Shane, a directionless 20 year old living with his parents and
attending community college, is sitting on his porch one lazy day when
he spots Grant a new next door neighbor. Grant is handsome, older, and
successful. Shane is attracted to the older man, wants to start a
relationship but Grant has just gotten out of a long-term relationship
with a man and isn’t ready for commitment.
Worse, he sees Shane as too young, too impulsive, and misbehaved, but
when Shane won’t give up Grant challenges him to a little discipline.
That night after the spanking session as I lay on his bed with my head in his lap, my hand on his leg playing with a pinch of denim from his jeans I felt as if the sin had been beaten from me. My skin burned in an unfamiliar way yet it felt rewarding somehow, as if I felt a pain in me I could have not felt any other way, some kind of new sensation not to be experienced by anyone else. Each cheek throbbed with the beat of my heart.
I felt like I had learned some lesson and yet I knew there could be more sessions. Mr. Grant’s thigh was a comfort in that moment. His body and mine were fused. We were fused. We had both taken part in some kind of ceremony of pain. I told myself I was an adult, that I could walk out right then and never come back yet I felt the beginning of an obligation.
When he moved a little I clutched the fabric of his pants but he calmly ran his fingers through my hair and told me he was going to get something for the pain. He pulled away and I felt like something was missing from myself. I listened to him go into the bathroom where he took something out of the cabinet. His feet made a distinct sound on the carpet. Every sense of mine was heightened. My nipples were hard against the bed, even my cock began to swell.
I heard him opening a jar of cream. He put one knee on the bed and I felt it shift as he leaned over to my ass where he touched it gently. The cream was cool and smelled of aloe, his touch was precise. One cheek then the other and immediately the sensation there felt different. He worked it into my thighs. I wanted him to do more. I wanted him to slip a finger up into me. I wanted to feel that cream everywhere but then he stopped. His weight on the bed retreated and he closed the jar. I listened to him go back to the bathroom where he put it away. I was ready to close my eyes and fall asleep even without him when he spoke to me.
“I’m going to let you stay like that for a while while I put your clothes away for the night and get you something else to wear to bed. Don’t go anywhere I don’t want you to get cream on the bed cover or anywhere else.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
The response came out naturally. It felt appropriate. My cynicism about calling him sir was gone. I listened to him pick up my clothes, fold them, and then put them away in a dresser drawer. I listened to him retrieve a bag from the hallway closet and carry it into the bedroom. Had be bought me something? Was it pajamas? Had he planned on me staying the night? I certainly didn’t want to go home in my condition.
He carried the bag to the head of the bed and set it down for me to see. He asked me my waist size and I told him. He asked me my shirt size and I told him. Then, he reached into the bag, retrieved two items and set them on the bed. I saw right away that they were white briefs and white t-shirts still in the bag from the store shelf. I wanted to reach out to them, pull them open, and see them but I stopped myself from acting so impulsively.
Instead I waited for him as he carried the bag to the hallway closet, went to the kitchen to retrieve something, and come back to the bedroom. He told me to get up from the bed carefully which I did. He handed me a bottle of water. Strangely I had not thought about being drinking anything and yet I was very thirsty. It must be from all the crying, I thought. I opened the bottle and downed more than half of it to quench my thirst. When I finished he held out his hand to take the bottle which he set on a nearby dresser. I looked to the briefs and t-shirts on the bed.
“You need a bath first,” he said.
I knew what was going to happen and yet I waited for him to move first. He ushered me into the bathroom where he plugged the tub drain and started the water. He made sure it was a comfortable temperature before indicating that I should get in. He helped me as I stepped inside and lowered myself down. The porcelain was hard against my ass and I shifted until I found a comfortable spot by holding most of the weight on my back. I held myself there until the water filled enough to give me some buoyancy though it barely helped. He got me a wash cloth from the cabinet and pointed to the bar of soap.
“I’m not going to wash you, unless you want me to, I’m just here for comfort. You’ve been through something significant tonight.”
“Thank you sir,” I said.
He retrieved a mini-stool from his room, set it by the tub. I closed my eyes and splashed water on my face. Being in the tub, being in the water, splashing my face, having him there, and even drinking the bottled water was exactly what I needed. When I opened my eyes I felt like a different person. I felt the droplets run down my throat, over my chest, and it felt like I was reconstructing my body one sensation at a time. I put more water over my face, over my head. I loved the feeling of it running down my dry back. I looked up to him and was surprised to see him smiling down at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“Am I?”
He nodded. It was true. I could feel it. I was naked in a tub after having been spanked by my neighbor who was an older man and I was smiling. I laughed a little as I looked down over myself. My thighs, my limp dick, my pubic hair, and my feet were all there, the same ones I had seen every day of my life. I got an idea. I wet the cloth and picked up the bar of soap then offered both of them to him.
“Would you wash my back sir?” I asked.
He took the cloth and the soap, lathered the cloth, and shifted closer as I moved my back to him. He started with my shoulders. I was reminded of that day on the beach. I was reminded of hiding my drinking from him. I wanted to apologize to him but it was a passing thought as he moved down my spine. It was our own moment as he soaped my entire back. He stopped at the water line so I moved up, got to my knees, but he hesitated.
“Would you wash my ass sir? I want to make sure and get all of the lotion,” I said.
His hand went to my ass and for a moment I regretted asking as I felt the roughness of the material as he moved it over each cheek but the pain was mild enough to endure it. I wanted him to do more. I wanted him to go between my crack. I wanted to feel him and yet he stopped even as I put my knees to the sides of the tub to open myself, offer myself. He moved to my thighs instead.
Then he was done and I knew it was over. I had not been rebuked so much as ignored, maybe politely delayed. When he finished I sat back down, careful to put the weight on my back as quickly as I could. I looked back up to him and I smiled.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8
Monday, July 28, 2014
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Act Your Age Ch 01: New Neighbor
Shane, a directionless 20 year old living with his parents and
attending community college, is sitting on his porch one lazy day when
he spots Grant a new next door neighbor. Grant is handsome, older, and
successful. Shane is attracted to the older man, wants to start a
relationship but Grant has just gotten out of a long-term relationship
with a man and isn’t ready for commitment.
Worse, he sees Shane as too young, too impulsive, and misbehaved, but when Shane won’t give up Grant challenges him to a little discipline.
With my parents away at work and not feeling like studying or doing my homework from my classes at the community college I decided to take one of my father’s cigars from his office and one of his beers from the fridge and sit out on our porch. I had my own pack of cigarettes but there was something nice about a cigar every once in a while, especially when I stole them from my father.
It was after eleven, I had just gotten up and had breakfast but I couldn’t go anywhere because my car was wrecked and in our garage taking up the only space. My mom didn’t want it to be seen by the neighbors.
The accident was bad enough that I had to walk with a cane and my parents felt it was punishment enough that they barely said anything. They didn’t want to inhibit my creativity and my own internal agency. My father was a therapist with his own problems and my mother, well my mother worked in pharmaceuticals.
I had few plans for after high school. My father had something else in mind when he told me months before I graduated that he wanted me to go to the local community college. He said I needed more of an education and that education was something that became more difficult later in life. I thought I would take a few classes and if they didn’t go well I could move on to something else. What I didn’t expect was to start that summer right after graduating. When my friends were partying, sleeping late, and goofing off I had to study. It was almost worth it because I was about to get my Associate’s degree and thinking about where to finish my Bachelor’s degree.
I had been sipping at my beer and smoking my cigar for some time when I saw the two moving vans arrive for the next door neighbor’s house. The first truck had a hard idle and I could hear the suspension creak when it rounded corners and pulled into the driveway. The second truck parked on the street. I thought anyone who used it was at risk of it breaking down, or worse, possibly dying which is probably why I stared to see who would get out of the driver’s seat.
At first I thought there were four movers until I determined one of them was directing the others and dressed more formally, the way adults dress when not at work. I could tell by the way he moved and talked that he was a rugged type. I watched him as he moved and talked. I could tell the other men were movers, used to being ordered around, and that he didn’t fit in with them yet they respected him somehow. He was the first to open the truck and grab a box. He worked with the men as they carried everything inside, often grabbing the second half of the heaviest objects. I watched him as he worked, always lifting with his legs.
He had to be pretty rich to move into a house in our neighborhood but I was surprised when no one else showed. No wife, no kids, just him and the movers. I had noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign had been taken down weeks prior and asked my mother but she didn’t know who had bought the place. She had been spying on the realtors whenever she could, even introducing herself to people who were looking, but I didn’t really expect her to know. I thought it would be another couple like my parents.
At one point he stopped to catch his breath as I was staring at him, wanting him to do something where I would see some part of his body, the skin of his arm, the cleft of a butt cheek when he looked directly at me and waved. I thought for a moment that I had been caught and was being signaled in some way but then I thought about the distance between us and I knew he didn’t really know, couldn’t be sure about what I was looking at so I just waved back as simply and insincerely as I could.
They made a second and third trip while I watched. It was the most interesting thing. I had already watched a marathon of television the night before. The cigar went out several times before I gave up on it and I finished off two beers, even had a sandwich.
After they unloaded the last moving truck he drove away with the movers and I thought it was over until he returned about an hour later in a truck with a bag of fast food and some beers. I was feeling curious plus I thought him being a single guy who still looked young he might feel some pity for me at the age of 20 and stuck without a car. I got to my feet and trying to look extra pitiful with my cane I headed over.
The front glass door was closed but the wooden front door was open. I could see him right away on the couch with an open laptop on the coffee table. He was shirtless but I couldn’t make out much detail through the glare. I watched him eat some fries before I knocked. He was even more handsome than I had thought. He was older, at least ten years. He smiled and waved me inside but when I tried the handle I found it was locked.
He got up and moved to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open for me. I could see his muscled, hairy chest clearly now. He had broad, flat pectoral muscles and a washboard stomach but I didn’t dare try to count the abs, though I could see almost everything because he wasn’t wearing a belt so his jeans were loose about his hips. I couldn’t see the waistband for his underwear. I felt my face was hot and I was feeling dizzy from the stimulation so I faked a cough and instead I looked up into his eyes. He looked professional but casual, a five o’clock shadow. I could still see the whole upper body of him, the way his chest muscles stretched, his biceps flexed, muscles that rippled naturally.
“Hello there,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied.
There was a smell of cologne and sweat in the air as well as grease and ketchup. He motioned for me to enter so I did. He let the door close behind me before going back to the couch. He was comfortable but maybe a little annoyed by my presence. I worked my way close to him. The closer I got the more I felt some kind of energy, an attraction like I had only felt for few other men in my life. It felt like a tingling sensation on my skin and grabbed at my stomach making me realize I was holding my breath.
He watched me as I moved and I stared back at him. A few feet away and by the recliner, I thought to sit but felt it was too presumptuous so I leaned against my cane.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Not bad,” he said. “Have a seat. I was just about to get a shower but I thought I would check my email first.”
I moved in front of the recliner, still keeping my eyes on him, and sat. I could tell it was high quality just from sitting but when I touched it with my fingers it felt great. I looked around at the walls but they were bare so I looked back to him and his computer.
“I’m Shane,” I said.
“Mr. Grant,” he said. “Sorry, I’m being rude, I just am trying to do everything at once.”
Who introduces themselves like that? He wanted me to call him Mr. Grant? What was next, sir?
“Moving in today,” I said. It was rhetorical, or else he didn’t take the bait. “I would’ve helped but I got this thing.”
“I saw you on the porch. Laid up with that cane huh?”
“Car accident,” I said, “nothing big just got a little hurt. I would have helped but I’m not sure what I could have done.”
“At least you get a day off from high school though right?”
“Community college,” I said. “And I don’t have class today.”
I was feeling a little irritated by him assuming I was in high school so I decided to show a little courage. I pulled my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and held them out to offer him one.
“Do you smoke?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Cigars mostly. Do you know a good place?”
“No, I get mine from my father’s office,” I said.
“And he’s okay with you taking his cigars?”
I nodded.
