My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 48

I admired the majestic sun as it was breaking through the cloud cover, unaware Bruce was quietly walking up behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders, 'Hi, Zach!" That startling me, "Huh?" I turned my head, and he said, "My best friend is the best-looking person on this beach." Taking a page from Cowboy's book of conceitedness, I mutter, "Oh, ha, I'm sure you're right." 

We grin as he opens his beach chair, plopping it close to mine, asking, "Do you remember how I used to make you set our chairs so closely the arms were touching?" I nod, "Yep, but you were only doing your job following instructions from that perverted pussy boy training manual." He sits, nodding, "Yeah, and the World War II German soldiers at Auschwitz were just following orders." 

"Compared to that subhuman atrocity, the training manual is a nursery rhyme." He says, "I was a brainwashed fool for believing in that manual." I mumble, "And then we have fraternities in prestigious American universities with their perverted ideas for initiations similar to stuff in that manual. Or the old manual. They've rewritten a lot of it I hear." He mutters, "I wouldn't know about that."

Lighting two cigarettes, I pass one to Bruce, who mumbles, "Thanks," then, "Can we talk about something else?" 

I say, "Yes, on an infinitely happier note, I received a text from Cowboy and Lee saying they will join us for dinner tonight. They left New York five days ago and were sightseeing in Europe if you can believe that! Yeah, they got back yesterday and are at Lee's parents right now." 

Bruce has a big smile, saying, "Jesus Christ! To be born rich or fall for a rich guy."

I bite my tongue, not mentioning he could have fallen for a rich guy. Bruce adds, "I missed their silly mooning over each other like, um..." and I go, "Like gay teenagers in puppy love?" 

Shrugging, he goes, "Yeah, like that... they seem so young and innocent compared to the nineteen-year-old boys I'm familiar with. Those guys I knew were all hard cases who acted older than their years. I was like that when recruited by the pussy boys." 

I say, "If it would help you to get it bout and talk about your unfortunate teen years, I'm willing to listen." Shaking his head, he goes, "Nah, maybe someday I should do that, but now I try not to think about it ." 

Looking at him, I say, "Anyway, you've moved on from those hard times, Bruce." He looks at me, "We're working toward something exceptional, aren't we, Zach?"

"Yep, and we're making awesome progress too." He mutters, "I think so too, I really do. This is by far the best time of my life." 

Wow, he is so 'effing different than just a week ago, and I mean in all kinds of positive ways. These past three or four days especially... he's like a different person now that the stress of pretending he liked sex with me. His prostituting days ruined sex for him. He's not even sure if he's gay or not. I'm giving him time, but we both need therapy.  
Anything I say about that will sound like I'm patting myself on the back, though, so instead of commenting on his improving outlook, I ask, "Do you want to do our mile swim?" Bruce tells me he doesn't want to because his muscles are too sore from the last two days of swimming a mile. Neither day did we swim close to a mile, but I let him think we did. Instead of swimming, we take a beach walk. 

He talks about his dream of us buying Anne's cafe. I'm not saying anything pro or con about that possibility. As we walk, I'm sneaking sideward glances at him because I like his face and the sexy little dorky pompadour that he's been combing in his hair ever since I first combed it for him. Then, as if he read my mind, he flicks his fingers at the side of his head, stops talking about the cafe, and mutters, "Dammit, I need to get a haircut today." 

"Where did that come from? You were talking about asking Anne what she's expecting to get for the cafe, then..."  Shrugging, he goes, "Yeah, but I saw a guy just now with hair that reminded me what my hair looked like when I was hooking on my own in the streets, and I blurted out that thought that I needed a haircut. Anne likes clean cut waiters and waitresses. Good for business.

Shrugging, I mumble, "Your hair has barely grown over the tops of your 'effing ears. Look around... half the guys on this beach need a haircut much more than you do." 

"I like to be neat. You're right, though; my hair isn't hideous... nothing like my wild hairdo when I was on the street. It's just that, for once in my life, I wanna get a regular haircut like a regular person. Go to a barbershop and say, 'a regular haircut, please'. Ya know?" 

"Um, sure, I guess." He laughs, "That's the longest conversation about my hair I've ever had! We'll leave the beach in about forty-five minutes, okay?." 
Well, that's settled; we're leaving the beach in forty-five. There's that little bossiness coming from Bruce, and I like hearing that from him because it means he's still got confidence he's our leader even though we're just friends. I need a leader as I may have mentioned a hundred times... haha. We're both in a good place, Bruce and I.

"Sure, Bruce, no problem." He sees my smirky grin but doesn't know what's caused it. He's looking at me funny, though, so I go, "What?" Shaking his head, he grins, muttering, "Oh, nothing, but lately you are the most cheerfully cooperative person I've ever known in my life." 

I reach over and do what he's always doing to me; I squeeze the back of his neck and say, "I'm happy being with you, and I'm having fun playing at being a pussy boy getting paddled." Then I tell him about Billy and Bruce just shakes his head. He doesn't want to hear too much about pussy boys.

There's no reason to mention this to Bruce, but it's fantastic that I can be with him and not be horny;. Yes, we split up as fuck buddies but he can make me horny without even trying and I don't want him seeing me like that. Dickie took care of my horniness quite effectively, so now I'm enjoying Bruce's company relaxed, comfortable, and cheerfully happy. As a normal person, in other words. The other thing is, um, this friendship experience is new to Bruce, and sometimes it puzzles him because he's used to devious individuals trying to take advantage of him. All I want to do is help him with a more normal lifestyle. And, damn, he's been acting more and more like he's 'getting it' every day. It's, um, it's fantastic and very encouraging.

We walk the beach, wondering what to have for the boys' homecoming dinner tonight. Bruce says, "Why try reinventing sliced bread? We all like steaks on the grill, so I'll buy some at that butcher shop after getting my haircut." 

Nodding, I mumble, "Good idea." He says, "And, ya know, I'm embarrassed that I need you driving me all over the place, Zach. I really appreciate that you do it, but how about a second car. I'll owe you for half the cost, but it'd be a convenience, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it was my idea. Let's Google cars and see what knowledgeable automobile people say about what car is hot now." Bruce mutters, "Something domestic."

