb and forefinger to do a little stroking on it. He says, "Remember, when my dick leaks precum, stop, or I'll blast off and won't be able to fuck you." 

Concentrating on saying it with conviction, I say, "Yes, Jon." 

"Okay, now you're getting it, Zack. Keep it up. Say 'Yes, Jon," in your head whenever you're not doing anything. Practice it in your head and out loud."

"Yes, Jon." 

Before taking a piss, he's holding his penis, nodding for me to kneel in front of him, which I'm eager to do. After a dozen strokes, moving his foreskin up and back, his penis firms up, and I hunch down to its level and put the head of his cock in my mouth to lick it. Jon goes, "Ahhh, yeah..." and, shocking me, he lets loose a short stream of urine, maybe two ounces of body temperature pee. I gulp and then swallow without consciously thinking, 'I'll swallow Jon's piss.' It has a sharp taste, warm, bitter, and salty. When he sees me swallow it, he asks, "How was that?"

Coughing, then taking his cock out of my mouth, I look up and say, "It was warm, bitter, and kinda salty. I've got shivers going up and down my back because it was incredibly dominantly sexy of you to do that, and it greatly aroused me." 

He raises his eyebrows, saying, "Oh, so you enjoyed it, huh?" 

I shrug, "I don't know if I enjoyed it, but it was your urine, and I've swallowed enough of your semen, so a little of your urine, I guess, doesn't bother me." 

He nods, "Put my dick back in your mouth and take the rest of the piss I needed to take in here." 

I do that, and nothing happens. for a second, and then a long stream of urine comes out. It's a full mouthful of piss, even more than a mouthful, as I need to swallow twice and then a third time quickly. I see him tighten his groin, and another stream of his piss flows into my mouth but only about half as much. I swallow, and then one, two, then three little squirts of piss shoot out, all of which I swallow.  

Jon nonchalantly mutters, "Good, you did what you were told. Now, the blowjob, Zack."

I go back to sucking on Jon's firm penis. The flavor of his piss is still very noticeable in my mouth, but the level of submissiveness I'd expect from swallowing his piss never materialized. That's puzzling, but I get back into sucking his dick, my arms around him, my hands gently squeezing his butt cheeks, one cheek in each hand. I keep my face pressed against his groin, the head of his cock in my throat as I drift into my private dreamy, submissively sexy world, almost forgetting what I'm doing. When I realize I need to breathe, it snaps me out of my dreamy state, and I move my head back until the head of his boner comes out of my throat. After taking a deep inhale around his boner, I take his hard-boned-up cock from my mouth to start licking his nuts. 

Jon was already very aroused from peeing in my mouth because, and precum drools from his cock after only three licks on his balls. His hands have been on my head the whole time, and now he pushes my head away and confirms what I thought. He goes, "Holy crap, that urine play turned me the fuck on!" 

Huh, and I didn't care for it at all.

He takes a deep breath, then mumbles, "Whew, we'll do more of that. I've had clients who paid me to stand in the bathtub, and they'd pissed on me. That got them off like wild animals. Sometimes I'd need to jerk off as they pissed on me... nasty business, but it turned me on slightly. Big tippers, too! You and Bruce will be training in the urine play category for half a day. He's already been through it once, so he can tell you what it's all about and maybe get through it in less than half a day."

Uh-huh, we'll have to see about that. Jon goes, "For now, though, drop your hands to the floor, and I'll fuck you doggie style." 

I need to spread my knees apart to lower my ass in deference to his height. It's not a problem if I don't need to walk on all fours as I did before. Oddly, I thought I liked doing that, but after doing it two times, I've decided it's not worth the effort. 

Jon can't resist slapping my ass a few times; everybody does that, and the "SMACK! SMACK!" sound rings out. I quietly mumble, "Ow, ow." Then he mounts me in one giant BAM! His chubby boner swiftly goes all the way up inside me in one big thrust, and I groan, "Awww! Fuck..." and grit my teeth, keeping other groans to myself, then try embracing the pain even as it's fading. 

Now I'm appreciating more than ever the way Bruce did a helluva good job tenderizing my anus, teaching it to expect and accept different-sized intrusions three or four times a day, and Jon has continued doing the same.

The thrusting begins immediately. To Jon, this is a job, not a pleasure. This is his one-day rent payment for staying here. It saves me a hundred and fifty dollars, although I'd expect a better fuck than this if I'd actually given him the money. Jon's goal is to get me blowing my load, and then he'll pull out, considering the debt paid. He's fucked me like that a couple of times, and I probably should have complained I wasn't getting my money's worth, but my climaxes were okay, so I didn't. 

Holding onto my hips, Jon's going at it hot and furious, "Slap, slap, slap," doing the thrusting with a fast, smooth rhythm involving all almost-five inches of his boner, his crotch smacking against my ass with every thrust. After the first fifteen seconds, it's pain-free thrusting but with no exceptional pleasure. Mostly, my prostate starts ringing its bell, and finally, the waves of pleasure from that get me moaning, "Oh, oh, oh, ah, ahh, ahh," with my back arching. My anus started up with that delicious feeling of a big itch being scratched wonderfully by Jon's chubby, hard boner sliding tightly back and forth. It's moving so tightly, his boner is almost pulling the lips of my anus inside with the thrusts and then pulling them outward with the withdrawal, all very quickly, in and out, in and out... now it's pretty good, but I already knew Jon could fuck great!