He shook his head before he looked back to his computer. He moved the mouse a little, clicked on something but he looked frustrated.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just with moving and not having any internet service yet it’s kind of annoying. There’s an open network but I barely get a signal and I’m trying to download some paperwork.”
I immediately thought to offer him the password to my home wi-fi but then I thought about my parents and worried about whether I could trust him. I grimaced at the predicament and nodded to show sympathy. I wanted to help him. I wanted to impress him. I wanted to be resourceful. And yet all of those feelings worked against me telling him because I was afraid to look weak.
It’s no big deal, I told myself. Just let life happen and it will all sort itself out. I played with my cane a little between my hands waiting for him to say something else but he didn’t. I knew I would have to keep the conversation going.
“So what brings you here?” I asked.
“I’m starting a business,” he said. “That’s why I need these documents.”
He leaned forward, squinted, and something inside of me snapped.
“You could use my parents’ network,” I said.
He looked up to me.
“Really, it’s fine. I mean you’re getting your own soon. It would just be temporary.”
He smiled.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s easier if I just type it in,” I said before getting to my feet. I hobbled around the coffee table and he moved down the couch. I sat beside him and looked to the screen. I wasn’t sure what I would find there, maybe a picture of a half-naked man for the wallpaper or something to tell me he was gay but there wasn’t anything there.
Instead there was an empty email inbox and a meter showing how slow the data was being transferred. I found the network selector, found my parents’ network, and typed in the password, a phrase I had made up myself. The connection was made and the data rate jumped.
“Hey, that’s great,” he said.
I smiled and looked to him. He was older than me. He was more muscled than me. And sitting this close to him I could tell he radiated masculinity. I thought for a moment he was straight and that I was being foolish. I had fallen for straight guys before in high school and my first year of college, befriended them but ultimately the relationships didn’t go anywhere. How could they?
“I think I can handle it from here,” he said.
“Right,” I said.
I looked to his email and saw lots of new messages from lots of different people. There was a Wendy, a Michael, and a Tom. I got to my feet and made my way back to the recliner where I sat and looked back to him. I was feeling he buzz from the two beers wearing off and there was the reminder of sobriety. I didn’t want it to end and I felt bold enough to ask him.
“So how about a celebration beer? I saw you bring them inside.”
He looked up to me but he didn’t smile. He looked angry. Either because I had been spying or the stupidity to ask.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-one,” I said.
“When were you born?”
I thought about it for a moment before I realized I just had to subtract one year from my actual birth year which I told him.
“You had to think about it,” he said.
“Really,” I said, “okay, I’m actually twenty but I drink all of the time."
“You drink all of the time?”
“I have a tolerance for it.”
He looked to my cane, then up to me.
“I wasn’t drinking and driving,” I said. “This was sober.”
He looked back to his computer.
“No beer?” I asked.
“No beer,” he said. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea if you’re not legal drinking age and this is my first day in town. What would your parents say?”
I let out a sigh and looked to his walls again. I looked at the windows that didn’t have curtains. I looked to the boxes. I could hear cars on the street and children screaming at each other. Our little moment was over, I had pissed him off, and there was nothing else for me to do. Gay or straight it didn’t matter. He didn’t like me.
“Well,” I said. “I have to get going.”
He looked to me. I got to my feet and he stood as well. He crossed the distance between us and extended his hand which I shook. He smiled and I smiled back. We had made up but I was still leaving, he was still escorting me out. He walked with me to the door where he opened it and ushered me out, then closed it behind me. I turned to him and waved before turning away and heading back home.
Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7
Worse, he sees Shane as too young, too impulsive, and misbehaved, but when Shane won’t give up Grant challenges him to a little discipline.
With my parents away at work and not feeling like studying or doing my homework from my classes at the community college I decided to take one of my father’s cigars from his office and one of his beers from the fridge and sit out on our porch. I had my own pack of cigarettes but there was something nice about a cigar every once in a while, especially when I stole them from my father.
It was after eleven, I had just gotten up and had breakfast but I couldn’t go anywhere because my car was wrecked and in our garage taking up the only space. My mom didn’t want it to be seen by the neighbors.
The accident was bad enough that I had to walk with a cane and my parents felt it was punishment enough that they barely said anything. They didn’t want to inhibit my creativity and my own internal agency. My father was a therapist with his own problems and my mother, well my mother worked in pharmaceuticals.
I had few plans for after high school. My father had something else in mind when he told me months before I graduated that he wanted me to go to the local community college. He said I needed more of an education and that education was something that became more difficult later in life. I thought I would take a few classes and if they didn’t go well I could move on to something else. What I didn’t expect was to start that summer right after graduating. When my friends were partying, sleeping late, and goofing off I had to study. It was almost worth it because I was about to get my Associate’s degree and thinking about where to finish my Bachelor’s degree.
I had been sipping at my beer and smoking my cigar for some time when I saw the two moving vans arrive for the next door neighbor’s house. The first truck had a hard idle and I could hear the suspension creak when it rounded corners and pulled into the driveway. The second truck parked on the street. I thought anyone who used it was at risk of it breaking down, or worse, possibly dying which is probably why I stared to see who would get out of the driver’s seat.
At first I thought there were four movers until I determined one of them was directing the others and dressed more formally, the way adults dress when not at work. I could tell by the way he moved and talked that he was a rugged type. I watched him as he moved and talked. I could tell the other men were movers, used to being ordered around, and that he didn’t fit in with them yet they respected him somehow. He was the first to open the truck and grab a box. He worked with the men as they carried everything inside, often grabbing the second half of the heaviest objects. I watched him as he worked, always lifting with his legs.
He had to be pretty rich to move into a house in our neighborhood but I was surprised when no one else showed. No wife, no kids, just him and the movers. I had noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign had been taken down weeks prior and asked my mother but she didn’t know who had bought the place. She had been spying on the realtors whenever she could, even introducing herself to people who were looking, but I didn’t really expect her to know. I thought it would be another couple like my parents.
At one point he stopped to catch his breath as I was staring at him, wanting him to do something where I would see some part of his body, the skin of his arm, the cleft of a butt cheek when he looked directly at me and waved. I thought for a moment that I had been caught and was being signaled in some way but then I thought about the distance between us and I knew he didn’t really know, couldn’t be sure about what I was looking at so I just waved back as simply and insincerely as I could.
They made a second and third trip while I watched. It was the most interesting thing. I had already watched a marathon of television the night before. The cigar went out several times before I gave up on it and I finished off two beers, even had a sandwich.
After they unloaded the last moving truck he drove away with the movers and I thought it was over until he returned about an hour later in a truck with a bag of fast food and some beers. I was feeling curious plus I thought him being a single guy who still looked young he might feel some pity for me at the age of 20 and stuck without a car. I got to my feet and trying to look extra pitiful with my cane I headed over.
The front glass door was closed but the wooden front door was open. I could see him right away on the couch with an open laptop on the coffee table. He was shirtless but I couldn’t make out much detail through the glare. I watched him eat some fries before I knocked. He was even more handsome than I had thought. He was older, at least ten years. He smiled and waved me inside but when I tried the handle I found it was locked.
He got up and moved to the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open for me. I could see his muscled, hairy chest clearly now. He had broad, flat pectoral muscles and a washboard stomach but I didn’t dare try to count the abs, though I could see almost everything because he wasn’t wearing a belt so his jeans were loose about his hips. I couldn’t see the waistband for his underwear. I felt my face was hot and I was feeling dizzy from the stimulation so I faked a cough and instead I looked up into his eyes. He looked professional but casual, a five o’clock shadow. I could still see the whole upper body of him, the way his chest muscles stretched, his biceps flexed, muscles that rippled naturally.
“Hello there,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied.
There was a smell of cologne and sweat in the air as well as grease and ketchup. He motioned for me to enter so I did. He let the door close behind me before going back to the couch. He was comfortable but maybe a little annoyed by my presence. I worked my way close to him. The closer I got the more I felt some kind of energy, an attraction like I had only felt for few other men in my life. It felt like a tingling sensation on my skin and grabbed at my stomach making me realize I was holding my breath.
He watched me as I moved and I stared back at him. A few feet away and by the recliner, I thought to sit but felt it was too presumptuous so I leaned against my cane.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Not bad,” he said. “Have a seat. I was just about to get a shower but I thought I would check my email first.”
I moved in front of the recliner, still keeping my eyes on him, and sat. I could tell it was high quality just from sitting but when I touched it with my fingers it felt great. I looked around at the walls but they were bare so I looked back to him and his computer.
“I’m Shane,” I said.
“Mr. Grant,” he said. “Sorry, I’m being rude, I just am trying to do everything at once.”
Who introduces themselves like that? He wanted me to call him Mr. Grant? What was next, sir?
“Moving in today,” I said. It was rhetorical, or else he didn’t take the bait. “I would’ve helped but I got this thing.”
“I saw you on the porch. Laid up with that cane huh?”
“Car accident,” I said, “nothing big just got a little hurt. I would have helped but I’m not sure what I could have done.”
“At least you get a day off from high school though right?”
“Community college,” I said. “And I don’t have class today.”
I was feeling a little irritated by him assuming I was in high school so I decided to show a little courage. I pulled my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and held them out to offer him one.
“Do you smoke?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Cigars mostly. Do you know a good place?”
“No, I get mine from my father’s office,” I said.
“And he’s okay with you taking his cigars?”
I nodded.
He shook his head before he looked back to his computer. He moved the mouse a little, clicked on something but he looked frustrated.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just with moving and not having any internet service yet it’s kind of annoying. There’s an open network but I barely get a signal and I’m trying to download some paperwork.”
I immediately thought to offer him the password to my home wi-fi but then I thought about my parents and worried about whether I could trust him. I grimaced at the predicament and nodded to show sympathy. I wanted to help him. I wanted to impress him. I wanted to be resourceful. And yet all of those feelings worked against me telling him because I was afraid to look weak.
It’s no big deal, I told myself. Just let life happen and it will all sort itself out. I played with my cane a little between my hands waiting for him to say something else but he didn’t. I knew I would have to keep the conversation going.
“So what brings you here?” I asked.
“I’m starting a business,” he said. “That’s why I need these documents.”
He leaned forward, squinted, and something inside of me snapped.
“You could use my parents’ network,” I said.
He looked up to me.
“Really, it’s fine. I mean you’re getting your own soon. It would just be temporary.”
He smiled.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s easier if I just type it in,” I said before getting to my feet. I hobbled around the coffee table and he moved down the couch. I sat beside him and looked to the screen. I wasn’t sure what I would find there, maybe a picture of a half-naked man for the wallpaper or something to tell me he was gay but there wasn’t anything there.
Instead there was an empty email inbox and a meter showing how slow the data was being transferred. I found the network selector, found my parents’ network, and typed in the password, a phrase I had made up myself. The connection was made and the data rate jumped.
“Hey, that’s great,” he said.
I smiled and looked to him. He was older than me. He was more muscled than me. And sitting this close to him I could tell he radiated masculinity. I thought for a moment he was straight and that I was being foolish. I had fallen for straight guys before in high school and my first year of college, befriended them but ultimately the relationships didn’t go anywhere. How could they?
“I think I can handle it from here,” he said.
“Right,” I said.
I looked to his email and saw lots of new messages from lots of different people. There was a Wendy, a Michael, and a Tom. I got to my feet and made my way back to the recliner where I sat and looked back to him. I was feeling he buzz from the two beers wearing off and there was the reminder of sobriety. I didn’t want it to end and I felt bold enough to ask him.
“So how about a celebration beer? I saw you bring them inside.”
He looked up to me but he didn’t smile. He looked angry. Either because I had been spying or the stupidity to ask.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-one,” I said.
“When were you born?”
I thought about it for a moment before I realized I just had to subtract one year from my actual birth year which I told him.
“You had to think about it,” he said.
“Really,” I said, “okay, I’m actually twenty but I drink all of the time."
“You drink all of the time?”
“I have a tolerance for it.”
He looked to my cane, then up to me.
“I wasn’t drinking and driving,” I said. “This was sober.”
He looked back to his computer.
“No beer?” I asked.
“No beer,” he said. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea if you’re not legal drinking age and this is my first day in town. What would your parents say?”