I'm like, "I love the time I get to be with you, and I like driving you around in my awesome car, but we will get that second car this weekend." 

"I'm working this weekend."

I mumble, "You're always working. We'll figure it out." He mutters, "You blow my mind. I didn't think anybody on this earth could be as fucking nice as you are." I shrug, "Probably there isn't anyone else... just me." We both snort out a chuckle as he mutters, "Very modest..."

As I said, we never come close to swimming a mile, but we do walk up the beach more than a mile before going up on the boardwalk to buy cold bottles of water. Yeah, the hot sun burned off the clouds, and the temperature is now close to ninety degrees. Hmm, I never cease to be amazed that a bottle of water often costs more than, say, a bottle of Coke. What's up with that?

We make it back to our beach chairs at four-thirty. I don't say anything, but I'm hoping Bruce forgets about leaving the beach so soon for his unnecessary haircut. I like staying on the beach until at least six-thirty, as we've been doing this week. Sitting quietly with Bruce again, I can't help gawking at the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean, which mesmerizes me. Ya, know, it's hard to comprehend how all that water in front of me, plus all the water elsewhere on Earth, unbelievable amounts of water covering two-thirds of the planet, all came from the blackness of space by way of the early solar nebula and/or from a bombardment of comets and asteroids four billion years ago. This fucking incomprehensible Universe we're living in, huh? And I need to thank Lee for that knowledge about water on Earth. If it's wrong, it's Lee's fault.

Bruce says, "Well, let's go, Zach, it's almost five-fifteen." Balls! I go, "Oh, um, are you sure you, ah..." He's standing, folding his chair, muttering, "Yeah, I'm sure." Well, I'm the one pushing for him to be in charge. He'd be in charge whether I'm pushing him to be or not, so... 

We drop the chairs off at the booth, and as we walk away, Bruce goes, "Where's your little buddy? The kid that's normally renting the chairs and umbrellas." 

"He'll be back tomorrow. The old guy wouldn't say where Markie's been the last two days." He mutters, "Uh-huh," then, "We need to stop at the house so I can take a quick shower, then I'll try that little barbershop in the strip mall near our apartment. The butcher shop is at the end of the mall facing Pine Street." 

I mutter, "Huh, I didn't know that but, sure, okay." Bruce is very observant. I didn't know the butcher shop existed and the same for Pine Street. As we're driving out of Atlantic City, for something to say, I mumble, "It's smart of you to avoid Mr. Patrick's barbershop. You'd end up with a haircut like Cowboy's, Lee's, and mine." 

He's defensive, saying, "That's the haircut you said you like!" I'm like, "Hey, it was a joke. You know, I got a haircut from Lee's dad once, and once was enough." 

He nods, then chuckles, "Sorry I snapped at you. I need to realize you never say anything mean-spirited." I grin, "That's right, I don't t do that to you, although to others, I've been known to sneak in some mean-spirited sarcastic remarks now and then." 

Bruce showers at the apartment, but I'll wait to do that when we get back from our errands. We don't know what time the barbershop closes, for one thing, and when Bruce decides he wants to do something, he becomes a bit fanatical about doing it. We get to the shop at a quarter of six. Written on the plate glass window: 'Open 9 am to 7 pm. Seniors $12.00' For a joke, I say, "I'm assuming it means older men, not seniors in high school." Bruce smirks at me, muttering, "Duh, good guess."

Chuckling, I go, "Um, I'll have a cigarette out here while you get your unnecessary haircut." He frowns, "It's not unnecessary." I give him a 'look,' and he goes, "Oh, you were kidding again. I get it, but why don't you buy the steaks while I'm in the barbershop?" I pat his shoulder, "Good idea," and that's what I do.

Holy shit, though, and not that I especially care, but, shockingly, prime Black Angus tenderloin steaks are $34.99 a pound. They look good, though, so I buy four twelve-ounce steaks deciding I'm going to let Lee or Cowboy grill them. There is no sense in Bruce or me fucking up more than a hundred dollars worth of steaks attempting to grill them ourselves.

I'm leaning against my BMW, smoking a cigarette, when Bruce comes out of the barbershop looking so cornily preppy it takes all my willpower not to hug and kiss him. I mumble, "Nice haircut ya got there, good-looking." 

He shakes his head, trying not to grin, but he does anyway, mumbling, "I think she gave me a good haircut." As we get in the car, I'm like, "When was it that women took over the previous male-oriented barber business?" He laughs and says, "Only you would wonder about that. Who cares?" As I drive away, I mutter, "I would think male barbers looking for work would care."

Bruce isn't interested in pursuing that puzzling development. He says, "We'll need to stop at a farm stand for corn on the cob and tomatoes." We do that, plus buy pole beans that the lady says are lima beans. We get potatoes and a seedless watermelon. Bruce insists on paying for all the farm stand stuff, and, in the car, he asks, "What did the steaks cost? I want to pay for half." 

I tell him, "You just did. The farm stand stuff was $18, which is half what the steaks cost." He goes, "Everything is so expensive, don't you think? I never shopped like this before, so the cost of everything is an eye-opener. Mostly I ate pizza and frozen dinners, ya know?" 

No, I don't know because mostly I ate out at restaurants before meeting Bruce. I mumble, "I never shopped much myself, but I do know it's a lot cheaper than eating out, which is what I used to do all the time." He gsay, "Eating in restaurants or at the Navy Seal mess hall, right?" Nodding, I mutter, "And before that, at prep school and college dining halls." 

He says, "You poor thing," and then, "Jesus, ya know, it feels so odd for me to be excited about seeing the boys. I confess to being jealous of them while at the same time I'm happy for them." 

I mutter, "My exact sentiments. Well, put." Jeez, a sweet thought from Bruce. Yep, he sure has changed.

We get back to the apartment at six-thirty and put the food away; then, we have a shot of Jim Beam and a cold Budweiser. After the shot of bourbon, Bruce says, "I look forward to this shot and beer thing we do every day, Zach. It signifies to me that we had another good day, and it's looking good for the next day too." 

Wow, how about that comment? Taking a deep breath, I say, "You have no idea how happy you make me, Bruce. And I want you to know the immense willpower I need to exert in not hugging and kissing the shit out of you about twenty times a day. Best friends don't do that, so..." 