Two, then three minutes of that, and Jon begins grunting at the effort. Pretty quickly, though, his efforts pay off as my climax comes roaring up on me. I hold my breath, try humping my hips, and then, "Ahhhh," cum explodes from my diamond-hard boner in a long streak of white cream, BANG! Shaking, then grabbing my cock to squeeze it, then pulling my hand tightly up the six-inch shaft, shuddering, and then shivering at the sweeping after-effects that leave me limp. Jon has already pulled out and uses tissues to wipe the lube off his still partially hard cock. He sees me shuddering and mutters, "That more than covers my rent."

I'm taking deep breaths, still feeling pleasant tingling in my ass and all around my groin. Taking one more really deep breath, I'm like, "How can you pull out like that without going all the way?" I'm looking back at him, getting ready to stand, when my foot slips in my streak of cum. 

Making a face,  Jon says, "It's part of my job to pull out as soon as my client gets off. I learned on the street to do my duty and earn my money but then pull right out as soon as my client gets off because I might need to spring another boner in ten minutes. That's if I'm lucky enough to get another job that quickly. I'm like the Boy Scouts' motto: be prepared, ya know?"

Standing up, I grab some tissues to wipe my foot, then dab at the lubricant that's almost liquid because of the friction-heat caused by Jon's moving cock past my tight anus. He says, "We smell like the beach. C'mon, we'll take a quick shower together." 

We don't practice me bathing a client this time. We're bumping into one another in the shower stall, taking turns under the showerhead, lathering up, then bumping into each other again while rinsing. After drying ourselves, Jon puts a pair of cargo shorts on the bed, saying, "Iron these while I make a call. I like crisp creases in the legs." 

I do some ironing for Bruce, so I get out the ironing board and do a careful job ironing his shorts, using plenty of Niagara spray starch to iron a stiff crease on each short leg. Then I iron a pair of shorts for myself without the spray starch because I don't like the crease. It looks stupid on shorts.

He's talking on the phone in the living room, but I heard him say 'Eli' several times. He's telling Eli what he's going to do with me and Bruce. After he finishes his call, Jon comes back into the bedroom, and we get dressed. He tells me, "Look, the only reason you're seeing Bruce is so you can bring the money he earned safely back here, which is smart. Eli wants me to do all the talking about Richard giving Bruce another chance. Eli's my main man, which makes him yours too, so you'll do what he said and leave the talking to me." 

Sounding like I mean it, and I do mean it, I say, "Yes, Jon."

In the car, I program the address, 110 Broad Street, Philidelphia, into the GPS, and then off we go with the top down. Jon must almost yells to be heard over the sound of traffic and wind as he tells me, "Eli is going to talk to Richard about getting me out of the locker room job. And, he's volunteered to help me with your retraining. He can spare an hour or so each day. I told him my plans for your program during the next two or three weeks, and he wants me to add a few things. Not those absurdly idiotic exercises, but a couple of, um, a little harder ones for you. You won't like them, but Eli is our boss, so you'll do the exercises."

I yell, "Can you tell me what exercises?" 

He sounds pissed, yelling back, "You don't question us! Christ, I told you that before, and Eli's right. You've been away from the training too long. You need to be put back in your place. Your place is one where you wouldn't think of asking that question, certainly not in that tone of voice!" 

Oh, fuck, but I'm numb to all this shit by now, and it's easier to simply mutter, "Yes, Jon. I'm sorry." He slaps the back of my head, but not too hard, saying, "You really do have a lot of shaping up ahead of you, so get back to that attitude I saw earlier where you want to learn and make yourself a better pussy boy."

That's all we say the rest of the way, except when we're approaching the Walt Whitman Bridge, Jon yells, "You're obviously pouting. Get over it before we meet Bruce, or it won't be pleasant for you when we get back to the apartment." 

I say, "Yes, Jon," sounding like I mean it, and I guess I do.

I wasn't pouting, though; I was wondering how I could be so stupid as to get myself back into this shit storm... haha! Plus, I'm imagining Bruce and Jon high-fiving when Bruce hears he's back in the pussy boys organization. Goddammit, that hurts! I mean, after all the things I've done to help Bruce break out of that lower form of life, he chooses to go back to that. I'm such a loser! Or, I supposed I should have said, Bruce is such a loser.

Following instructions from the lady's annoying voice on the GPS, I pulled up and parked right in front of 110 Broad Street, with the voice unnecessarily saying, 'You've arrived at your destination.' 

Jon says, "That 'effing GPS, um, it's uncanny the way it stopped us right next to the address. Un-fucking-believable!" I turn off the car, mumbling, "It's satellites and shit." He goes, "Goddamn, that's cool. What have I been missing?" 