I let out a sigh and looked to his walls again. I looked at the windows that didn’t have curtains. I looked to the boxes. I could hear cars on the street and children screaming at each other. Our little moment was over, I had pissed him off, and there was nothing else for me to do. Gay or straight it didn’t matter. He didn’t like me.
“Well,” I said. “I have to get going.”
He looked to me. I got to my feet and he stood as well. He crossed the distance between us and extended his hand which I shook. He smiled and I smiled back. We had made up but I was still leaving, he was still escorting me out. He walked with me to the door where he opened it and ushered me out, then closed it behind me. I turned to him and waved before turning away and heading back home.
Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7
Act Your Age Ch 05: Hugh
I tried to think about what had happened between Grant and myself for a few days, between classes and homework but I wasn’t one for self-reflection. When Friday came around I decided I needed to get out, have a drink, and maybe find someone fun so I called Tucker. He liked the idea because he was stressed as well so we decided to go out to a gay bar in the city. We met up with three of his friends: Devon, Charlie, and Nate. We greeted each other but there was no chemistry between us personally, not even as potential fuck buddies. The place was small and dark. We didn’t get carded on the way in but I knew I’d get carded if I went to the bar myself.
Tucker, Devon, and Charlie went instead at first. Tucker slid me half his drink before going back for another. I downed it and when he got back I took that drink from him too and drank half of it. They talked about college and sports so I decided to look around the bar. I spotted a handsome, older man near the stage area that was barely enough room for someone to stand. The only thing special about it was that it was elevated. He saw me watching him and he started to look back so I turned back to the guys. I asked if any of them wanted to dance. Nate, the one who wasn’t drinking, said he wanted to dance with me so I set my cane against one of the legs of the table, we got up, and went to the center of the bar where others were dancing.
It was easy for Nate to get close to me, for a moment I regretted inviting him because I barely knew him but he was a good dancer. Our bodies touched as we danced, his hand went to my hip so I decided to stop him. I leaned to his ear and told him I was interested in someone else, but he didn’t pull back his hand. Instead we continued to dance. He leaned to my ear. His breath smelled terrible.
“We can still have fun,” he said.
I thought about pushing him away but instead I stepped back from him and broke into moves that kept the distance. It wasn’t long before I spotted that handsome, older man moving through the crowd. He passed me and we stared each other in the eye, but he kept moving. I hoped he didn’t want me to come after him. Nate moved close again.
“Why don’t you take off your shirt?” he asked.
I shook my head. I stepped back from him and for a moment I thought he was going to leave me, but I saw the look in his eyes. I was fresh meat. He probably wasn’t used to guys turning him down with his broad shoulders and good looks but he just didn’t have it for me. He was creepy but in a desperate way. He was a nice guy. He was chum. It wasn’t long before the handsome man came back in our direction, but this time was headed my direction. I signaled him to come over and told Nate I wanted to dance with someone else. Nate saw the man and rolled his eyes before he walked away. The man closed the distance between us.
“I’m Hugh,” he said.
“Shane,” I said.
“You’re cute,” he said. “What happened to your friend? Was he just your friend?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s dance,” I said.
He moved close to me and we began to dance together. This time when my body touched his and his body touched mine there was something there. He was a few inches taller and I could tell he had muscled arms. There were a few wrinkles, a few marks of age, but he was handsome. We danced until we were sweaty, our bodies worked in unison as if we were simulating a sex act right there. He put his hands out to my hips, took hold of my shirt.
“Take it off,” he said.
I stopped him and leaned to his neck where I kissed it then aimed my lips up to his ear.
“You first,” I said.
He smiled and let go of my shirt, then took hold of his own. He pulled it off easily, tucked it in his back pocket. I did the same. His hands were back at me and pulled me close so that our chests touched, our lips were inches apart. His breath smelled of whiskey and mint. I reached up, grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. His tongue worked its way between my lips and I could taste him. It was the moment I wanted as I felt our legs intertwine, my thigh right in his crotch so that I could feel his bulge. He pulled away from me.
“I want you,” he said. “There’s a back room.”
I had him right where I wanted him. He needed me. Any other night I would have gone along for the cheap thrill but I decided to play hard to get. I wanted to be cruel. I wanted some kind of revenge against Grant, some kind of self-affirmation.
“You have to wait,” I said. “I need another drink. I’m going over to my friends, bring me a double whiskey neat and we’ll talk.”
One of his hands went to my side just under my arm pit, the other to my chest where he felt my sweat as he looked down into my eyes. He was trying to make a choice, trying to determine if I was worth it, but I thought he would be game. I reached behind him and grabbed his ass before pulling his shirt from his pocket and stepping out of our embrace. I slid the fabric around my neck and winked at him. He nodded so I walked away back to the table.
Tucker and Charlie were still there. I put both shirts on the table, showed them my prize, then pointed out the shirtless man at the bar and told them he was bringing me a drink. The complimented me on my boldness and said I had a nice catch. I asked what happened to Devon and Nate.
“Devon is playing pool. Nate got pissed so he’s in the back room. He said you got him worked up but were a tease, but then he saw you with your new friend,” Tucker said before sipping at his drink.
“He didn’t have nice things to say about young men who only like old men,” Charlie added.
“Not only, just prefer,” I said. “They know what they want.”
“Is it serious?” Tucker asked.
“You can still fuck me,” I answered, “at least for now.”
He grinned and looked to the bar where Hugh was headed our direction with my drink in his hand but nothing for himself. He got close to me and put his arm around my back. I liked the feel of his warmth but was focused on the drink. I drank half of it, then kissed him.
“Go slow with it. I had to convince the bartender it was for myself,” Hugh said.
“Well then I shouldn’t be caught with it,” I said before I downed the second half.
He slipped his hand down my side to my waistband and I felt his fingers slip inside but not go very far. Tucker and Charlie started talking to each other and I decided the table was enough cover so I put my hand in his crotch. I tickled his bulge, let my finger work down his taint.
“Take it easy there,” Hugh whispered.
“Do you still want to have fun?” I asked.
“What did you have in mind?”
“We can go to the back room,” I answered.
He started to move but I stopped him. He sighed as he was still anchored to me, but moved more behind me so that his arms were around my sides, his thumbs went inside the front of my jeans. His muscled back against me, his form almost enveloped me. I wanted to give in to him but I stopped myself. I turned on him instead. I looked up into his eyes and I grinned.
“What?” he asked.
“I want you to flash my friends,” I said.
“What?”
“Show them your dick,” I said. “If they approve then we can go to the back room but if they don’t then we call it quits.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely,” I said.
He contemplated my challenge for a moment before he moved from me and between my two friends, placed a hand on each of their shoulders and whispered to them. They looked to me and smiled. I grinned, then looked to my glass and was disappointed it was empty. The three of them looked ready to depart but I stopped them and leaned across the table.
“Here,” I said.
Hugh shrugged his shoulders then pulled the two guys into a triangle. It was actually pretty effective. It reminded me of one time my youth soccer team said they’d form a wall around me so I could change because I wore the wrong uniform. It felt so embarrassing and I couldn’t help but fear them moving away at the last minute, leaving me in my underwear on the field. I watched the two guys looking down at his crotch and I was suddenly jealous. They were seeing something I wasn’t, I might not ever, unless I acted. I was about to try and break into their grouping when Hugh shifted and I knew he was putting his dick away and zipping up.
Tucker and Charlie turned to me and nodded. Hugh moved from behind them to where I stood and took hold of me. This time I knew he had won so I gave in to his motion as he ushered me to the back room. The door gave easily with his push, but when it closed it sounded heavy and too solid as if it couldn’t be opened again.
The back room was dark and it took me a moment to adjust. It was partially lit with black lights so anything white or fluorescent glowed. It was my first time being back there and I saw a number of stalls, or what were called ‘play areas’ but things weren’t easily contained. One guys was completely naked and I had to wonder where his clothes were. Were they in some corner? Would they be clean? How dirty would they get?
Hugh took hold of me from behind and led me down the aisle to look for a free area. We reached the end but couldn’t find anything except a few men at the back wall getting blow jobs. He turned me and pressed me against the brick, then moved in for a kiss. I was just drunk enough that it felt great as he undid my belt buckle and opened my jeans, pushed them down with my underwear until my hard, leaking cock was against him, between us, rubbing against his jeans and leaving a slimy trail.
“I want you,” he said before moving to my neck.
The thought of being fucked while standing up wasn’t appealing. I had cleaned myself in the shower just in case I felt like it, but I didn’t feel like it. He kissed and bit at me before moving down to my chest. His hands were at my pectorals, his fingers were on my nipples. He went lower and my hand went to the back of his head. His hair was short, probably cut every two weeks by a regular barber. He pulled my underwear down, forced it along with my jeans down to my ankles, then buried his nose in my pubic hair, kissed at the base of my dick.
In that dark room there was no young and old. There was only flesh. There was only pleasure. I thought for a moment he was going to start sucking my dick but then I felt him moving back up my body until we were face to face, though his hand went to my dick where he slowly worked it along the entire shaft making me crazy. I tried to kiss him but he stopped me. I tried to pull him back down but he resisted. I wanted him. He had flipped the game on me.
That’s when he pulled me from the wall and moved to where I had been. That’s when he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me down to my knees. My bare skin against the cement floor, my jeans and underwear at my ankles in filth, my bare ass vulnerable, my hard dick stuck out from me, my balls tight and aching. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his erect cock. It was big. The bulbous end touched my lips and I could taste his pre-cum. I slowly began to work myself as I licked the bulbous head.
Once it was wet enough around the sides I started to nibble until he reached down, took hold of my ears, and pulled me onto him. I took only a few inches in my mouth but I knew he was long so I took hold with my hand to start working him. He had other plans as he pulled me down more until it reached the back of my mouth and my gag reflex happened. I pulled back as saliva flooded my mouth, took a breath, then went right back at him until my mouth was full again.
Spit worked out between my lips along with cum, ran down my chin, and I felt droplets begin to form. I was breathing through my nose, jerking, and sucking. He shifted on his feet and I knew I had him again. I felt like being a tease and demanding some other thing from him but he had me by the back of the head. My left hand slipped up and down my own dick.
More pre-cum oozed from him, mixed with my spit. I pulled off to catch my breath and strands of liquid stretched between us. I looked up to him but there was little to be seen in that dark place, just feel. He stuck his dick back inside and worked me some more until the mixture of our bodies ran freely down the middle of my chest, even into my pubes.
My entire body was sweaty, the liquor was wearing off. I was sobering up and my knees began to ache so I worked him harder with my hand, driving the base of it into his balls and crotch until he lunged between my lips, paused, and I felt his semen hit the back of my mouth, run down my throat. His hand went to my forehead and pushed me off, but he wasn’t done. Cum hit my face, my eyebrows, my nose, my cheeks, and then my throat until finally he was drained.
I ejaculated between his feet and onto the bottom of the wall and the floor. I was delighted but suddenly conscious of what I had done and where I was at with my essentially naked body, sweat in the middle of my back, down my ass crack. His dick touched my face. He slapped me with it until I sat back on my feet. There could have been more. I wanted it. But he put his dick away, zipped up, and began to step away from me. I had been used. He stepped past me and walked away.
Not wanting to invite anymore men, anymore action, I worked myself up the wall to my feet but remembered leaving my shirt on the table. There was only one other piece of cloth with me I could use so I kicked off my shoes, took off my underwear and wiped my face with the leggings until it felt like it couldn’t hold anymore, then I used it to wipe my chest. Finally I felt a little drier so I pulled my jeans back up and tossed my boxers off into the darkness.
By the time I got out to the table Hugh was gone and the guys were drunk except for Nate who I realized was our designated driver. I asked Tucker to get me another drink and sat at the table with them. I was feeling pretty confident, used but somehow confident, when I realized Devon kept staring at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You got some in your hair,” he said.
“What, really, get it out.”
“No way man,” he said.
I should have gone to the restroom first to check myself but I didn’t feel like getting up so I wiped at my hair to find that indeed there was something there. I worked it into the strands until I thought it was gone. Tucker set the drink down in front of me and I downed it before asking them if they were ready to leave. Everyone said they had had their fun and it was time to go home.