We're drinking our beers and smoking cigarettes on the balcony when Lee drives up on his motorbike with Cowboy sitting behind him, of course. Bruce exclaims, "That's the coolest damn motorbike, and look at the smiling faces on those two. Holy shit, all three of you are the happiest group I've ever met in my life. I'm used to guys who, if I'm lucky, they're not stabbing me in the back." 

I call down, "I hope you two numbnuts brought something for our dinner tonight." They both give me the finger, with Cowboy yelling back, "You're supposed to be 'effing taking care of me, Zach! I'm a reckless, irresponsible teenager, and you're my guardian. And, no, we don't got no stinking dinners." 

Chuckling, they go inside the main door as Bruce and I go inside off the balcony to greet them. The boys come busting into the apartment as they always do, slamming the door behind them. 

They just came from Lee's house, so, of course, they both have identical fresh, crisp short haircuts. And, oh man, their youthful faces are glowing and smiling, their bodies slim and athletic-looking. If I didn't know better, I'd think they were perfect examples of the clean-cut All-American boy, both of them. The thing is, I don't believe All-American boys are supposed to be gay. Lee's T-shirt has the inscription 'Yeah, I can drive stick' on the front. All-American boys don't have a reference on their T-shirt about boning their All-American friend either, so...

We all do tight hugs with quick kisses, then Cowboy says, "I need one of Bruce's shots and beer after that trip." Lee goes, "Cowboy isn't the sightseer type, but I made him see everything there was to see." 

Cowboy makes a face, adding, "And my lover boy here didn't have a fake ID, so I hardly had anything to drink except soda for a week!" Lee goes, "You drank every night at dinner." Cowboy's shocked, "What? Do mean Dad letting me drink a glass of wine? That's not drinking! Plus I hate wine." Lee shrugs, "You drank a lot of it just the same."

Bruce, grinning at the good-natured ball-breaking the boys are doing, gets the Jim Beam out again, pouring four shots. Lee goes, "Oh, God, not again." Cowboy mutters, "Don't be a pussy; you drank it last time." 

I pull four beers from the refrigerator, and we all pop the tops, pick up the shots of bourbon, then Cowboy says, "Here's to friends getting back together," and we flash down the shots. Three of us are grinning and looking at Lee to see his reaction. Tears running down his face, Lee goes, "What? What happened?

Bruce shakes his head, murmuring, "Something flew in my eye."

To let Bruce get himself together, Cowboy pats Lee's shoulder, saying, "Let's have another." 
We all go, "No!" Taking our beers to the balcony, Cowboy plops down on a deck chair and, straight faced, proceeds to tell us outrageous but hilarious tales of their European trip, with Lee laughing the hardest. Cowboy's parents, who I know very well, were as easy-going as I know them to be in letting the boys do their thing. Well, the boys, legally, are adults. As usual, I'm frequently glancing at Bruce, this time interested in his reaction to Cowboy's stories during the boys' European lark. 

To Bruce, the crazy experiences the boys had in Europe must be as alien to him as a trip to the moon and back would be. But, as far as I can tell, Bruce is enjoying the embellished tales that Cowboy is telling us as much as I am. 

I mutter, "I'm calling bullshit on that, Cowboy," after an extra exaggerated line of BS. He swears the lies are facts, and Lee backs him up. One lies, and the other swears to it. It's fun, but we finally turn our attention to dinner. Lee says he'll be making something I'm familiar with, Lyonnaise potatoes, so Bruce and I shell the pole beans; cowboy cooks the corn on the cob, which we eat as the grill heats up. Then Cowboy grills the steaks, Lee finishes the potatoes and slices big red ripe beefsteak tomatoes, and it's a hell of a dinner.

Afterward, Bruce and I cleaned up the kitchen, the dishwasher doing the major part. We cut into the watermelon on the balcony, all of us then getting messy eating the sweet red pulp. All Bruce and I had to drink tonight were two shots and two beers. Cowboy had one shot and two beers, and Lee had one shot and one beer before switching to Coke. In other words, we're all sober. 

It's eight-thirty when we're throwing out the watermelon rinds, Cowboy saying, "Awesome dinner, you guys... thanks, it's great being back here. Now, Lee and I are going to clean up and hit the boardwalk. We've got less than three weeks left before college, and, believe it or not, after seeing Europe, ewe prefer the boardwalk."

Because Ronny never had any interest in amusement rides, I didn't either. I still don't, but I should have had fun with things like roller coasters at their age, like most kids their age. That's another thing I missed out on, and because of his horrendous life history, so did Bruce. I'm seeing more and more things that we, Bruce and me, have in common, for very different reasons. 

After some quick buddy-hugs, the boys leave, and, all of a sudden, it's quiet in here. Bruce and I exchange shrugs, then he goes, "They make me feel old." I mutter, "Imagine how I feel." 

I shower and think of the old days when now I'd be anxious for Bruce to fuck me with his seven-inch penis as hard as my shorter one. I get a stiffy from thinking about it. When we're in bed and under the covers, Bruce goes up on his side, looking down on me, saying, "Tonight with you three including me in everything it, um, I hate getting corny, but it was like family. I got choked up a couple of times and was embarrassed, but, of course, you guys were too nice and didn't mention it..." 

To lighten up the moment, I grin, "Yes, it was like family., Bruce, unfortunately, our kids are leaving the nest." We chuckle, then Bruce says, "I wonder what they thought of tonight?" 

"I don't know. I guess they take things for granted. On the other hand, Cowboy wants to come here on his college breaks. I said it would be alright but only if he'd visited his parents in New York before coming here. Um, that's assuming we, you and I, decide to stay here. Bruce says, "Oh, God, I can't think of a reason to leave, can you? Mostly, though, I love you guys and I've never 'loved' anyone or anything before." 

I'm doing really well keeping my emotions in check, trying to match Bruce's demeanor. It had to be difficult for him to say what he did finally, and if I had shown some kind of overreacting, it would put him off and cheapen the moment. Bruce isn't demonstrative about showing his emotions, so that was sweet.. 