He's missing a lot, but I don't mention it. I'm more than a little pissed that Eli has inserted himself into my re-training situation. Jon was going to go easy on the stupid retraining. I don't suppose Bruce will care what I need to go through, not as long as he gets back in the pussy boys. We get out of the car and, frustrated, I slam my door shut. Jon turns around and points at me, saying through clenched teeth, "You better shape up quickly! Your attitude blows right now, and I won't tolerate any more of it. Got it?" 

Oh fuck, so I make myself sound intimidated and sincere, "Yes, Jon."

We're going up the four steps to the front door when Bruce abruptly opens the door, saying, "Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Zach! Um, but what's with that pussy boy haircut? I thought you wanted..." Then he notices Jon behind me and goes, "What the fuck are you doing here, Scheyer?" Then to me, "How do you know him?" I'm like, "Oh, I was horny, and you said you didn't mind if I..." 

Jon interrupts, saying, "Bruce, I've got awesome news, listen." and then Bruce interrupts with, "I don't have time for you and your awesome news, dink."  

Dink?

Bruce pulls me inside, saying, "Here, take this envelope, Zack. It's my $2400 for eight days' work." 

I nod, "Is everything okay?" 

Shaking his head, he goes, "No! It's turned into a horrendous situation. Me and three others needing to sleep at the construction site with guns the first three nights preventing vandals from stealing the copper, and then the foreman, who was going to be my roommate, dragged me here and has been basically raping my ass since then." 

I'm like, "What?" My muscles bulging. Omigod, I'd love to let off some built-up steam and frustration on somebody's head.

Jon has followed us inside this row home, saying, "Will you stop for a second, Bruce? Jesus, just listen to me for one fucking minute!"  

Ignoring Jon, Bruce drags me over to a window in the kitchen that looks out onto a small backyard, pointing and saying, "See that fucking big black guy with the beard?" 

"Oh, yeah. I remember him from Luca's place. He has a strange name. Daylight, right?" Jon keeps following us, saying, "Goddammit, Dunlop, will you listen to me? You're going to fuck yourself up, dude!" 

Bruce says to me, "His name is, Daytime, not Daylight, not that it matters what the fuck his name is." Jon gets between us, saying, "Listen to me, Dunlop! Eli and I have gone through a lot of trouble to get you another chance with Richard." 

Bruce stops and says, "Eli? What does he have to do with me? He's a good guy, but, um... What are you talking about?" 

Jon has Bruce's attention now. I stand here holding the envelope as Jon slows down and says, "Eli is my main man. He's tight with Richard, and as a favor to me, he went through a lot of trouble getting Richard to agree you could be reinstated without spending any more time at that pussy boy club. You can hook up with me, and I'll be your mentor/trainer/main man."

Bruce frowns, "You?" He looks at me, "What's he talking about?" 

Jon goes, "Don't talk to him. He's nobody, Bruce. Talk to me." 

Bruce is still looking at me, so I say, "I gave my word that if you'd be Jon's trainee, I would too." 

Bruce frowns, "Trainee?" 

Jon says, "Richard's approved it! You two will be on the street together after the three weeks of training... you'll be back in the club, Bruce!"

Looking at me again, Bruce goes, "You're continuing with this, but..." 

Jon says, "What's wrong with you, Bruce? Stop talking to him! He'll belong to me for at least three years. He does what I tell him, and, um, you better start listening more closely to me yourself." 

Bruce looks back at him, and Jon adds, "Pay attention, for Christ's sake! Right this second, Eli needs to know that you're back in the club, so what would you like me to tell him?" 

Bruce frowns, and Jon says, "I know, you're speechless, right? It's true, though; we got you back in the game, brother. Well, there are some papers that you and McMann here need to sign, and then you'll make a video stating your agreement with the rules, discipline, and so forth. But right now, what have you got to say to Eli and Richard?"

Bruce says, "Um, how about this? Text Eli that he can go fuck himself, and so can Richard, plus you can all stick the rules up your asses." 

Bruce is skinny but almost as tall as me, so Jon steps back when Bruce takes a step toward him. Jon's expression is as if Bruce spoke in Greek. He shakes his head in disbelief, unable to believe what Bruce said. He says, "Huh? You must not understand me. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What the fuck's wrong with you?"  

Bruce says, "Go ahead, text Eli what I just said. Zach and I are not interested. I like Eli, but he has no business sticking his nose in Zach's or my life. We're doing fine without him, without you, and definitely without that pinhead, Richard."

Jon isn't the only one who can't believe his ears. I can't believe what I'm hearing, either. With my mouth hanging open, I try to comprehend this totally unexpected turn of events. I was positive Bruce would jump at the chance to continue his dream of becoming a rich pussy boy main man. I didn't think he'd care that he had to start almost from the beginning again. I thought, as Jon and Eli thought, it was a foregone conclusion Bruce would be all in with that, high-fiving Jon and kissing his ass.