They drove me back to my place where I got out, then waved them away. I was feeling drunk, emboldened, and frustrated.
Instead of going home I walked next door to Grant’s home and knocked on his door. It should be raining, I thought, it would be more dramatic. But it wasn’t raining. The night was quiet except for my knocking. His porch light came on and I felt the light over my shoulder. I looked up to it, covered my eyes with my hand. He opened the door and it felt like the air had been sucked from my lungs. I was drunk but I could still function. It felt like my brain was disconnected from my body. I knew I shouldn’t be there but I was.
This was some obstacle to overcome, something I could best. I looked to him in the doorway. He was in an open bathrobe but I couldn’t see his body. I had seen him shirtless and could imagine his abs, the v shaped stomach that ran down to his cock there in the shadows, limp and enticing.
“Why don’t you like me?” I asked.
“This isn’t the time,” he said.
“No, I have to know. Why don’t you like me? Everyone likes me. Tonight I was with this guy who would have done anything for me. I made him flash my friends before I sucked him off in the back room. Guys like me but not you.”
“I like you. I just don’t like what I’m hearing,” he said. “You’re drunk and you’ve been out with your friends, go home and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“No,” I said.
He sighed and for a moment I worried he’d call the cops but instead he opened the door and invited me inside. I swayed a little on my feet as I stepped inside but steadied myself with my cane, then made my way to the chair. He closed his robe and tied it before locking the door handle. He moved to the couch where he sat but kept his knees together.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“I want you to be a better person,” he said.
I felt like I could do anything. My mind was racing. I asked him for another drink, demanded it really, and this time he obliged. He went to the mini-bar he had and poured me a shot of whiskey, brought it to me. I downed it. That was the last thing I remember about that night.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7
Tucker, Devon, and Charlie went instead at first. Tucker slid me half his drink before going back for another. I downed it and when he got back I took that drink from him too and drank half of it. They talked about college and sports so I decided to look around the bar. I spotted a handsome, older man near the stage area that was barely enough room for someone to stand. The only thing special about it was that it was elevated. He saw me watching him and he started to look back so I turned back to the guys. I asked if any of them wanted to dance. Nate, the one who wasn’t drinking, said he wanted to dance with me so I set my cane against one of the legs of the table, we got up, and went to the center of the bar where others were dancing.
It was easy for Nate to get close to me, for a moment I regretted inviting him because I barely knew him but he was a good dancer. Our bodies touched as we danced, his hand went to my hip so I decided to stop him. I leaned to his ear and told him I was interested in someone else, but he didn’t pull back his hand. Instead we continued to dance. He leaned to my ear. His breath smelled terrible.
“We can still have fun,” he said.
I thought about pushing him away but instead I stepped back from him and broke into moves that kept the distance. It wasn’t long before I spotted that handsome, older man moving through the crowd. He passed me and we stared each other in the eye, but he kept moving. I hoped he didn’t want me to come after him. Nate moved close again.
“Why don’t you take off your shirt?” he asked.
I shook my head. I stepped back from him and for a moment I thought he was going to leave me, but I saw the look in his eyes. I was fresh meat. He probably wasn’t used to guys turning him down with his broad shoulders and good looks but he just didn’t have it for me. He was creepy but in a desperate way. He was a nice guy. He was chum. It wasn’t long before the handsome man came back in our direction, but this time was headed my direction. I signaled him to come over and told Nate I wanted to dance with someone else. Nate saw the man and rolled his eyes before he walked away. The man closed the distance between us.
“I’m Hugh,” he said.
“Shane,” I said.
“You’re cute,” he said. “What happened to your friend? Was he just your friend?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s dance,” I said.
He moved close to me and we began to dance together. This time when my body touched his and his body touched mine there was something there. He was a few inches taller and I could tell he had muscled arms. There were a few wrinkles, a few marks of age, but he was handsome. We danced until we were sweaty, our bodies worked in unison as if we were simulating a sex act right there. He put his hands out to my hips, took hold of my shirt.
“Take it off,” he said.
I stopped him and leaned to his neck where I kissed it then aimed my lips up to his ear.
“You first,” I said.
He smiled and let go of my shirt, then took hold of his own. He pulled it off easily, tucked it in his back pocket. I did the same. His hands were back at me and pulled me close so that our chests touched, our lips were inches apart. His breath smelled of whiskey and mint. I reached up, grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. His tongue worked its way between my lips and I could taste him. It was the moment I wanted as I felt our legs intertwine, my thigh right in his crotch so that I could feel his bulge. He pulled away from me.
“I want you,” he said. “There’s a back room.”
I had him right where I wanted him. He needed me. Any other night I would have gone along for the cheap thrill but I decided to play hard to get. I wanted to be cruel. I wanted some kind of revenge against Grant, some kind of self-affirmation.
“You have to wait,” I said. “I need another drink. I’m going over to my friends, bring me a double whiskey neat and we’ll talk.”
One of his hands went to my side just under my arm pit, the other to my chest where he felt my sweat as he looked down into my eyes. He was trying to make a choice, trying to determine if I was worth it, but I thought he would be game. I reached behind him and grabbed his ass before pulling his shirt from his pocket and stepping out of our embrace. I slid the fabric around my neck and winked at him. He nodded so I walked away back to the table.
Tucker and Charlie were still there. I put both shirts on the table, showed them my prize, then pointed out the shirtless man at the bar and told them he was bringing me a drink. The complimented me on my boldness and said I had a nice catch. I asked what happened to Devon and Nate.
“Devon is playing pool. Nate got pissed so he’s in the back room. He said you got him worked up but were a tease, but then he saw you with your new friend,” Tucker said before sipping at his drink.
“He didn’t have nice things to say about young men who only like old men,” Charlie added.
“Not only, just prefer,” I said. “They know what they want.”
“Is it serious?” Tucker asked.
“You can still fuck me,” I answered, “at least for now.”
He grinned and looked to the bar where Hugh was headed our direction with my drink in his hand but nothing for himself. He got close to me and put his arm around my back. I liked the feel of his warmth but was focused on the drink. I drank half of it, then kissed him.
“Go slow with it. I had to convince the bartender it was for myself,” Hugh said.
“Well then I shouldn’t be caught with it,” I said before I downed the second half.
He slipped his hand down my side to my waistband and I felt his fingers slip inside but not go very far. Tucker and Charlie started talking to each other and I decided the table was enough cover so I put my hand in his crotch. I tickled his bulge, let my finger work down his taint.
“Take it easy there,” Hugh whispered.
“Do you still want to have fun?” I asked.
“What did you have in mind?”
“We can go to the back room,” I answered.
He started to move but I stopped him. He sighed as he was still anchored to me, but moved more behind me so that his arms were around my sides, his thumbs went inside the front of my jeans. His muscled back against me, his form almost enveloped me. I wanted to give in to him but I stopped myself. I turned on him instead. I looked up into his eyes and I grinned.
“What?” he asked.
“I want you to flash my friends,” I said.
“What?”
“Show them your dick,” I said. “If they approve then we can go to the back room but if they don’t then we call it quits.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely,” I said.
He contemplated my challenge for a moment before he moved from me and between my two friends, placed a hand on each of their shoulders and whispered to them. They looked to me and smiled. I grinned, then looked to my glass and was disappointed it was empty. The three of them looked ready to depart but I stopped them and leaned across the table.
“Here,” I said.
Hugh shrugged his shoulders then pulled the two guys into a triangle. It was actually pretty effective. It reminded me of one time my youth soccer team said they’d form a wall around me so I could change because I wore the wrong uniform. It felt so embarrassing and I couldn’t help but fear them moving away at the last minute, leaving me in my underwear on the field. I watched the two guys looking down at his crotch and I was suddenly jealous. They were seeing something I wasn’t, I might not ever, unless I acted. I was about to try and break into their grouping when Hugh shifted and I knew he was putting his dick away and zipping up.
Tucker and Charlie turned to me and nodded. Hugh moved from behind them to where I stood and took hold of me. This time I knew he had won so I gave in to his motion as he ushered me to the back room. The door gave easily with his push, but when it closed it sounded heavy and too solid as if it couldn’t be opened again.
The back room was dark and it took me a moment to adjust. It was partially lit with black lights so anything white or fluorescent glowed. It was my first time being back there and I saw a number of stalls, or what were called ‘play areas’ but things weren’t easily contained. One guys was completely naked and I had to wonder where his clothes were. Were they in some corner? Would they be clean? How dirty would they get?
Hugh took hold of me from behind and led me down the aisle to look for a free area. We reached the end but couldn’t find anything except a few men at the back wall getting blow jobs. He turned me and pressed me against the brick, then moved in for a kiss. I was just drunk enough that it felt great as he undid my belt buckle and opened my jeans, pushed them down with my underwear until my hard, leaking cock was against him, between us, rubbing against his jeans and leaving a slimy trail.
“I want you,” he said before moving to my neck.
The thought of being fucked while standing up wasn’t appealing. I had cleaned myself in the shower just in case I felt like it, but I didn’t feel like it. He kissed and bit at me before moving down to my chest. His hands were at my pectorals, his fingers were on my nipples. He went lower and my hand went to the back of his head. His hair was short, probably cut every two weeks by a regular barber. He pulled my underwear down, forced it along with my jeans down to my ankles, then buried his nose in my pubic hair, kissed at the base of my dick.
In that dark room there was no young and old. There was only flesh. There was only pleasure. I thought for a moment he was going to start sucking my dick but then I felt him moving back up my body until we were face to face, though his hand went to my dick where he slowly worked it along the entire shaft making me crazy. I tried to kiss him but he stopped me. I tried to pull him back down but he resisted. I wanted him. He had flipped the game on me.
That’s when he pulled me from the wall and moved to where I had been. That’s when he put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me down to my knees. My bare skin against the cement floor, my jeans and underwear at my ankles in filth, my bare ass vulnerable, my hard dick stuck out from me, my balls tight and aching. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his erect cock. It was big. The bulbous end touched my lips and I could taste his pre-cum. I slowly began to work myself as I licked the bulbous head.
Once it was wet enough around the sides I started to nibble until he reached down, took hold of my ears, and pulled me onto him. I took only a few inches in my mouth but I knew he was long so I took hold with my hand to start working him. He had other plans as he pulled me down more until it reached the back of my mouth and my gag reflex happened. I pulled back as saliva flooded my mouth, took a breath, then went right back at him until my mouth was full again.
Spit worked out between my lips along with cum, ran down my chin, and I felt droplets begin to form. I was breathing through my nose, jerking, and sucking. He shifted on his feet and I knew I had him again. I felt like being a tease and demanding some other thing from him but he had me by the back of the head. My left hand slipped up and down my own dick.
More pre-cum oozed from him, mixed with my spit. I pulled off to catch my breath and strands of liquid stretched between us. I looked up to him but there was little to be seen in that dark place, just feel. He stuck his dick back inside and worked me some more until the mixture of our bodies ran freely down the middle of my chest, even into my pubes.
My entire body was sweaty, the liquor was wearing off. I was sobering up and my knees began to ache so I worked him harder with my hand, driving the base of it into his balls and crotch until he lunged between my lips, paused, and I felt his semen hit the back of my mouth, run down my throat. His hand went to my forehead and pushed me off, but he wasn’t done. Cum hit my face, my eyebrows, my nose, my cheeks, and then my throat until finally he was drained.
I ejaculated between his feet and onto the bottom of the wall and the floor. I was delighted but suddenly conscious of what I had done and where I was at with my essentially naked body, sweat in the middle of my back, down my ass crack. His dick touched my face. He slapped me with it until I sat back on my feet. There could have been more. I wanted it. But he put his dick away, zipped up, and began to step away from me. I had been used. He stepped past me and walked away.
Not wanting to invite anymore men, anymore action, I worked myself up the wall to my feet but remembered leaving my shirt on the table. There was only one other piece of cloth with me I could use so I kicked off my shoes, took off my underwear and wiped my face with the leggings until it felt like it couldn’t hold anymore, then I used it to wipe my chest. Finally I felt a little drier so I pulled my jeans back up and tossed my boxers off into the darkness.