Obviously, his pronouncement of love was unexpected, especially considering he couldn't feel love when we were boyfriends. Since he broke up with me, I noticed how he has been more relaxed, showing affectionate-type indications he feels our recent best-friend-no-sex relationship is special, and being included in the 'family' was obviously very special. 

Waiting for sleep, I'm thinking about love. Plato has this convoluted story about love that he concludes by stating love is our pursuit of wholeness, joining with another whom we want to be one with, symbolically. Yeah, as I've said, book-learning I'm good ar. Anyway, I've had that thought about love at times during sex with Bruce... I wanted to climb into him and live there so that Plato might have hit on something. Well, he's supposed to be smart.

The next morning it's business as usual. Bruce takes his unnecessary shower as I consider telling him about the room I rented and who's sleeping there right now. After discarding that stupid thought, I go back to sleep for another twenty minutes.

Then, driving to Atlantic City at five-thirty-five in the morning, we're sipping our take-out cups of coffee as I worry Bruce is having second thoughts about his pronouncement last night about loving Cowboy. Lee, and me as family. He isn't ever corny, but he probably things he was corny saying it. last night. Anything I can think of to say sounds self-serving, so I'm waiting for Bruce to say something. 

And he does, "That was a special time for me last night, bestfriend. I was, haha, really nervous." 

I still can't think of anything appropriate to say, and I don't need to anyway as he adds, "I'm sorry it took me this long to realize I could love. I only wish I was able to return your romantic love you showed me, Zack." He's getting emotional again, adding, "You decided you loved me and came right out and said it. At first, I thought you were such a sucker for doing that, but later I admired your courage for saying it."

"Well, I was a fucking Navy Seal, so of course I'm courageous..." He pushes my shoulder, "Seriously!" 

Shrugging, I say, "I was so glad to finally be in love I wanted to tell someone about it, and you were there, so I told you." 

He goes, "Yeah, you're still joking around." I go, "Bruce, if I tell you exactly how wonderful I feel about last night, it would embarrass you and me."

At the boardwalk ramp where I always drop Bruce off, he says, "I feel better about myself than I've ever felt before, Zach. I feel clean and real and honest. Let's keep doing what we're doing, okay?" 

I nod, thinking I understand what he's saying, and he give me the kind of  kiss like you might give a cherished brother when he's leaving home for college. Still smiling, he pats my shoulder, "See you on the beach." I nod, mumbling, "Have a great Saturday..." and off he goes.

Wow, I shake my head, not sure how I feel about all that.  Then, pulling away from the ramp, I'm not sure what to expect from Sandy after that disaster with Billy two days ago, but that's two hours from now. I'm going to the hotel room I'm paying for and I better not find Dickie sleeping there with a client!

Parking at the hotel, I've got mixed emotions about this, so I decided to think of it as therapy. Taking the elevator to the floor my rented room is on, I get off and look down the corridor to the room at the end and see a pudgy, balding man of about forty leaving the room I thought was mine. What the fuck? That's exactly what I didn't want to see!

I'm checking that I'm on the correct floor, and I am; I rethink... is this the floor? Well, yeah, I'm not an idiot. The man is rubbing his ass, intentionally not looking at me as we pass in the hall, him heading for the elevator and me to the room. That fatty rubbing his ass was a dead giveaway that he was just serviced by Dickie, and in my room! 

Getting to the room, I try opening it, but, of course, it's locked. Pounding on it, Dickie opens it immediately and, thinking it's the guy who just left, he starts to say, "I told you not..." but stops when he sees me. He's startled, his face flushes, then he puts on a fake smile and says, "You're early. I see you after eight o'Clock. You're, um, paddling." 

"What the fuck is going on here, Dickie?"

He turns his back on me and walks into the room with me following him. I'm like, "Did I say you could do your business out of this 'effing room? No, I did not. I let you sleep here, and that's all." 

Turning around, "If you don't stop this shit, you'll miss out on my services, so shut up before I pull the plug on you for later today. I had the opportunity for a lucrative overnight date, so what's the big deal. I just paddled him and sent the fat fuck on his way. Now you're here, so take your clothes off. The paddle is still warm from his paddling."

I grab the back of his neck, muttering, "And I thought you were special," walking him to the front door, opening it and squeezing his neck with him crying out, "Ow! Ow!" I pushed him out the door a little harder than necessary, and he tripped and fell on his face. Trying to calm down and not having a lot of success with that, I snarl, "Wait here, and I'll throw your shit out." 

Then I storm around the room picking up stuff that belongs to him, including his toiletry kit and paddle, then toss it all in the hall. Dickie is standing there saying, "Don't think you'll ever get a date with me again!" I take a step into the hall, and he scurries ten feet toward the elevator.

My blood pressure roaring, I point at him but drop my arm and go back into the room, closing the door behind me. Okay, that was an overreaction, and exactly what I thought Sandy's paddling was curing me of, or something similar. Still, the nerve of that fuckhead using my room to have an overnight date with that chubby older man. And I wanted a two-hour nap in that bed because I liked sleeping with Dickie. Not after someone else slept in the bed, though. There's a the other deb in the room, hmm...

Sitting in the armchair, I look around the room, and it's neat, the bed is made, no towels on the floor. Pussy boys are all very neat-conscious. If I were a minute later getting here, I wouldn't have known about the overnight date, which was Dickie's plan, obviously. Fuck, I wish I had been a minute later because now, being in this room, I'm remembering the paddling and hard fucking Dickie lays on me. After the paddling, he jams his hard fat-headed little cock up my ass, and it hardly hurts at all... feels good, actually.

Oh fuck, that was jealousy pure and simple. So dumb of me... he's a prostitute! Dammit, I get way too attached to these pussy boys while they barely act decent to me. I jump up and go out in the hall, but there isn't anything out there. He picked up his stuff and left. And, I'm not going to get my $200 back from Richard for my morning date. with Dickie. He didn't know I was going to show up this early. I should have made that clear. 