Turning back to me, Bruce says, "Come over here a second," then to Jon, "This is a private. Why don't you wait in the corner till we're done talking." 
Jon yells, "Fuck you! Your brain must be fried passing up this golden opportunity to be somebody." 

Bruce takes a step toward him, and, like before, Jon takes a step back. Bruce says, "Stay!"

My heart is pounding so freakin' hard as I try to believe this is happening. I'm stunned. Pulling me a few steps from Jon, Bruce quietly says, "Um, what I wanted to ask, ah, well, what would you say if I wanted to bail out of this altogether? Do you think the $2400 will get me through until we start that business you've talked about?" 

Holy shit, am I dreaming? Since when does anything go my way?

Nodding my head, I'm like, "Uh-huh, sure." As if he needs to convince me further, he goes, "This Daytime asshole is a real motherfucker. I hate him and throw up in my mouth every night sleeping with him." He shows me his wrists with a ring of bruises around both, "The fucker ties my hands at night." 

I'm trying to get my head around all this while, in the background, I hear Jon on the phone muttering and cursing, to Eli I suppose.

Gathering my wits, I say, "Holy shit, um, get your stuff, and we're outta here." 

Bruce points at a door, saying, "Everything I brought with me is in that bedroom. I put it all in a bag when that perverted Daytime went out back to do shit with his little vegetable garden." 

I nod, "Whatever. Go get your stuff, and let's get the hell out of here." 

Bruce goes into the room, and I shrug at Jon, saying, "I'm sorry, Jon, but he doesn't want to do it, so I don't either. I like you a lot, though, so don't pout. I'll give you a lift back to the apartment." 

"Hey, Zach, you can still do it without him. C'mon, don't pass this up. We'll be a great team, and I like you, too!" 

I say, "Seriously, I'm sticking with Bruce. You should tell Richard I might come to his office someday soon and fuck him up again, but I don't want to do that to you, Jon. I thought I was falling for you, but the minute I saw Bruce, all those feelings I thought I had for you went POOF. You're still an amazing guy in my eyes. I liked our time together a lot, a real lot! I still like you, so..."

He bites his lower lip, perhaps coming to the realization he's in an untenable position here. Bruce is clearly antagonistic towards him, and I'm his ride back to Atlantic City. He nods, saying, "Uh-huh, and I'm still very fond of you too, Zach. The good news is that Eli said we'll give Bruce time to think about it. Obviously, he's been under a lot of stress here." 

Fuck Eli, Bruce was emphatic about not wanting anything to do with the pussy boys."

Bruce is back with a shopping bag bulging at its seams, saying, "Daytime will be coming in any minute. We should leave." 

"Yep, let's go. I'm parked right out front." 

Bruce says, "I know. I was anxiously looking for you, and my heart leaped when I saw your hot BMW pull up. Seriously!" he gives me his cute smile. He's always had a cute smile, although he doesn't show it very often. Jon is just hanging there, trying not to draw any attention to himself. I motion at him, "You too, let's go, Bruce."

The three of us start for the front door when it bursts open, and Daytime frowns, asking, "What the fuck?" Then, pointing at me, he goes, "You're the, ah, I know you." 

I say, "Yes, you do, but you've been a bad boy, Daytime." 

He glances at Bruce, holding his bag of belongings, and goes, "What do you think you're doing?" 

I say, "He is leaving because he finds your company unacceptable, and, Daytime, I do too," and, quick as a wink, I punch him twice in the face. Blood spurts out, but he doesn't go down. He growls, "You motherfucker! Sucker punches, is that the best you got?" 

Telegraphing it a mile away, he swings a roundhouse fist that I easily sidestep. You see, muscle builders like Daytime mistakenly think their muscles make them tough, and they do make them strong for weight lifting, but they don't know how to box, street fight, or do any kind of fighting. And they're so scary-looking that no one wants to fight them, so they don't know that they can't fight.

He's off-balance after the errant roundhouse, so I put two hard punches into his solar plexus, and his diaphragm pushes all the air out of his lungs. He goes, "Omps!" and doubles over. I could do serious damage to him in this vulnerable position, but then I'd be as big a bully as he was to Bruce. 
Jon goes, "Oh, fuck," and scurries out the door. Bruce hisses, "Hit him again, Zach." 

Shaking my head, I say, "No, you can if you want, but I'm..." and shake my head again. As Bruce thinks about it, Daytime sits on the floor, trying to get his breathing going again. Looking at me, Bruce mumbles, "No, you're right," and we walk outside as I deal with the adrenaline rush... again.

In the car, I'm trying to get the blood that's rushing around my head under control. Jon, who got in the back seat, says, "Pass that bag back here, Bruce. There's plenty of room." 

Ha, he's decided to try sucking up to us by being nice now. Confusion reigns in my head as I try to put everything in perspective, but it ain't easy as I'm very unused to things going my way lately.

Driving away, I'm aware of an awkward situation when Bruce sees Jon's stuff in the bedroom. We're not going very fast on these busy streets, so conversation is no problem. Bruce holds his hand up, saying, "Look at my hand, Zach; I'm shaking like a girl. Oh man, I'm so glad to be driving away from that nightmare." 