By the time I got out to the table Hugh was gone and the guys were drunk except for Nate who I realized was our designated driver. I asked Tucker to get me another drink and sat at the table with them. I was feeling pretty confident, used but somehow confident, when I realized Devon kept staring at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You got some in your hair,” he said.
“What, really, get it out.”
“No way man,” he said.
I should have gone to the restroom first to check myself but I didn’t feel like getting up so I wiped at my hair to find that indeed there was something there. I worked it into the strands until I thought it was gone. Tucker set the drink down in front of me and I downed it before asking them if they were ready to leave. Everyone said they had had their fun and it was time to go home.
They drove me back to my place where I got out, then waved them away. I was feeling drunk, emboldened, and frustrated.
Instead of going home I walked next door to Grant’s home and knocked on his door. It should be raining, I thought, it would be more dramatic. But it wasn’t raining. The night was quiet except for my knocking. His porch light came on and I felt the light over my shoulder. I looked up to it, covered my eyes with my hand. He opened the door and it felt like the air had been sucked from my lungs. I was drunk but I could still function. It felt like my brain was disconnected from my body. I knew I shouldn’t be there but I was.
This was some obstacle to overcome, something I could best. I looked to him in the doorway. He was in an open bathrobe but I couldn’t see his body. I had seen him shirtless and could imagine his abs, the v shaped stomach that ran down to his cock there in the shadows, limp and enticing.
“Why don’t you like me?” I asked.
“This isn’t the time,” he said.
“No, I have to know. Why don’t you like me? Everyone likes me. Tonight I was with this guy who would have done anything for me. I made him flash my friends before I sucked him off in the back room. Guys like me but not you.”
“I like you. I just don’t like what I’m hearing,” he said. “You’re drunk and you’ve been out with your friends, go home and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“No,” I said.
He sighed and for a moment I worried he’d call the cops but instead he opened the door and invited me inside. I swayed a little on my feet as I stepped inside but steadied myself with my cane, then made my way to the chair. He closed his robe and tied it before locking the door handle. He moved to the couch where he sat but kept his knees together.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
“I want you to be a better person,” he said.
I felt like I could do anything. My mind was racing. I asked him for another drink, demanded it really, and this time he obliged. He went to the mini-bar he had and poured me a shot of whiskey, brought it to me. I downed it. That was the last thing I remember about that night.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7
Act Your Age Ch 02: Dinner
Later that same day I was defragmenting my computer when there was a knock on the front door of the house. Both my parents were home and I was used to at least one of them answering it, but then I thought about Mr. Grant. I got up from my desk and looked out the window to his house where I saw the porch light was on. I crossed back through my room, opened my bedroom door and was halfway in the hallway when I heard someone open the door. It was too late.
“Hello there,” my mother said.
“Hi,” Mr. Grant said. “I’m your next door neighbor, Nicholas Grant.”
My parents introduced themselves. It sounded polite, forgettable but I wasn’t sure what he would say about me and I felt like I needed to try and make a better impression on him, or else be there to defend myself. I went back and picked up my cane and headed downstairs. Mr. Grant was in the living room with my parents. My father was pouring him a snifter of brandy. I stepped into the room and looked to Mr. Grant who smiled back.
He suddenly looked older than when I saw him earlier as he was dressed in a sweater, slacks, and a pair of dress shoes. He crossed his legs and I saw his black socks. He crinkled his nose and I looked to his jaw line. Did his hair have streaks of gray or maybe was it too black? Did he dye his hair too?
“Hi there,” he said. “Shane right?”
I nodded and looked to both of my parents in turn. My mother smiled. She was delighted because she had a guest, the neighbor. She could assess him, question him, and then she would have something to gossip about when she talked to all of her friends. Was he a widow? Was he a bachelor? Or worse, was he divorced? Did he have kids from a previous marriage? But most importantly where did he work and how much did he earn?
My father would want to know if he was a man’s man. Did he watch football on Sunday? Did he drink his weight in cheap beer? Because my father hated those things. My father was a grown up nerd. He liked Star Wars, played D&D as a teen, and argued about politics and religion. He was the enlightened bourgeois who lived for comfort. He shopped at gourmet stores, drove a BMW, and got his eyebrows waxed regularly along with a manicure.
“I was just going to tell your parents you came over to say hello and I was pretty rude to you. I wanted to apologize and ask you all over to supper tomorrow night.”
“That’s so nice,” my mother said.
“We have unpredictable schedules, sometimes I have to stay late at the office and Greta has to work a double,” my father said.
“And we don’t know about Shane’s classes,” my mother said.
I gulped as I suddenly felt nervous.
“Well, we could dine about seven o’clock? It would give me time to get home and cook something. I have some meetings tomorrow myself.”
“You cook?” my mother asked.
“More than a frozen dinner?” my father asked.
“I’m actually a chef by training. I just invested in a new restaurant in the city. It’s still in the works though or else I’d invite you there.”
“Oh,” my mother said, “how nice.”
“Seven o’clock sounds great,” my father said.
I smiled. There was nothing I could do. I wanted to say that I had to study but I felt like me being there would be better than not being there, and again, I wanted to defend myself. I nodded and said I looked forward to it.
“Say, do you smoke cigars?” my father asked.
Mr. Grant looked to me and furrowed his eyebrow before he said that he did.
“Let me show you my office,” my father said.
The two of them walked away, further into the house, away from me. I looked to my mother who smiled and began to tidy things up before she left for the kitchen. I followed after her feeling like a lost puppy. I wanted to go join the men in my father’s office but I hadn’t been invited. The cigar I had smoked, it wasn’t mine. I thought about the way I offered cigarettes to Mr. Grant and the way he refused to give me alcohol. I felt shame about the whole scenario.
“Everything okay?” my mother asked.
“Yeah,” I lied.
“Mr. Grant seems nice.”
The way she said it winded me.
“Yeah,” I said. “He had three moving trucks today. I would have helped but, you know.” I raised up my cane briefly.
“You can’t keep using that as an excuse,” my mother said. “It’s more of a prop now than anything else.”
I felt as if she were ripping me apart. I heard laughter from the office. I moved to the stool and sat.
“Do you want me to make you a snack?” she asked.
Sometimes I had let her, asked her, to fix me a snack at times like this, but if Mr. Grant walked back in while she was doing it, while she was serving it, I would have felt completely humiliated. And even though I could barely make myself an egg I told her I didn’t need anything. She left the kitchen and I continued to listen for more laughter but there was none and instead there was the closing of the door. They were smoking cigars, I thought, and having another drink.
I put my face in my hands and sat there for a while until I felt some of the anger was gone and then I made my way upstairs to my room where I turned on some music, closed my bedroom door, opened a window, and sat in the windowsill to have a cigarette. It was less than coincidence that I picked a window with a view of Mr. Grant’s front door.
Eventually I gave up and went to my computer where I continued to smoke and play a video game instead of doing my homework.
The next day was easy enough until I got home. I was able to do my homework in the morning before class, not my best but good. I had lunch with some friends from class and afternoon class was a lecture. We got assigned a paper on feminism which I felt comfortable addressing but knew I needed to do some research. I wasn’t getting my best grades but I had only a few more courses. I was having senioritis.
But when I got home the reality of going to supper with my parents at Mr. Grant’s house felt overwhelming. I was still dressed in my clothes I wore to campus, a teal button down shirt, brown slacks, and sneakers. A mix of casual and formal that I felt made me look professional until someone looked at my feet. I would have worn better shoes but they never fit me correctly. They always wore away the skin on the back of my heel. I felt over dressed because I wanted to be friends with him, or at least not look like I dressed up just for supper, but then I remembered my parents coming from work and how they would be dressed.
When my mother got home it always felt like she brought the whole office with her. She had this confidence, this boldness that usually took a while to fade. That night was no exception. My father too, had his good days and his bad days, sometimes he came home so drained he went right to his bedroom to nap and be alone. That night he was in rare form. And I suddenly felt like I was being dragged along.
They took care of the few things around the house they needed to do before we headed over to Mr. Grant’s house. The sun was setting. There was cool wind in the air that pushed around the tree branches that made me think of Fall. I loved Fall. I loved Halloween, dressing in sweaters, and the holidays. But I cleared my mind of sentimental thoughts as Mr. Grant opened the front door of his house and invited us inside.
In just one day the interior of his house had changed completely. Each piece of furniture was exactly where it should be. There were picture frames out. The windows had curtains. There were paintings hanging on the walls. I saw a few landscape paintings and smiled. Mr. Grant stood watching us. My mother was the first to see it.
“Oh my,” she said.
We all looked. There on the wall was a nude male portrait. His penis was small, uncircumcised but it was still there. We were all looking at a nude man. We were all able to see his penis.
“Don’t worry, it’s not me,” Mr. Grant said.
My mother laughed. My father laughed. And I looked around uncomfortably.
“I bought it some years ago. I was trying to help support an artist.”
My parents looked to each other and I tried to make some distance between us. I stepped into the living room and I ended up in front of the recliner where only the day prior I had been sitting. I thought again about the cigarettes and the beer. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to say something but it was not a good time. There was no good time for something like that.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” he said. “Are you okay with martinis?”
My parents said they were. I don’t know why I said what I said. Maybe I was trying to look older, mature, and independent.
“Extra olives,” I said.
Mr. Grant looked back to me, to my parents as if to check if it were okay, but they weren’t paying any attention to him or to us, they were looking at his possessions. He walked away. My parents began to drift through the room, pick up things. My father went to the bookshelf. My mother focused on the picture frames.
“Oliver look at this,” she said.
I played with my cane and thought about sitting but it felt weird. I wasn’t sure if we would be heading into the dining room or what we would be doing next. My father walked to where my mother stood as she picked up a picture. What was she showing him? I didn’t know and she hadn’t invited me to see. I felt out of place. I wanted to go home. I began to think of excuses I could use when Mr. Grant walked into the room carrying a tray of drinks.
“Oh, I’m sorry, go ahead and sit down. I thought we’d talk for a little bit before we eat, unless, I mean you’re both from work. Maybe a snack?”
“That would be good,” my mother said. “Something to go with the drinks.”
“Of course,” Mr. Grant said.
Mr. Grant gave a drink to each of my parents when he saw the picture in my mother’s hands.
“Oh, that’s one of my favorites,” he said.
I still didn’t know what they were talking about. Mr. Grant walked away from them and I saw them look at each other then to me. What could they know? Was it something more than the tasteful nude that confirmed he was gay? It had to be.
He held the tray out for me and there on the silver reflective surface was a bottle I mistook for a beer at first until I turned it and saw it was in fact root beer in a glass bottle. I looked to Mr. Grant who smirked as I took the drink. He took a martini of his own from the tray and raised it.
“To new things,” he said.
They all drank. My mother a little more than either of them. I drank from my bottle and sat down in the recliner. Mr. Grant left the room and my parents made their way to the couch after my mother set down the picture frame.
“What was it?” I asked in a whispered voice.
My mother leaned forward as if she about to say something but stopped when Mr. Grant stepped into the room carrying his tray. He set it down and there was an awkward silence that seemed to amplify as we each took turns looking over what he had brought. There on the tray was brie, crackers, and a fig spread. My mother broke the silence by beginning to help herself.
“How was the move?” she asked.
“Good,” Mr. Grant said. “Not everything has arrived yet and I still have to go make some purchases. I was thinking about a flat screen television for in here.”
“On the wall there?” she asked pointing behind me to an empty spot.
“Yeah,” he said.
After some more small talk we eventually made our way into his dining room. The lights were brighter in there and it felt as if we had all been refreshed. Or maybe it was the drinks my parents had both finished. They were looser than I had seen them in a long time. Mr. Grant got them a second one after making a joke about walking home instead of driving. They made conversation easily until there was a break and Mr. Grant feeling like I had been left out looked to me.
“So what are you studying at college?” he asked.
I looked to him. I was surprised that he would ask me a question.