Going back in the room, I stand here realizing there isn't any reason to stay here. Shit! Down at the reception desk, I cancel the room for Sunday and walk out without a plan for what to do now. Wandering the block to the boardwalk, I go up the ramp and then across the boardwalk to the beach-side railing, light a cigarette, and look out at the ocean. Hmm, I've still got an hour and a half before meeting Sandy. Later, maybe I'll try Derick. I know he's working the locker rooms counter, but he gets an hour and a half lunch break at noon. And, he does the paddling too. If I don't go through Richard, I don't need to pay the $200 massage fee. 

Or, here's another possibility... I skip sex today. After all, I'm supposed to be working on eliminating the need for sex three or four times a day, right? But now I want to do it because I'm feeling horny after spending five minutes in that hotel room remembering Dickie doing sub/dom sex very well. He's a real pro, he's rather cute, he's small, and he has a short but big-headed cock, and he knows how to use it too. Christ, it was sexy-hot being dominated by that little creature.

Turning around, I look up and down the boardwalk, but at six-thirty in the morning, there are only random delivery men and women, plus a few fanatical joggers and a family of three riding bikes. Well, Dickie has no other place to go but to the apartment, the one he shares with a couple of pussy boys, and I know where it is, so...

So what? I can't go crawling back to him now, not after I threw him out of the room. That's the first time I've lost my cool in a while, but, dammit, I hate being played for a sucker. I wouldn't have known about it if I arrived one 'effing minute later. Well, I've just talked myself in a circle, and I'm right back where I started fifteen minutes ago. 

Flicking the cigarette butt over the railing, I walk up to the cafe and lean against the beach-side railing looking at it. I don't know why I'm looking at it as they don't open until seven. Then I glance further down the boardwalk and see the sign for the locker rooms, then see two young guys go inside, so the locker rooms are open. 

Looking out at the beach, I see a few random early-risers already there on beach towels. It's chilly this early in the morning, but there are always a few oddballs doing the inexplicable in almost any situation I can think of. Hmm, Derick's on the counter in there. Yeah, I liked Dickie better, and I don't like either of their propensity for paddling, I'm getting too much of that already. So what that I like Dickie better?  Derick was good too, and he has a fat cock from head to root. My penis is aroused, and so am I. 

Richard won't be at work this early, so I take a deep breath, adjust my junk pushing my firming-up dick to the side and walk across the boardwalk. As I'm going in the front door, the two guys I saw going in are coming out. Both blond-headed but older than I initially thought they were and almost as tall as me, but I didn't get a single gay vibe from them. I'm not interested in those two, anyway.

Going into the familiar locker rooms, I see Derick behind the counter, and he looks good. He's not cute, especially, but I like his tight smallish body in the uniform, and his recent pussy boy haircut. Hell, he has no reason to be pissed off at me. He's the one who told me to see Richard and get hooked up with a pussy boy. Right now, he's smirking at me, so I say, "Hello, Derick, wassup?" 

"Not much. I hate working this counter, and today will be a busy Saturday, so that sucks. What's up with you?" I shrug, "I'm up for a lunch date with you; that's what's up with me."

He's opened a roll of quarters and then puts the quarters in a cash drawer, mumbling, "So, you need a hard paddling, and what comes after, huh?" 

"You can save yourself the trouble of paddling, I'll add the fee in your tip. I like the way you do everything else." He puffs out his cheeks, then blows out an exhale and says, "You're a good tipper, so I guess I could fit you in at four this afternoon. I've got a three o'clock date, but he's an old queen who just wants me to suck him off. Then I'll meet you at my apartment at four. I'll be doing you a favor. I've got a recruit to work out, and I'm supposed to start with him at four, but I'll have him stand in a corner while I have a date with you. It'll need to be a quick one, obviously."

I've been slowly shaking my head as he said all that, but he didn't see me because he's counting one-dollar bills in the cash drawer. I say, "That doesn't work for me, Derick. Why not a lunch date?" 

It's his turn to shake his head as he goes, "Nope, that's when I put in an hour with my recruit, and I need to give him all my attention as he's a bad-ass type, and I break him down so that it goes easier when I start building him up again at four." 

Oh, fuck! I mumble, kind of whining, "Couldn't you make a fifteen-minute exception for me?" He says, "Nope, I could use the couple of hundred dollars, but I'm serious about properly training this recruit."

Making a face, I keep myself in check and don't get snotty about it because I may need him in the future. I merely say, "I understand. Maybe another time." 

"I'll be off this counter duty Monday, or at least I hope I am. Check with me then. You know where I live, and I'll help you out with an extra hard fucking and paddling. I know you like it dominant, and I'm your pussy boy for that." 

Tapping the counter, I mumble, "Yeah, you are. Thanks, Derick. I'll be around." He opens a roll of dimes, mumbling, "I've no doubt about that. You need it, don'cha?" Shrugging,  "Yeah, I guess I do. See ya."

Walking out, I snicker because most pussy boys are arrogant and overconfident, but then, that's right in my comfort zone. They read me like a book. So, what do I do now? Without coming up with a better idea, I get my car and give a thought to driving to Dickie's dump of an apartment, but I can't make myself stoop that low. Instead, I drive the twenty minutes back to the apartment horny as a toad.

At the apartment, I take off my clothes and get in bed to sleep for an hour, and make it back to Eli's apartment building at five of eight. Sandy is talking to the black stocky, short mentor/trainer and ignore me until right o'clock on the dot. He says nothing, grabs behind my neck and up we go. I've tried having a little conversation but Sandy has no personality; for recruits, anyway. There is no waiting in a corner today, but there was at least one paddling before this eight o'clock one. I know that's so because the ball gag is dripping wet with saliva and whatever else, plus the dog collar is damp with flop sweat.

I'm dragged across the desktop; the dog collar's leash is attached to the hook on the floor and "WHACK!WHACK!WHACK!WHACK!" I never even grunted because Sandy wasn't putting much behind the paddles. What's up with that? From six paddles down to four, and now the four are done with not much behind them. I give Sandy a curious look, but he ignores me saying, "Eight o'clock tomorrow."

Leaving, I should me ecstatic, but instead I'm wondering if Eli or Richard has decided I'm not worth the trouble, and the paddling is now just going through the motions. Yeah, but why should I care about that? In fact, I'm losing respect for what the paddling is doing for me. I just lost my cool and through Dickie out of my hotel room cutting off my nose to spite my face, or however that goes.