I ask, "What about your friend, Luca?" 

"Fuck him. He puts that animal, Daytime, in charge of both crews at the construction site, and he goes off to work some normal job. And, he let Daytime do whatever he wanted with me." 

I'm still having a hard time believing this is happening and can't get my thoughts together to say anything. Bruce looks tense. Still, he has what I believe is an expression of relief on his face, and, looking in the rearview mirror, I see a totally different expression on Jon's face. 

Hmm, I know I'm a sap, but I can't help feeling kinda bad for Jon. Sure, he's a self-centered, manipulative bastard, but I liked him, and he gave me some awesome sex. I think Jon's in shock as he sits in the back seat holding Bruce's paper bag full of clothes. We're getting close to the Walt Whitman Bridge when Bruce mumbles, "The only good thing that animal, Daytime, did for me was seeing that I got paid. Four other guys were told they'd be paid next week. I doubt they'll be paid, though."

Across the Walt Whitman Bridge, it's all high-speed driving to Atlantic City, so no one tries talking above the wind and traffic noise. When we arrive at the outskirts of the city, Bruce says, "It's so great being back here. I have to say, um, Zach, I wish I had the words to thank you properly. You've been my lifesaver twice now." 

I say, "That's okay, um, but I was sure you'd want to finish the three weeks for Luca and then get back in the whoring game." 

He mutters, "I don't know why you'd think that."

Hmm, I gotta tell him about Jon, so I say, "My mistake. Um, and obviously, I'm so glad I was wrong on both counts. But, ah, since I thought you'd stay with Luca's job, I was going to let Jon bunk in with me until you finished the job. He lives in a shit hole, and..." 

Bruce says, "No! He's not staying with us." 

Jon yells, "And I don't want to stay with you assholes, so don't worry about it."

Turning my head, I go, "I'm sorry, Jon, but Bruce is my man, and what he says goes." 

Jon yells, "No shit. You're such a pussy, Zach." 

Bruce swings his arm back, trying to smack Jon, but Jon leans away from it, saying, "And you're a cunt, Dunlop. All the favors people did for you, but you'd rather suck all the money you can get out of this spoiled twenty-three-year-old rich child." 

Bruce yells, "Shut the fuck up! No one did shit for me in the pussy, boys, and I pay my way.  Don't I, Zach?" 
I look in the rearview mirror at Jon and say, "I haven't given Bruce a Goddamn thing, Jon. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You've got a basic mean streak in you, and I can't believe I let you get on top of me the way you did." 

"And I can't believe what a pussy you are. Anybody with a dick can get on top of you. Christ, I had you wrapped around my little finger in twenty-four fucking hours."

Bruce yells, "And now you don't, do you, shithead?" 

Jon goes, "What you don't know, Bruce, is I fucked pussy boy, Zach, up and down and all around the room, and he paid up the nose for it, didn't you, little boy?" 

I screech on the brakes, swerving against the curb and slamming the car into park. Jumping out, I walk quickly around to the other side of the car, grab Jon's waist with both hands, lifting him up and out of the car; he goes, "Ahhh!" Dropping him on the sidewalk, he stumbles and sits on his ass. I try calming myself down and say, "This is close enough to your apartment. You can walk from here. I'll drop your clothes off at your apartment. Goodbye, Jon."

His face is bright red, and he looks petrified, but I don't want to hurt him. I mumble, "You're a perfect dominant top, Jon," and then get back in the car. He waits until I start pulling away before yelling, "And you're a childish pussy!" 

Bruce raises his arm, giving Jon the finger, and I drive us to our apartment twenty minutes away. 

Neither Bruce nor I say anything during the drive, and all the way, I feel bad for Jon. He can't help the way he is any more than Bruce could at first. I'll try making it up to Jon a little later and give him some money or something. Not for sex, though, because I've got my man back. My man with the seven-inch penis and its smooth curved big mushroom head. I'm hoping my man picks up where he left off and gets right into his bareback fucking. 

When I'm pulling into our parking lot, I glance at him and enjoy seeing his strangely cute face again, looking younger than twenty-two. Shit, I can't wait for our Jim Beam shot and beer, us clicking the shot glasses and toasting that we won again. Bruce said I'm his lifesaver, but he saved me from a lot of shit by saying no to the pussy boy reinstatement offer. And I'm actually looking forward to his well-intentioned spankings too. He thinks it gets me in a submissive frame of mind so I can enjoy our sex better. The spanking isn't what gets me submissive to him, but I don't want to ruin something he thinks he's doing for me. 

Apparently, Bruce isn't thinking about any of that, though. If he is, he doesn't mention it. Inside, he puts his trash bag full of clothes and toiletry things down, sits in an armchair, and asks, "Where are the guys?" 

"They're at Lee's house." Holding a little paper tablet, I say, "Cowboy left me a note saying he's staying with Lee tonight. They're a couple of hotties, huh?" 