“Communications,” I said. I looked to my parents, my plate. “But I really want to study film theory.”
“Cinema,” Mr. Grant said.
“Yeah,” I replied. I readied my fork and knife as if I was changing the subject.
“I like film,” he said, “not a lot of modern Hollywood stuff, that’s all glitz and glamour but movies from the 1970’s were great. I have a collection, even some obscure things you’ve probably never seen.”
I thought about my subscription and how I tracked down films on torrent sites. He probably thought I just went to the movie theater, I thought, just like all the other kids my age. I thought about challenging him, letting him know I wasn’t dumb and typical but I stopped myself. I got into too many arguments that way.
“That’s cool,” I said.
“Classes are good there?”
I blushed at the question. Was he asking me about my grades in front of my parents? I hadn’t been doing so good, not the A’s I once achieved. But then I thought about his question. He was asking about the quality and for once I had a way of showing up my parents, maybe breaking the friendship between him and my parents.
“It’s not great. There isn’t really a film major, nothing to be really passionate about. My classmates are kind of immature.”
He smiled at me. My mother looked to me but it was my father who did the dirty work. He cleared his throat and readied himself for a speech.
“Well, if your grades had been better coming out of high school and you had a little more ambition, then you could have gone to the State school or maybe another college,” he said.
And like that I had been defeated, punched in the nose. I cut off a piece of steak and looked to the curtained windows as a passing car light shined across the glass.
Chapter 1 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7
Act Your Age Ch 06 - Naked In Space
I awoke hours later. I was naked on his couch but covered with a thin sheet. I didn’t remember undressing. I didn’t remember getting onto the couch. I rolled onto my side, my dick was hard but that was to alleviate the urge to pee.
What had happened, I asked myself, but I couldn’t remember. At least my asshole doesn’t hurt, I thought. It didn’t. That was something. I sat up and the urge to pee was worse, so bad it hurt. I couldn’t find my clothes so got up with the sheet around me and started for where the guest bathroom was. His bedroom door was closed and for a moment I thought about opening it, spying on him, maybe even climbing into bed but I stopped myself.
I was worse than a guest, I was uninvited. I used the bathroom, awkwardly, then went back out to the living room where I sat on the couch and debated trying to find my clothes, even going home naked, but I was too tired so I leaned back against the cushion and fell back asleep.
It was several more hours before I woke up again this time to the sound of him in the kitchen. I felt dirty inside and out. I still had the sheet over me, though it did little to mask my form. This time as I looked around I realized my pants were gone and instead my possessions were on the coffee table. What had I done?
There was no way out of it. I got up, wrapped the sheet around me like a toga, and headed into the kitchen where he stood in his boxers and old t-shirt. He had a slight growth of beard. Sunlight was coming through the blinds and partially illuminating him. It was a beautiful picture which I tried hard to memorize.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“What happened?” I responded.
“You don’t remember? You pissed yourself and then fell asleep on my chair. It was a pain in the ass to clean it up. And not the good kind of pain either, real smelly work.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You should be.”
I thought for a moment he was going to go into a long speech but he didn’t. He motioned for me to sit and he continued to cook. I watched him move around. There was something pleasant about such a domestic situation though I quickly realized he had only made breakfast for himself. It was okay. I felt miserable and I wasn’t hungry.
“I guess I blacked out,” I said.
“How much do you remember?”
It seemed like a dream, like someone else, and yet it was real. It had happened. I told him I remember getting back from the bar and going to his front door. I told him I remembered asking him what he wanted from me and him telling me. I told him I remembered him getting me another drink though I shouldn’t have had one.
“Did I throw up?”
“No, thank goodness,” he said.
“I hate cleaning up vomit,” I said.
“Me too,” he replied.
“I really pissed myself?”
“The jeans are in the drier. You weren’t wearing any underwear though.”
“I lost them at the bar,” I said.
“One of those nights,” he said.
I looked to him. I noted his breakfast, the way he sat, and the feeling of his home. I felt terrible, really terrible, one of the few times in my life I regretted what I had done and I felt like crying. There had to be some way to repay him. There had to be some way to make amends. My jeans were in his drier, my shirt was probably in Tucker’s car and though I had etched another notch in my belt of sexual conquests it didn’t feel like a great victory.
“How can I make it up to you?” I asked.
“I don’t know if you can,” he said.
I lowered my head in defeat, the hangover, or maybe still being drunk was having an effect on me. I wanted to plead with him but felt foolish sitting there basically naked, covered by a bed sheet while my pants were in the drier. There had to be a way out, I thought and then I remembered what he had said to me the night before and what I had repeated to him that morning.
“But you said you wanted me to be a better person,” I said.
“I do.”
“How?” I asked.
He stopped eating, put down his fork, and took a sip of coffee, then put the cup back down before sitting back. His hands went to his lap and he looked over at me.
“I think you need discipline,” he said.
“You told me that before but what does that mean?”
“Honestly, I think you need to be spanked,” he answered.
Spanked? Just the word sent shivers down my spine. It felt like an archaic word. No one I knew had ever been spanked. I had never been spanked. I kind of knew it still happened but not where I lived, not in modern, civilized places. My face got warm and I was pretty sure I was blushing. Not just spanked but by him, my neighbor, and a man that I thought, that I felt attracted to, that made me consider it. I didn’t know how he would do it or what he would use. Would I be bare assed? He barely moved as he watched me thinking about it. Was he messing with me?
“Are you messing with me?”
He took another sip of coffee.
“No,” he said. “And not just once but in a systemized way. We’d figure out the ways you need to improve your life and then we’d make a deal where if you break the rules or you aren’t living up to what we agree then you’ll get spanked.”
I was speechless.
“Think about it,” he said before resuming eating.
It felt like I had run into a wall. It felt like my breath had been taken from my lungs. He saw a problem. I knew I had a problem. And yet it felt too direct, though there was no other way to say it. He had been hinting at it with the notion of discipline, but somehow I thought that meant waking up early, exercising, and the sorts of things you do in Boot Camp.
Everything seemed more real to me as I sat there and I was desperate to get away from it so I cleared my throat and asked him where the drier was and told him I’d be leaving. He nodded and told me where to find my pants. I got up from the table and went to where he said. Inside the machine was my pants. I took them out, looked around, but he hadn’t followed me so I put them on there, balled up the sheet and set it on the washer before I made my way back to the living room where I picked up my things. It felt so strange to just be walking out like that after what he had said and yet I felt compelled to do it. Spanked? No way, I shook my head.
“I’m leaving now,” I said.
“Okay, have a nice day,” he replied.
Still shirtless I hobbled out the front door of his house with my cane. Once again I stopped on the porch to light a cigarette, and then I walked the short distance to my house. My parents were awake in the living room. My father was reading the newspaper and my mother was on her tablet filling in a crossword puzzle. They barely noticed me as I slipped by them to go to my room.
Inside my room I locked the door again, stripped down, and crawled into bed. How would spanking help? I thought about it for several minutes before I fell asleep. When I awoke hours later it was to the sound of knocking on my door.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s your father, listen we need to talk,” he said. “If you’re awake then come downstairs.”
I rolled onto my back and said that I would be down after I got a shower. But before I even got out of bed I got my laptop and opened it. I searched for spanking. I searched for ‘spanked men’ and the images and the videos that popped up were intriguing to say the least. Flat on my stomach I was starting to get an erection as I looked over it. He wanted to do that with me? It was enough of an erotic thought that I jerked off a quick one into a sock that I threw in the dirty laundry hamper before heading to the bathroom.
As I stood under the water I thought about pissing myself. I thought about Hugh and I remembered to wash my hair twice. I thought about the way my life was going. I thought about my binge drinking and I thought about how I could tell my parents to just fuck off. They had never been involved with my life in that way and it felt ridiculous for them to try now, to try anything. Grant was someone else. He was someone I could look up to and respect. He was someone who might know me intimately and yet be a stranger. Spanked, I thought, somehow it was becoming an appealing idea.
When I finished my shower I went back to my room where I got dressed. I styled my hair the way I liked which was messy, picked up my cane, and headed downstairs. My parents were still in the living room so I joined them.
“We need to talk,” my father said. “There’s no easy way to say this but seeing you come in this morning I feel it needs to be said.” He paused. I thought for a moment my mother was going to say something but she didn’t.
“What is it?” I asked.
“We’re worried about you. Your grades have been sliding down. We never see you doing homework or reading a book. I know a lot of it is online now but even so it doesn’t seem like you have been working hard.”
“Dad, it’s community college,” I said. “It’s not very difficult.”
“Well then that means your grades should be better,” my mother said.
I was half stunned by her words. The sentiment was true I just didn’t think she would say that to me. Even the conversation felt weird as my parents had never really been confrontational as long as I got average grades, as long as I played along with the system.
“My grades are fine. I’m passing everything.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Passing isn’t enough. Have you figured out what you want to do with your life? Do you have any passions?”
Were we talking about my grades or my life? It felt like a weird way to confront me, to ask me then what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Very few people knew what they wanted to do for the rest of their life, I thought.
“You don’t even have a job,” my mother said.
I needed to confront them. I decided to put my foot down.
“Where is this coming from?”
They looked at each other, then to me.
“We worry about you,” my father said. “It’s one thing to be gay. We’re okay with that but staying out all night and coming home like you did. Are you safe? Do you use protection?”
It felt like my parents were grabbing at every part of my life and ripping it to shreds. I felt like running from the room. How could they ask me about my sex life? I was an adult. It was my life.
“We just want you to think about it,” my mother said.
“Tuition isn’t cheap. I’m willing to pay for you to take classes during the summer but I want to see real motivation. I want to see your grades get better.”
I stared at them for a moment and I wanted to say something back to them. I wanted to unleash years of pent up anger but I knew it would only make things worse and it felt like they had finished. Their point had been made. I had been given an ultimatum.
“Can I go now?” I asked.
My father nodded.
I got to my feet and limped away with my cane out the front door where I lit a cigarette and took a seat on the steps. Everyone was against me, I thought, and yet they were right. My parents were right because I didn’t have any passion and Grant was right because I was misbehaving. I thought about calling Tucker or someone else to get out of there but I didn’t want to be around people. I knew the slightest thing would set me off. Of all things I felt like crying.
I pushed myself to my feet and started walking. At first I didn’t know where I was going but as I made my way through the neighborhood I remembered the park nearby so I headed there. When I got close I could hear some people on the basketball court but no one was in the actual grass area so I made my way to the most private place I could find under a tree. I put my back to it, slid down to my ass. I pulled at a few blades and dropped them in the dirt ring.
That’s when I started crying. It was pure frustration. I was doing everything I was supposed to do. I was doing everything that was asked of me. There was no plan. There was no goal. I was making it up as I went along just like everyone else, I told myself, moving from one thing to another. How does someone end up successful? How does someone end up happy? My parents had few suggestions except to find some kind of passion. And yeah, I wasn’t doing good in school, I kept above passing grades, but I hated it. School felt so fake. My breathing slowed, the tears stopped.
There was just some foolish reality, I thought afterwards, there was just this, me sitting in a park.
I decided I needed guidance. I needed someone to help me improve my life. That was what Grant said he wanted from me. He wanted me to be a better person. I knew then that I would go to him. I got to my feet, stuck my cane into the ground, and started the walk back. I would give it a try and if it didn’t work then I would do something else, I told myself.
The walk was easy. Somehow getting back always seems to take less time than going somewhere. I intentionally walked back taking a few extra turns so I wouldn’t have to see my house directly. Grant’s car was in the driveway so I knew he was home. I made my way up to his front door and I knocked. When he opened it he was dressed in a button down shirt and khaki pants.
“Hi there,” he said.
“Hello,” I replied.
He looked over my shoulder, then around a bit before returning his gaze to me. I felt foolish standing there, yet I knew there was something I had to say.
“I was thinking about what you said and I want to be a better person. My life is a mess. I don’t feel like I have any control of it. I’m doing everything everyone wants from me but they don’t tell me how to get ahead in life. I have no mentors. I need your help. I need you to guide me. I want you. I want you to show me how to live a life.”