As ordered by Jon Scheyer, I go directly to his apartment and he answers when I knock on the door. "Good morning, Zippy." Benny is at the kitchen table eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes. With his mouth full he waves his spoon at me, mumbling, "Hi, Zach." Jon yells, "He's Zippy, Ben... c'mon!"

I shrug, "Hi, Benny," and Jon nods at his messy bedroom saying, "Benny's out of the room for the day. He's working as a temp at Beach Patrol picking junk up around the beach." Slurping milk and sugar from the bowl, Benny says, "Fifteen bucks an hour to goof off on the beach."

Jon doesn't grip my neck, he says, "Lets go," and I follow him into his and Benny's bedroom. Corndog and Peanut are still sleeping. Jon asks, "What was it like at Eli's this morning?" I tell him it was loose and my paddling was light and ask, "Do you know what's going on?" Shaking his head, "Not really. They're cutting back on the paddling in case that dick, Billy, tells the cops or whatever and pussy boys are interviewed. Whatever, I'm not in the big-picture loop, but I'm your future mentor so I'm in your loop. You're done with the paddling from Sandy. I can do what I want, but I'm not paddling you. That's done.

Oh, do I feel good or bad about that? Good, I guess, because Derick's is big on paddling and I got a boner once when he was paddling me. A combination of being paddled and the guy doing the paddling can get sexy for submissive dickheads like me. Dickie is super big on paddling but I think it's because he can charge an extra fifty dollars.

It's boring for two hours reading and discussing how to get the most out of oral sex for your client while exerting the least amount of effort. Then a forty-five-minute video. I had a hard boner when it was over. Then, hooray! Jon and I practiced technique. Oh, I love having his three-inch penis in my mouth. Time flew by doing that and too soon, Jon said. I miss Billy, but we finished early again. He slowed us down. So, um, tomorrow, don't go to Eli's. Don't go anywhere at eight o'clock. Be here at nine."

Omigod, that was an excellent training session. I walked out in good spirits, than ended up cursing that I forgot to wear a bathing suit under my pussy boy shorts, I need to drive back to my place. How many times am I going to drive back and forth from my place to Atlantic City? God!

In the apartment, it's still quiet because Carson and Lee are still sleeping, Goddamn, they're inseparable. I'm so jealous!. 

Two minutes later, wearing a bathing suit, T-shirt, and sandals, I walk past Cowboy's door. No telling how late he and Lee got in last night. I'll see them on the beach later. For now, I'm in the car driving back to Atlantic City, considering begging forgiveness from Dickie. He wins, and he probably won't be at all surprised when I come hat in hand to beg forgiveness. It'll cost me extra too; I'm sure of that. Hmm, being humble, saying I'm sorry is a very submissive thing for me to do, so maybe the sex will even be hotter than it normally is. I know the paddling will be harder, but I guess I deserve it for overreacting.

When I'm idling in the car across from Dickie's dump of an apartment, I stare at the front door working up the nerve; no, it's not working up the nerve so much as I'm working up the humbleness to do this. That's harder...

Of fuck, an older-looking pussy boy just walked out and looked right at me. He's wearing the uniform of tan cargo shorts and a white polo shirt, with the pussy boy haircut. Frowning, he goes back inside, and a minute later, he comes back out with Dickie, who gives me a dirty look, then waves his hand, yelling, "Well, you've come this far, so get out and get over here. Right now!"

Oh jeez, there's a tingling submissive sense in my brain as I turn off the engine and do that. As I walk across the street, the older pussy boy gets in a beat-up Volkswagen and drives away, to start his whoring shift, I suppose.

When I'm standing in front of five-foot-eight Dickie, who is looking cute this morning, he goes, "Let's hear it." Odd that I didn't notice he was looking cute earlier. With submissiveness spreading all over me, I say, sounding timid, but I can't help it, "I'm very sorry, Dickie. I apologize for overreacting this morning in the hotel room." 

He says, "For just doing my job, I get beat up by you." I didn't beat him up, but I mutter, "I know, and I am sorry for that." He shrugs, "Well, I've been treated worse. So, what do you plan to do to make it up to me?" Looking down, I mumble, "Would two hundred dollars be enough compensation for beating you up?" He holds out his hand, "Let's have it, and I'll forget about this morning."

Giving him four fifty-dollar bills from the back pocket of my bathing suit, he pockets the money, points at the door, and says, "Get your ass in there." I turn, and he grabs the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. My dick immediately firms up more as I stumble up the three steps and into the building. "Down to the left," he says and then tightens his surprisingly strong hand on my neck. The second apartment's door is open, and that's where he guides me. Inside, he kicks the door closed behind him, saying, "We weren't expecting company, so you'll need to excuse the mess."

Glancing around, there's threadworm furniture, and the walls need repainting; the carpet is worn, but there's no mess. He pushes me to a bedroom where, shockingly, a guy is sleeping in one of the twin beds. Letting go of my neck, Dickie says, "Meet my roommate, Gordon. Don't mind him. Get undressed," and he pulls his T-shirt off over his head, as I go, "But... um..." Dickie says, "Do what you're told!"

Making a face, I step out of my sandals, drop my bathing suit, and pull my T-shirt off. Dickie says, "Okay, let's see, um, the paddling is fifty, sucking my dick is fifty, and a hard fucking is a hundred. Give me another two hundred bucks, and we'll get started. Afterward, you better not forget a good tip. That's if you ever want another date with me." I nod, "I know, and I do, Dickie." Picking up my swimsuit, I go in the back pocket to get four more fifty-dollar bills and give them to him."

With the four fifties in his hand, he points to, I'm assuming his twin bed that's made up as neatly as our beds needed to be in the Seals. "Lean over there, hands on the footboard, and I'll give you a good paddling with a little something extra effort for your earlier bad behavior." He's all business, but not sounding especially pissed off, just doing his job. Money talks with pussy boys, and he'll get to keep all of the first two hundred I gave him. He doesn't need to split that money with Richard.

I lean over, holding onto the footboard of the bed, and he says, "Push it out. I shouldn't need to tell you that by now." I push my ass out and hear the "Swoosh" of the paddle swing through the air, then, "WHACK!" it connects with both my buttocks sending stinging pain throughout my body. He gives me four whacks like always, all of them harder than Sandy's, but they didn't seem as extra hard as I expected they'd be. 