He nods, "Yeah, they're living the kind of gay teenager's life I wish... well, that ship has sailed." Then he asks, "And what about you? I can't believe you got that pussy boy haircut because of that dink, Scheyer. I mean, you didn't want me to do that for you, did you?" 

"Um, Jon's not a dink. And, ah, it just seemed like the thing to do since I thought you'd go for their offer, and I'd be back in the program." 

He says, "Why didn't you just say no?" 

I'm shaking my head, muttering, "I don't know. He had fucked me really good and... You know what, Bruce? I'm tired of being beaten up by guys like Jon and, yes, you. He conned me into giving my word of honor, and, hell, he's right, I'm a pussy, so I said yes. Then he sat me down and gave me this pussy boy haircut. I had no problem with it because he's dominant, as are you, and I'm pathetically submissive to dominant young gay men. And, I'm getting sick of, um... I don't know exactly what I'm getting sick of, but I'm getting sick of something!"

He makes a face, chuckles, then shrugs and says, "Jesus, Zach, calm down. Haven't you figured out yet that life is a bitch? That's been my experience. I'm sorry that you're tired of guys dominating you, including me. If you don't like me being in charge, I'll try life on my own. You've given me a great head start to regular life, and I'd prefer to move on it with you. I'm still the only fucking adult between us, though, so I'm going to be in charge. That, my friend, is the way it is." 

"Well, since you're so sweet, pointing that out so diplomatically, of course, I want you to stay. Calling me a child is overdoing it, though." 

He says, "It was Jon who called you a child, not me. I think you're at least a teenager." 

"Oh, well, now that we've got that settled, do you want a shot and a beer?" 

He says, "Um, well, yeah, I do..." I smirked at him, and he gave me his cute smile, muttering, "Of course I do. Thank you!" I say, "You get the beers, and I'll get the Jim Beam and the shot glasses." 

He groans and grins, saying, "Oh man, this chair feels so good; how about if you get both? And I'm going to be insisting you keep getting that haircut you got for your buddy, Jon." 

I look at him, and he smiles for the third time tonight, matching his total smiles since meeting him. I smile back, saying, "You're my man... what was I thinking? Of course, I'll get everything!" 

He laughs a little, then mutters, "Just tonight, Zach. I'm still fucked up from that animal using me like a blow-up sex doll, and he actually hurt me. I think he injured something inside my ass. It was bleeding last night but that stopped this morning, so..."

My immediate inclination is to go back to Philly and really fuck Daytimeup, but that's Navy Seal nonsense, not real-life shit. I take a deep breath and ask, "Will you come with me to see someone in the emergency ward? The hospital is only ten minutes from here." 

Shaking his head, he says, "No, not now. If the bleeding starts again, though, I'll go with you." 

Nodding, I mumble, "Good," and then get two beers from the refrigerator. Getting the bottle of Jim Beam from the overhead cabinet, I say, "Bro, I'm looking forward to my first shot and a beer in over a week."

Putting the two beers and bottle of Jim Beam on the coffee table, I get the only two shot glasses we own and mumble, "After this shot and beer, how 'bout if I bathe you in the shower, Bruce? You're looking really beat up." 

He waves his hand, "No, I'm okay. This shot and beer are my first ones in over a week, too." 

Christ, he's had a terrible week while I was getting fucked three times a day. I suck!

After carefully pouring the shots of bourbon into the shot glasses, I pop the tops on two cans of Budweiser beer. I'm standing as I pick up a shot glass, so Bruce stands with his shot glass and says, "This is the first time in many years I can truly say it's good to be back home." We tap shot glasses and flash down the bourbon. I grab the beer and swallow some as Bruce sits down, then takes a sip of beer.

It's really sad that Bruce has never had a place he feels he can call home. Sitting on the sofa with my can of beer, I think, "Yeah, well, you wait, Bruce. We can have a significantly nicer place to call home than this." 

He waves his hand and says, "It's not the apartment per se. It's a place with Cowboy, his boyfriend, Lee, um, and you and me. It's only been a couple of weeks, but this is a special place to me."

After gulping some beer, I ask, "Do you want to talk about what went on last week?" 

Shaking his head, he says, "Nah, not now. Maybe not ever. I earned that $2400, though." 

I mutter, "I understand," and he says, "Ya got any cigarettes, Zach? I could really go for a smoke."

We go out on the balcony, light cigarettes, and finish our beers, commenting on the weather. Then, turning to look at me, he says, "I don't want to have sex tonight, Zach. Sorry, but I need to clear my head of that animal. I don't even want to say his name." 

I mutter, "Sure, no problem. You're the boss..." He grins, "Ya know what? You're still in the running for the nicest motherfucker I've ever met in my entire sordid life." 

Chuckling, I go, "Oh, good. Do you want another shot and beer?" He grins, then says, "Another shot and beer would just about wrap up the contest. You'd win the nicest person award for sure." 

We go inside, and I pour two more shots, then get us two fresh beers. Tapping shot glasses, he mumbles, "To my hero," and down goes the bourbon. I mutter, "Hero? Oh, shucks, it was nothing..." and we chug some beer.