“I don’t know if I’m that person,” he said. “My life is kind of uncertain right now.”
“But you’ve done it before and you’ll do it again. You’ll figure it out. I don’t have that experience. I’m afraid of fucking up.”
“What are you proposing?”
“I need to be spanked,” I said.
He opened the door and let me inside where he motioned for me to step into the living room. I walked over in front of his couch. He closed and locked the door.
“Do you know what you’re asking me?”
“No,” I answered.
“Take off your clothes and put them on the coffee table,” he said.
I looked to him out of the corner of my eye but he walked out of the room. I tried to listen to what he was doing but realized I wasn’t doing what he said so I stripped down. At the very least it might get sexual, I thought. My shirt, my shoes and socks, my pants, I put them all on the coffee table. I was in my boxers when he returned with something in his hand.
“You didn’t take off everything,” he said.
I watched him move to the center of the room with me. For a moment I thought he was going to pull down my underwear but instead he pushed the coffee table out of the way, then moved to the couch where he sat. He placed a hairbrush on his thigh. I put my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear and slipped them down, stepped out of them, tossed the fabric over onto my other clothes.
“This is just going to be a sample. You can decide if you want to continue afterwards. This isn’t a commitment yet.”
Standing naked there in his living room was different from anything else I had experienced of being naked in my life. It wasn’t the locker room which had its own sanctity and expected privacy of like bodies, like minds, codes of conduct and behavior. It wasn’t like my bedroom where I could close my door and expect people to politely knock. It wasn’t like my bathroom where I could lock the door. It wasn’t even like a public restroom with a stall, a blinder at a urinal, or even just hanging out some part of you. There in that semi-public space, a room of utility for getting people together, where anyone could walk in from another room, from the front door, or see me through a window, I was naked, completely. My clothes were in a pile. Each part of me vulnerable to his judgment and gaze. I rubbed my fingers together to try and distract myself. I shifted on my feet to try and relieve some tension but it remained. I was there. And it felt exciting. I felt my dick begin to grow, my balls begin to lift. I was getting off on this.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m not going to think of things to just get you in trouble or punish you vindictively and arbitrarily. This is about improving your life. You are seriously misbehaving. You drink too much, you smoke, and you don’t have respect for people. You were drinking behind my back at the beach because you knew I wouldn’t like it. You came home the other day so drunk I had to carry you to your bed. You are putting yourself in serious danger. You weren’t polite to your parents the other day at dinner. You crashed your car. What are the state of your grades?”
“Not very good,” I said.
“From now on you will call me sir,” he said. “Do you understand?”
The command was like something out of a movie. It felt so cliche I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. How far was he going with this?
“Did you hear me?”
I was naked in his living room. How far was I willing to go?
“Yes sir,” I said.
“Good, now come over here and lay across my lap.”
I walked to him, squatted, then slowly put myself over his thighs so that my dick was against the side of his leg. It felt strange to feel my chest pressed against him in such a way even though it felt like most of my weight was on my feet. He struck me once with the backside of the brush. The pain was sharp. The sound was crisp.
“Move up more so that you’re just on the tips of your toes,” he said.
Was he repositioning me to get a better angle to strike me? What had I gotten myself into? It felt too late to go back. I wanted to see it through. I slid across his lap, smashed my hard dick down into the gap of my thighs, my balls on either side. I moved until I was on the tips of my toes like he had said. My chest was off his legs, my hands went down to the carpet. He struck me again. This time it hurt worse. This time the pain lingered in the meat of my ass. It was deep.
I thought for a moment that I had lost control but then I remembered he was doing exactly what I had told him I wanted done. I was participating in this little exercise.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 7
What had happened, I asked myself, but I couldn’t remember. At least my asshole doesn’t hurt, I thought. It didn’t. That was something. I sat up and the urge to pee was worse, so bad it hurt. I couldn’t find my clothes so got up with the sheet around me and started for where the guest bathroom was. His bedroom door was closed and for a moment I thought about opening it, spying on him, maybe even climbing into bed but I stopped myself.
I was worse than a guest, I was uninvited. I used the bathroom, awkwardly, then went back out to the living room where I sat on the couch and debated trying to find my clothes, even going home naked, but I was too tired so I leaned back against the cushion and fell back asleep.
It was several more hours before I woke up again this time to the sound of him in the kitchen. I felt dirty inside and out. I still had the sheet over me, though it did little to mask my form. This time as I looked around I realized my pants were gone and instead my possessions were on the coffee table. What had I done?
There was no way out of it. I got up, wrapped the sheet around me like a toga, and headed into the kitchen where he stood in his boxers and old t-shirt. He had a slight growth of beard. Sunlight was coming through the blinds and partially illuminating him. It was a beautiful picture which I tried hard to memorize.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“What happened?” I responded.
“You don’t remember? You pissed yourself and then fell asleep on my chair. It was a pain in the ass to clean it up. And not the good kind of pain either, real smelly work.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You should be.”
I thought for a moment he was going to go into a long speech but he didn’t. He motioned for me to sit and he continued to cook. I watched him move around. There was something pleasant about such a domestic situation though I quickly realized he had only made breakfast for himself. It was okay. I felt miserable and I wasn’t hungry.
“I guess I blacked out,” I said.
“How much do you remember?”
It seemed like a dream, like someone else, and yet it was real. It had happened. I told him I remember getting back from the bar and going to his front door. I told him I remembered asking him what he wanted from me and him telling me. I told him I remembered him getting me another drink though I shouldn’t have had one.
“Did I throw up?”
“No, thank goodness,” he said.
“I hate cleaning up vomit,” I said.
“Me too,” he replied.
“I really pissed myself?”
“The jeans are in the drier. You weren’t wearing any underwear though.”
“I lost them at the bar,” I said.
“One of those nights,” he said.
I looked to him. I noted his breakfast, the way he sat, and the feeling of his home. I felt terrible, really terrible, one of the few times in my life I regretted what I had done and I felt like crying. There had to be some way to repay him. There had to be some way to make amends. My jeans were in his drier, my shirt was probably in Tucker’s car and though I had etched another notch in my belt of sexual conquests it didn’t feel like a great victory.
“How can I make it up to you?” I asked.
“I don’t know if you can,” he said.
I lowered my head in defeat, the hangover, or maybe still being drunk was having an effect on me. I wanted to plead with him but felt foolish sitting there basically naked, covered by a bed sheet while my pants were in the drier. There had to be a way out, I thought and then I remembered what he had said to me the night before and what I had repeated to him that morning.
“But you said you wanted me to be a better person,” I said.
“I do.”
“How?” I asked.
He stopped eating, put down his fork, and took a sip of coffee, then put the cup back down before sitting back. His hands went to his lap and he looked over at me.
“I think you need discipline,” he said.
“You told me that before but what does that mean?”
“Honestly, I think you need to be spanked,” he answered.
Spanked? Just the word sent shivers down my spine. It felt like an archaic word. No one I knew had ever been spanked. I had never been spanked. I kind of knew it still happened but not where I lived, not in modern, civilized places. My face got warm and I was pretty sure I was blushing. Not just spanked but by him, my neighbor, and a man that I thought, that I felt attracted to, that made me consider it. I didn’t know how he would do it or what he would use. Would I be bare assed? He barely moved as he watched me thinking about it. Was he messing with me?
“Are you messing with me?”
He took another sip of coffee.
“No,” he said. “And not just once but in a systemized way. We’d figure out the ways you need to improve your life and then we’d make a deal where if you break the rules or you aren’t living up to what we agree then you’ll get spanked.”
I was speechless.
“Think about it,” he said before resuming eating.
It felt like I had run into a wall. It felt like my breath had been taken from my lungs. He saw a problem. I knew I had a problem. And yet it felt too direct, though there was no other way to say it. He had been hinting at it with the notion of discipline, but somehow I thought that meant waking up early, exercising, and the sorts of things you do in Boot Camp.
Everything seemed more real to me as I sat there and I was desperate to get away from it so I cleared my throat and asked him where the drier was and told him I’d be leaving. He nodded and told me where to find my pants. I got up from the table and went to where he said. Inside the machine was my pants. I took them out, looked around, but he hadn’t followed me so I put them on there, balled up the sheet and set it on the washer before I made my way back to the living room where I picked up my things. It felt so strange to just be walking out like that after what he had said and yet I felt compelled to do it. Spanked? No way, I shook my head.
“I’m leaving now,” I said.
“Okay, have a nice day,” he replied.
Still shirtless I hobbled out the front door of his house with my cane. Once again I stopped on the porch to light a cigarette, and then I walked the short distance to my house. My parents were awake in the living room. My father was reading the newspaper and my mother was on her tablet filling in a crossword puzzle. They barely noticed me as I slipped by them to go to my room.
Inside my room I locked the door again, stripped down, and crawled into bed. How would spanking help? I thought about it for several minutes before I fell asleep. When I awoke hours later it was to the sound of knocking on my door.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s your father, listen we need to talk,” he said. “If you’re awake then come downstairs.”
I rolled onto my back and said that I would be down after I got a shower. But before I even got out of bed I got my laptop and opened it. I searched for spanking. I searched for ‘spanked men’ and the images and the videos that popped up were intriguing to say the least. Flat on my stomach I was starting to get an erection as I looked over it. He wanted to do that with me? It was enough of an erotic thought that I jerked off a quick one into a sock that I threw in the dirty laundry hamper before heading to the bathroom.
As I stood under the water I thought about pissing myself. I thought about Hugh and I remembered to wash my hair twice. I thought about the way my life was going. I thought about my binge drinking and I thought about how I could tell my parents to just fuck off. They had never been involved with my life in that way and it felt ridiculous for them to try now, to try anything. Grant was someone else. He was someone I could look up to and respect. He was someone who might know me intimately and yet be a stranger. Spanked, I thought, somehow it was becoming an appealing idea.
When I finished my shower I went back to my room where I got dressed. I styled my hair the way I liked which was messy, picked up my cane, and headed downstairs. My parents were still in the living room so I joined them.
“We need to talk,” my father said. “There’s no easy way to say this but seeing you come in this morning I feel it needs to be said.” He paused. I thought for a moment my mother was going to say something but she didn’t.
“What is it?” I asked.
“We’re worried about you. Your grades have been sliding down. We never see you doing homework or reading a book. I know a lot of it is online now but even so it doesn’t seem like you have been working hard.”
“Dad, it’s community college,” I said. “It’s not very difficult.”
“Well then that means your grades should be better,” my mother said.
I was half stunned by her words. The sentiment was true I just didn’t think she would say that to me. Even the conversation felt weird as my parents had never really been confrontational as long as I got average grades, as long as I played along with the system.
“My grades are fine. I’m passing everything.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Passing isn’t enough. Have you figured out what you want to do with your life? Do you have any passions?”
Were we talking about my grades or my life? It felt like a weird way to confront me, to ask me then what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Very few people knew what they wanted to do for the rest of their life, I thought.
“You don’t even have a job,” my mother said.
I needed to confront them. I decided to put my foot down.
“Where is this coming from?”
They looked at each other, then to me.
“We worry about you,” my father said. “It’s one thing to be gay. We’re okay with that but staying out all night and coming home like you did. Are you safe? Do you use protection?”
It felt like my parents were grabbing at every part of my life and ripping it to shreds. I felt like running from the room. How could they ask me about my sex life? I was an adult. It was my life.
“We just want you to think about it,” my mother said.
“Tuition isn’t cheap. I’m willing to pay for you to take classes during the summer but I want to see real motivation. I want to see your grades get better.”
I stared at them for a moment and I wanted to say something back to them. I wanted to unleash years of pent up anger but I knew it would only make things worse and it felt like they had finished. Their point had been made. I had been given an ultimatum.
“Can I go now?” I asked.
My father nodded.
I got to my feet and limped away with my cane out the front door where I lit a cigarette and took a seat on the steps. Everyone was against me, I thought, and yet they were right. My parents were right because I didn’t have any passion and Grant was right because I was misbehaving. I thought about calling Tucker or someone else to get out of there but I didn’t want to be around people. I knew the slightest thing would set me off. Of all things I felt like crying.