He asks, "Are you good with that, or do you need a couple more. You paid for it, so it's up to you." See, he's all business, satisfying his client to get a larger tip. My ass is stinging just right, though, so I mutter, "I'm good."

The guy in the other bed opens his eyes and says, "What the fuck, Dickie?" Dickie goes, "Do you wanna get your dick sucked, Gordon?" Gordon has a bigger than normal head with a stiff-looking beard, he'll need to shave twice a day... that kind of overnight beard. He's probably twenty-four or twenty-five and not horrible looking, but too old and not my type at all. He used to be perfect, but since Richard educated me as to what I am and what I like... it's barely legal boys for me,

Gordon mutters, "No, I'm good," and he gets out of bed naked, adding, "He's a good-looking 'S' type you got there, Dickie," and he holds his hand out for Dickie to slap, which he does. Gordon slept in the nude, and he's got a good-looking long cock that swings in the breeze as he walks by us, leaving the room.

I'm still holding onto the bed's footboard, waiting to be told what to do. Dickie calls after Gordon, "You better call Richard and report in." I hear, "Yeah, yeah," and then the unmistakable sound of Gordon pissing in the toilet. Dickie yells, "Close the door, you animal." Then to me, "Get around here on your knees." 

Surprising myself, I go, "Oh, um, I think I would like two more paddles." He mutters, "Why didn't you say so when I asked you," and he goes to the bureau to get the paddle out again as I mumble, "I'm sorry." 

It's just that Gordon ruined the submissive sense I had, and I want it back. "Swoosh, WHACK! Swoosh, WHACK," and I'm going, "Ow, oh, that's, um, ah, yeah, I'm good now, Dickie." He's putting the paddle away, mumbling, "I could charge you twenty-five bucks for the extra paddles, but instead, add it to my tip." 

Wow, I take a hand off the footboard to rub my ass because those extra two whacks on top of the first four were reminiscent of Bruce paddling me. I won't ask Dickie for extras in the future.

He points to the floor in front of him, mumbling, "On your knees. Let's go!" I quickly turn around and drop to my knees. I also need to lean down because Dickie's six inches shorter than me. Picking up his dick, I can tell it's already firmed up quite a bit... he gets off paddling guys. Then it hits me, and I look up, asking, "Um, excuse me, Dickie, but did you fuck that fat guy?" 

He gloats, "Yes, twice, but I used a condom both times. Get to it. I don't have all day. I'm doing you a favor."

All pussy boys tell me they're doing me a favor, one that I need to put out big bucks for. Still, I'm feeling the paddling submissiveness and murmur, "Yes, Dickie." Pushing his firm, short penis with its oddly large head against his hairless pubic area, I lick all around his balls, then the inside of both legs, and under his scrotum. Oh man, my cock gets wicked hard, pointing straight up, tightly against my belly, throbbing and feeling good. 

Then, in my head, I see a picture of Dickie fucking that fat older man with Dickie's balls banging against the guy's scrotum and Dickie's groin area, the area I'm licking rubbing up against the back of the guy's buttocks and legs. I'm extremely submissively aroused, though, so I blank that picture because I can't stop doing this oral sex. And, I'm glad I made up to him because Dickie's got my number and knows how I like it. Plus, I like the familiarity and knowing what to expect. Yeah, I'm hooked on Dickie now because I'll always remember my humble apology and quickly get a submissive sense when I'm with him. This entire incident this morning binds me to Dickie, and, as a trained pussy boy dealing with an 'S' type client like me, he knows that as well as I do. 

Dickie rubs my head, then gets both hands behind it and mashes my face against his crotch just like he did yesterday. Jon did this too, as did Bruce. It's one of the familiarity exercises. Dickie's scent, not as clean and pure as it was yesterday, not after servicing the fat guy, swarms in my head just the same. It's recognizably Dickie, so it gets me even more aroused than I already was, and a spurt of precum shoots out of my hard boner, and I go, "Ahh, ooh." I'm so deeply into this now my eyes are almost closed.

He moves my head, sounding bored, he says, "Get my cock in your mouth," my face tightly squished against his groin. Remembering how I did it yesterday, I get my tongue under the head and inch it to my lips and then move my head a little to get it to slide on my tongue into my mouth... all of it. While sucking and licking it, I realize this is one of my deeper submissive trances, and I'm sort of dizzy, then an "Ooh" sound from my throat as more precum rolls down my boner. Dickie fucking that guy two times this morning means he had to have cum one of the times, and therefore I get to suck and lick his cock longer than normal before he shoots a little precum in my mouth and pushes my head away, saying, "That's good, I'm good." Reluctantly, I move my head back while getting one long last suck on the swollen head. His boner pops out of my mouth, sticking straight out from Dickie's hairless crotch.

He says, "I'm out of condoms, so get the thing of lube in the bathroom." "Yes, Dickie." In a fog, I get up and stumble over my feet walking naked, my boner almost sticking straight out like Dickie's. When I leave the bedroom, I turn the wrong way ending up in the kitchen where Gordon is eating a bowl of sugar called  Froot Loops. He points down the hall, mumbling, "The bathroom is at the end past both bedrooms." 

Like a zombie, I turn around and go there. On top of the toilet tank is a container of Surgi lube that I bring back to Dickie, who I find stroking his boner, mumbling, "That was a good blow job, Zip. Lube yourself up, Zippy." I do that and Dickie mumbles, "Okay, I'll do you doggie style again."

Getting on my hands and knees, very excited and full of anticipation, Dickie wastes no time. I  go, "Ahh!" my back curving when he humps the swollen head in past my sphincter. Whoa, that hurt, but not nearly as much as it would have without the paddling and lube. After Dickie pushes his short boner all the way in, he leaves it there because his cell phone rings. He picks it up off the bureau and goes, "G'morning, Richard," he listens, then, "I'm servicing that particular client right now." He listens again, "Ah, no, I'm at the apartment." Then, "I told him to call you. Hold on." He yells at the top of his lungs, "Gordon, Richard wants to talk to you."