We both sit on the sofa, and I run my fingers through his hair, surprised it's already an inch longer than mine. Holy shit, though, it feels greasy and gritty, so I take my hand off his head and mutter, "Maybe you'd like to take a shower... alone." He mutters, "Yes, I would. I haven't had one in three days, and I think I can handle it myself." 

He's not nearly as fucked up as he was when he got out of the funhouse, but he's a little fucked up, a little shaky. He sighs, then says, "If you'll excuse me, I'll take my beer with me to shower off the indignities of last week." 

"By all means." He stands, mumbling, "Um, would you mind if I slept for an hour or so afterward?" 

"Be my guest, take a shower and a nap. Are you hungry?" 

He rubs his face, "Yes, I'm starving, but I need to do the shower and the nap even more than I need to eat something." 

Nodding, "Sure, Bruce, whatever you need to do." He mutters, "Home," and I'm like, "Um, do you like Chinese? I can get some Chinese takeout." 

Bruce says, "Yeah, sure, but let's settle on the money." Nodding, I look at the envelope I dropped on the kitchen counter when we came in. Bruce says, "I owe you like $1200 for my share of this month's rent plus all that stuff we bought when setting up the apartment." 

"Uh-huh." I really don't give a flying shit about that, but he does, so... I dump the money out on the counter, then count it quickly, look at Bruce, and mutter, "It's only  $2200." 

Bruce shakes his head, "That sonofabitch stole two hundred dollars from me. Shit!" 

I say, "We can go back and get it if you want." He mumbles, "Nah, I never want to go to Philly again." Handing him twelve hundred, keeping a thousand in various denominations, I say, "We're even, buddy. That's it!" 

Nodding, he says, "I'm feeling relaxed... finally, because of you, Zach." 

Shrugging, I mumble, "My man..." He grins, then goes, "That's right," and takes his beer and money into the bedroom. I follow him, saying, "Feel free to nap as long as you want, Bruce. I'm going to collect all Jon's stuff and drop it off for him." 

Shaking his head, he mutters, "After what he tried to do to you, why not throw his shit out on the street?" 

Shrugging, I'm like, "I feel sorry for him, and I liked him. He's had a hard life, too, like you." Going into the bathroom, he says, "You can't save all of us, Zach."

I'm not trying to save anybody. Christ, I can't even save myself. Picking up some of Jon's clothes, I make a neat pile, then go into the bathroom, seeing Bruce naked as he adjusts the water in the shower. I say, "Sorry, I need to get Jon's shit out of here." Bruce mutters, "No problem, bro." 

I gather all his stuff, then look at my electric toothbrush. Oh, what the hell, I take the electric toothbrush too. He can have it. In the bedroom, I get my toiletry kit and put all of Jon's stuff in there. The electric toothbrush doesn't fit, so, hmm. I get one of my satchels from the closet and put the toiletry kit and the toothbrush in the satchel, then all Jon's clothes, which isn't saying much. Mostly old, heavily worn clothes. I look around to be sure I've got everything, then I stick two hundred-dollar bills inside and zipper up the satchel. Jeez, I paid him enough money the past couple of days, but I feel guilty somehow that things didn't work out for him. That's stupid, of course, but there it is...

It's a twenty-some-minute drive to Jon's, and when I park, I shake my head because I hate the thought of dealing with the zoo creatures Jon lives with. Sighing, I grab the satchel and step out of the car. As I walk across the street, Jon comes out of the building's front door. He says, "I saw you drive up when I was in the bathroom." 

I walk up to him, saying, "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you, Jon. Um, and I'm sorry I got rough with you too, um, ya know, back there when I..." He shrugs, "That's alright. I'm sorry I called you a pussy. I consider anyone who's nice a pussy."

Holding up the satchel, "This old satchel, um, I was going to throw it out. Your stuff is inside." 

He takes it, "Thanks. This looks new." 

Shrugging, I go, "Nah, it's a piece of shit," and we both chuckled, and then Jon squeezes the back of my neck for old times sake. With half a smile on his face, he says, "I hope you'll hire me, you know... when he isn't around." 

I nod, and we have an awkward moment. Then he says, "I wasn't going to be too hard on you, Zach, really. You'd have knuckled under and gotten used to doing what Eli and I told you to do. It was Bruce we were worried about keeping in line."

I shuffle my feet, vacillating between telling him or not telling him I was never going on the street, so all his efforts would have been for naught anyway. Nah, why tell him that? He says, "Well, we'll never know, but thanks for bringing my clothes and stuff." 

I mutter, "No problem," and he chuckles, "You meant to say you're welcome, didn't you?" 

Grinning, "Oh, yeah, right. That's what my old man and you told me to say." 

He tries grinning but gives up on it; I mumble, "Well, I'll see you around, maybe." 

"You know where to find me." I wave my hand, nodding, and then Jon hugs me, mumbling, "We would have been very successful, Zack." I kiss him, murmuring, "Bye, Jon," and walk back across the street.