As he waits, he tells me, "I texted Richard about your rude behavior this morning. He just got up and saw my text," then he yells again, "Gordon, get in here!" Gordon comes in still chewing Froot Loops and takes the phone. Dickie says, "Talk to him in the kitchen." Gordon mutters, "Ya know what? I will take that blow job when you're done with him." Dickie shrugs, "That's between you two." 

To me, he mumbles, "Sorry about that," and starts hard, fast thrusting, "Slap, slap, slap." The pain of entry faded away during that ridiculous interruption, but amazingly the outrageousness of it, sunk me deeper into my wonderful submissive trance, so I say nothing.

The pleasure sensations coming from my anus and prostate are enormous as Dickie thrusts at different angles, changing speeds until it is feeling so fantastic I forget to breathe. Then my breath comes out in gasps as I sway forward and back from his thrusting. I'm moaning, "Ah, ah, ah..." and his thrusting gets harder and faster, and it seems like forever, a forever world of sexual pleasure augmented by this deep submissive dream-like trance.

"Slap, slap, slap," as I hear Dickie mumble, "I think I'm going to cum again. How 'bout that." For some reason, that gets me to blow my load. A hard stream of cum, a burning stream of cum blows out my cock, "Splat!" on the hardwood floor. It got the piss slit of my cock wide open, quivering and burning as I jerked around so hard Dickie's cock pulled out entirely, and he shoots a warm stream of creamy cum on my buttocks and halfway up my back.

I'm shaking like mad, waves of sensations flowing over me, and then I do a huge inhale and shiver at the after-effects. Dickie says, "Stay put," and leaves the room, padding down to the bathroom. I gasp in another deep breath as my shoulders shudder, and I feel the submissive blanket beginning to lift off me causing me to shudder again. 

What the hell was that? I mean, Zippy is sensing zipping pleasure sensations as I sort of rock back and forth on my hands and knees, but I'm breathing more naturally now. It was fantastic, but I'm not sure how it happened or what exactly caused it to get better about three notches from yesterday morning's date with Dickie, that I thought was pretty good..

He comes back into the room, drying his dick after washing it. He goes, "Did you get your money's worth?" I nod, "Uh-huh, and then some." 

He mutters, "Well, let me finish up then with your paddling. Richard wants to see Gordon and me in the lockers. First, I need a shower and something to eat." As he's telling me that he gets the paddle and goes, "Push it out," I do that, but I'm about to say he doesn't need to do the last paddling, I don't get the chance, though, "Swoosh, WHACK!" OW! Then two more and one really hard last one. My ass is on fire as he asks, "Do you want the two extra whacks?" Shaking my head, back in my submissive mode, I whine, "No, Dickie. Please, no." He mutters, "Fine by me," and the paddle goes in the bureau drawer.

He's pulling on underpants, then picking up my swimsuit and handing it to me, "Um, my tip if you don't mind." I'm still shaky, but I've got this great feeling of sexual satisfaction now. The stinging in my ass sort of feels good. It's mind over matter or something. Feeling submissive from the paddling, I murmur, "Yes, Dickie," and pull out three fifties. He takes the bills saying, ''Thanks. You wait here; Gordon wants a blowjob." I meant to give him two fifties, but he grabbed them so fast...

Still swaying a little on my hands and knees, everything feels good. Holy shit that was really weird but really something special too. Oh, man, I sigh and then snicker to myself. This was way out there! Another deep breath, then Gordon comes in and says, "It'll be fifty bucks to blow me."  

"What?" and sit back on my heels, only now registering what Dickie said about a blowjob. I go, "Oh, I'm sorry. No, I'm good. Maybe next time, okay?" He asks, "How come you've got a pussy boy haircut, and you're hairless down there?" 

I can hear what has to be Dickie in the shower, so he didn't close the door either. My head is clearing finally as I mumble, "I was a pussy boy trainee for a while, and now I'm joining again." 

"C'mon, how about a fifty dollar blowjob," and he pulls down his jockey shorts. Omigod, that's right. I saw it earlier, and this guy has a dick as long as Bruce's. I go, "Um, ah... oh, alright," and fish out a single fifty. He holds it in his hand, saying, "I don't charge extra for deep throating, so you have fun with it."

Picking up his penis, I lap his balls, and within thirty seconds, I'm going to town licking and sucking his scrotum and nuts, his cock getting hard under my fingers as I'm holding it against his stomach. He's making grunting sounds moving his feet, and muttering, "Oh, oh, umm, yeah..." When I lick up the shaft to the head twice, he's got a fairly hard boner that I put in my mouth and suck the head to get the whole thing really hard. The head isn't much bigger than the shaft, which is good because he holds my head between his hands and fucks the hell out of my throat.

I'm gagging like mad, my eyes watering like crazy, but he only lasts maybe fifteen seconds before making a screeching sound and blowing cum in three creamy shots down my throat. As he's pulling his slopping cock out of my throat, the head sliding out on my tongue, I suck it as it goes by. He exhales a long noisy exhale as he steps back two steps, then goes, "Did you get your money's worth?" 

Ha, this fuckhead wants a tip. Swallowing twice, I go, "No, it was too quick." He turns around and leaves, saying, "You're right; it was."

Swallowing again to clear the odd taste of his cum, I'm now feeling Dickie's cum drooling out of my gooey-with-lube ass. Wow, what a workout. I've still got half a boner as I stand. I rub my sore butt cheeks, then use tissues to wipe Dickie's cum off my ass and back. Holding tissues on my asshole, I walked to the bathroom. Dickie's behind the shower curtain, as I wash up using the soft soap on the sink, then rinse and dry myself with a hand towel, one that's seen better days.

Back in the bedroom, I pull on my swimsuit and polo shirt, step into my sandals and, feeling fantastic, walk out, seeing Gordon getting another bowl of Froot Loops and milk. Eww! 

Outside, I smile because there's no way I'm going to be horny the rest of this day. Driving back to the boardwalk to get a late lunch, I'm trying to figure out why that date with Dickie hit me as super sexy, hot, and submissive. It had to be a combination of a lot of weird things that happened this morning. Hmm, that would be impossible to repeat, I'd imagine.

To be continued...