Driving off, I'm happy I did that. On the way back, I stopped at a Target store and bought another electric toothbrush and a better satchel than the one I gave Jon. I see the cell phone section, so I'll bring Bruce back here to get him a new cell phone. In my car, I Googled to find a Chinese restaurant in the Atlantic City area, and there were four of them. When the address for the closest one is programmed in my GPS... off I go.

It's almost eight o'clock, so the restaurant is still busy, but they quickly take my order for wonton soup, sweet and sour chicken, egg rolls with dipping sauce, and that wicked hot Chinese pale yellow mustard, fried rice with pork, and lastly, beef and broccoli with sticky white rice. There are three full meals there, plus the egg rolls and soup. I think that should do it. After waiting twenty minutes, here comes my order in a paper bag that's stapled shut about ten times for some reason. I pay, and out I go to the car. In my experience, there will be one ordered meal omitted and replaced with whatever they have the most of. Maybe that's why they staple the bag, so you can't check what's in there.

At the apartment, I look in the bedroom and see Bruce under the covers, sleeping in our bed. That's actually called going to sleep, not taking a nap. Whatever.

In the kitchen, I emptied the bag and found everything I ordered, so I was wrong about them screwing me. After dumping half the sweet and sour chicken in a bowl for me to eat now, I put all the little funny boxes you get at Chinese restaurants for take-out food on a big tray and stick everything in the oven. Turning the oven to 'warm,' then sit down and eat my sweet and sour chicken and the crunchy vegetables that come with it. 

That tasty chicken dish will hold me over until I eat with Bruce. Grabbing a beer, then go on the balcony for a smoke. Wow, it still hasn't totally sunk in yet, but what a tremendous reversal of fortunes! Jon thought he was king shit with everything going his way, while I thought I was just plain shit. Bruce drops a bombshell on Jon, and everything flips upside down. Realistically, this is how logically, how common sense, says it should have turned out, but when pussy boys are involved, logic and common sense often have nothing to do with anything. It would have been idiotic beyond belief for Bruce to have said... 'Oh goodie, I'll start as a trainee again with the club that royally fucked me over.' 

Yeah, but that's what I positively thought would happen. 

Obviously, one way or another, somebody was going to get fucked over, and I thought it was going to be me in the short term and Bruce in the long term. But, nope, it turned out the fuckee was Jon, and to a lesser degree, Eli and Richard. Yeah, and I should feel much more elated than I do, but as I said, it hasn't totally sunk in yet. Goddamn, though, I would absolutely love to have sex with Bruce tonight. Maybe after his nap, he'll think differently and want to. After all, it's not his injured ass that would be involved.

Three beers later, it's almost eleven thirty before Bruce comes out on the balcony, sits on the edge of the rickety chaise longue I'm on, and says, "I woke up, Zach, and almost said a prayer of thanks I was in our bed." 

Oh, I liked that he said "OUR" bed.

"Why didn't you say a prayer?" He chuckles, "I don't know any prayers, and I don't believe in any religion either, so..." 

Nodding, I ask, "Want something to eat?" 

"Yes, definitely. I smelled the distinct scent of Chinese take-out in the kitchen." Getting up, I go, "Yep, it's staying warm, so let's have some."

Bruce and I eat from the boxes, passing them back and forth without talking. When I've had enough, he keeps eating, looking up, grinning now and then. I'd like to hug and kiss him and roll around on the bed with him. How in the hell did I ever think I liked Jon better than Bruce? I couldn't say, although I still like Jon a lot. Maybe it's as simple as... love the one you're with. 

Well, Jon is more dominant, or he was more dominant until I threw him out of the car. Then, he was as docile as me when I returned his stuff. I feel for him and smile to myself, thinking about his reaction when he sees the electric toothbrush. It's funny, but I hardly know Jon but I miss him already.

Finally, Bruce says, "Holy crap, that was good! The horrible boxed macaroni and cheese we had most nights for dinner last week is a nightmare memory now." 

I make a face, "Jesus, boxed mac and cheese... yuck." 

He nods, "Yeah, it sucked, but I don't know of any other way I could have made that much money in eight days. There's always something that's a fuck up in anything I do. Except with you, Zach. Daytime was the fuck up last week, and the funhouse was the fuck up before that. In between those two fuck ups, there was you and me. I think I'll stick with you, bro, and hope my bad luck doesn't rub off and fuck up you."

Nodding, I mumble, "I'll take my chances with you, boyfriend." 

He nods his head, saying, "Yeah, boyfriends. That's a cool concept, one I'm just beginning to believe is a real thing. It seemed out of reach, though, something I'd never be good enough to be a part of, but you're making a believer out of me." 

"As long as it takes, that's how long I'll wait for you, Bruce." 

He says, "Ya know what? I've changed my mind about fucking you tonight. Do you wanna do it?" 

I shrug, "Whaddaya, you think?" 

"I think you wanna suck a boner on my big boy so I can fuck your submissive ass hard." 

"Oh, so you're an 'effing mind reader now..."  

To be continued...