I pushed myself to my feet and started walking. At first I didn’t know where I was going but as I made my way through the neighborhood I remembered the park nearby so I headed there. When I got close I could hear some people on the basketball court but no one was in the actual grass area so I made my way to the most private place I could find under a tree. I put my back to it, slid down to my ass. I pulled at a few blades and dropped them in the dirt ring.
That’s when I started crying. It was pure frustration. I was doing everything I was supposed to do. I was doing everything that was asked of me. There was no plan. There was no goal. I was making it up as I went along just like everyone else, I told myself, moving from one thing to another. How does someone end up successful? How does someone end up happy? My parents had few suggestions except to find some kind of passion. And yeah, I wasn’t doing good in school, I kept above passing grades, but I hated it. School felt so fake. My breathing slowed, the tears stopped.
There was just some foolish reality, I thought afterwards, there was just this, me sitting in a park.
I decided I needed guidance. I needed someone to help me improve my life. That was what Grant said he wanted from me. He wanted me to be a better person. I knew then that I would go to him. I got to my feet, stuck my cane into the ground, and started the walk back. I would give it a try and if it didn’t work then I would do something else, I told myself.
The walk was easy. Somehow getting back always seems to take less time than going somewhere. I intentionally walked back taking a few extra turns so I wouldn’t have to see my house directly. Grant’s car was in the driveway so I knew he was home. I made my way up to his front door and I knocked. When he opened it he was dressed in a button down shirt and khaki pants.
“Hi there,” he said.
“Hello,” I replied.
He looked over my shoulder, then around a bit before returning his gaze to me. I felt foolish standing there, yet I knew there was something I had to say.
“I was thinking about what you said and I want to be a better person. My life is a mess. I don’t feel like I have any control of it. I’m doing everything everyone wants from me but they don’t tell me how to get ahead in life. I have no mentors. I need your help. I need you to guide me. I want you. I want you to show me how to live a life.”
“I don’t know if I’m that person,” he said. “My life is kind of uncertain right now.”
“But you’ve done it before and you’ll do it again. You’ll figure it out. I don’t have that experience. I’m afraid of fucking up.”
“What are you proposing?”
“I need to be spanked,” I said.
He opened the door and let me inside where he motioned for me to step into the living room. I walked over in front of his couch. He closed and locked the door.
“Do you know what you’re asking me?”
“No,” I answered.
“Take off your clothes and put them on the coffee table,” he said.
I looked to him out of the corner of my eye but he walked out of the room. I tried to listen to what he was doing but realized I wasn’t doing what he said so I stripped down. At the very least it might get sexual, I thought. My shirt, my shoes and socks, my pants, I put them all on the coffee table. I was in my boxers when he returned with something in his hand.
“You didn’t take off everything,” he said.
I watched him move to the center of the room with me. For a moment I thought he was going to pull down my underwear but instead he pushed the coffee table out of the way, then moved to the couch where he sat. He placed a hairbrush on his thigh. I put my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear and slipped them down, stepped out of them, tossed the fabric over onto my other clothes.
“This is just going to be a sample. You can decide if you want to continue afterwards. This isn’t a commitment yet.”
Standing naked there in his living room was different from anything else I had experienced of being naked in my life. It wasn’t the locker room which had its own sanctity and expected privacy of like bodies, like minds, codes of conduct and behavior. It wasn’t like my bedroom where I could close my door and expect people to politely knock. It wasn’t like my bathroom where I could lock the door. It wasn’t even like a public restroom with a stall, a blinder at a urinal, or even just hanging out some part of you. There in that semi-public space, a room of utility for getting people together, where anyone could walk in from another room, from the front door, or see me through a window, I was naked, completely. My clothes were in a pile. Each part of me vulnerable to his judgment and gaze. I rubbed my fingers together to try and distract myself. I shifted on my feet to try and relieve some tension but it remained. I was there. And it felt exciting. I felt my dick begin to grow, my balls begin to lift. I was getting off on this.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I’m not going to think of things to just get you in trouble or punish you vindictively and arbitrarily. This is about improving your life. You are seriously misbehaving. You drink too much, you smoke, and you don’t have respect for people. You were drinking behind my back at the beach because you knew I wouldn’t like it. You came home the other day so drunk I had to carry you to your bed. You are putting yourself in serious danger. You weren’t polite to your parents the other day at dinner. You crashed your car. What are the state of your grades?”
“Not very good,” I said.
“From now on you will call me sir,” he said. “Do you understand?”
The command was like something out of a movie. It felt so cliche I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. How far was he going with this?
“Did you hear me?”
I was naked in his living room. How far was I willing to go?
“Yes sir,” I said.
“Good, now come over here and lay across my lap.”
I walked to him, squatted, then slowly put myself over his thighs so that my dick was against the side of his leg. It felt strange to feel my chest pressed against him in such a way even though it felt like most of my weight was on my feet. He struck me once with the backside of the brush. The pain was sharp. The sound was crisp.
“Move up more so that you’re just on the tips of your toes,” he said.
Was he repositioning me to get a better angle to strike me? What had I gotten myself into? It felt too late to go back. I wanted to see it through. I slid across his lap, smashed my hard dick down into the gap of my thighs, my balls on either side. I moved until I was on the tips of my toes like he had said. My chest was off his legs, my hands went down to the carpet. He struck me again. This time it hurt worse. This time the pain lingered in the meat of my ass. It was deep.
I thought for a moment that I had lost control but then I remembered he was doing exactly what I had told him I wanted done. I was participating in this little exercise.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 7
Act Your Age Ch 07 - Naked In Time
Grant spanked me several more times with the hairbrush. Each hit stung my butt but there was also another pain that lingered there, built up over time until I began to try and get away from it. I tried moving a little closer to him. It didn’t work. I tried moving out over his knees but it didn’t work. I tried to crawl over his lap onto the couch which he let me do a little, then he stopped me. What I didn’t know was that I had left my thighs vulnerable. It was a whole new area for him and that brush.
Somehow I thought he would stay focused on the bubble of ass but I was wrong. He moved down to my thighs where the spanks weren’t as hard but seemed to sting more. He worked them until I cried out in pain several times. Was he trying to get me to cry? Why wasn’t I crying? I tried to force myself to do it. If he heard me crying then he had to stop and show me some pity, but the feeling wouldn’t come.
He stopped. Half of me was on the couch, half of me was on his thighs, my feet stuck out into the air, useless. He told me to stand up, helped me to my feet. My rump burned so I reached back to grab it. The skin was hot. But I also realized how foolish I must have looked there with my limp dick, naked as the day I was born.
“Go over to the corner and stand there with your nose in it. Don’t touch your butt. In fact put your hands on your head and lace your fingers together.”
I walked away from him to the corner where he had indicated. It was a place where he could watch me. I was tempted just one touch of my rear but I stopped myself. Instead I put my nose in the corner, hands on my head, and laced my fingers together. Naked and vulnerable I stood there unsure of how long this additional punishment would be. The spanking had been intense, thorough even, but not nearly as bad as I had thought, though it was still more than just a sample. How long would the feeling last? How many hours? How many days? I had never been spanked before and it felt like my ass had fallen off.
That’s when I heard him get up, leave the room. I almost turned my head. I almost dropped my hands. I so badly wanted to break the rules, do my own thing, show my ability to resist, but I didn’t. It was a good thing too. He was back a moment later and he moved directly to me.
“This is lotion,” he said. “I’m going to rub this on your butt. It will help heal the area. Just stand there while I do this.”
The lotion was cool. His hand was strong. He worked it all over my butt, just barely into my crack, and then my thighs. I thought for a moment he would work more between my cheeks. I thought for a moment he would go so far as stick his finger inside me but he didn’t. It was these thoughts and the rubbing that got me a little excited. I got a chubby.
If only he could reach around, I thought. I liked the use of lotion when masturbating. But again he didn’t. He finished spreading the lotion, then walked away from me back over to the couch where he sat. I could feel him staring at me. Was he studying my lean frame? Was he noting the way my skin stretched up over my ribs as I had my hands on my head? Was he marveling at the redness of my ass? Did he enjoy my obedience?
I lost track of time standing there until the muscles in my legs were sore, my feet ached. It felt like I could lose control and fall into the corner, hit my nose. My sides, my back, and my arms were beginning to go numb, and that’s when he told me to put my arms down, called me over to him. He had a towel stretched out over his lap. I thought for a moment he would give me another spanking but he told me to sit instead. I was relieved until I did. My thighs, the bottom of my butt stung as I did so. It was a new kind of pain, the stretching of my weakened skin.
My dick and balls between my thighs, my hands on my knees, and my feet barely on the carpet I sat there for a moment appreciating my continued nudity, my continued vulnerability, and the strength, the comfort of the man whose lap I was sitting on. He reached around my back with his right arm, pulled me down to his shoulder. I felt sad. I felt relief. I was in pain, yet it felt like something was leaving me. What was leaving me?
“I want you to go home tonight and write up a list of everything you’ve been doing wrong. I want you to write up a list of everything you want to improve. Bring those two lists to me Monday night and we’ll talk about how we’re going to help you. We’ll come up with a personal contract. It won’t be legally binding but it should mean something to each of us. While this contract is disciplinary in nature I don’t want you to think you have to misbehave to get my attention or my hand. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” I said.
I thought for a moment he was going to push me from his lap, tell me to get up and get out, but he didn’t. I just lay there with my head on him until I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I was there on his lap before he woke me and told me to get dressed. He said he had important things to attend to and I did as well. I thanked him for the experience, then once I was dressed I headed out of his house. I stopped on the porch to light a cigarette but stopped myself. I reached to my butt through my pants. I could still feel it there and smoking was one of the things he said I was doing wrong. I put the cigarette up behind my ear, walked home.
My house was exactly as I had left it, could have expected it to be. My parents were in the living room watching television so I made my way to the kitchen where I made myself a sandwich that I took upstairs. I felt thankful and lucky that my parents hadn’t said anything to me or approached me. I wasn’t sure how I looked, sometimes I winced when I moved.
In my bedroom I took a pillow from my bed, put it on my desk chair, and sat but even that was too painful so I got up and went to my bed where I laid face down with the pillow under me. Even being in that position reminded me of the feeling on my chest as I laid across his lap. I took my phone from my pocket. There were no missed calls or texts which wasn’t unusual for me, so I pulled up a writing app and made a list. I started with the things he had mentioned and ended with an obvious choice.
1.) Get a Job
2.) Improve/Keep Up my grades
3.) Become a Safe Driver
4.) Quit binge drinking
5.) Quit Smoking
6.) Show Respect to My Parents and Elders
7.) Clean Room
After I had completed it, read it over, and felt like it was a good start I rolled over onto my back and thought back about what I had done only hours before. I had been naked over another man’s lap and was spanked. Not just spanked but made to stand in a corner naked, staring at the boring wall, and made to think, or at least I was supposed to think, about what I had done.
I thought about his proposal. I would be disciplined: spanked, have my mouth soaped, and who knew what else he could think of to do to me. It sounded painful and yet it sounded attractive. For once in my life there would be consequences. Pain and discipline.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6
Somehow I thought he would stay focused on the bubble of ass but I was wrong. He moved down to my thighs where the spanks weren’t as hard but seemed to sting more. He worked them until I cried out in pain several times. Was he trying to get me to cry? Why wasn’t I crying? I tried to force myself to do it. If he heard me crying then he had to stop and show me some pity, but the feeling wouldn’t come.
He stopped. Half of me was on the couch, half of me was on his thighs, my feet stuck out into the air, useless. He told me to stand up, helped me to my feet. My rump burned so I reached back to grab it. The skin was hot. But I also realized how foolish I must have looked there with my limp dick, naked as the day I was born.
“Go over to the corner and stand there with your nose in it. Don’t touch your butt. In fact put your hands on your head and lace your fingers together.”
I walked away from him to the corner where he had indicated. It was a place where he could watch me. I was tempted just one touch of my rear but I stopped myself. Instead I put my nose in the corner, hands on my head, and laced my fingers together. Naked and vulnerable I stood there unsure of how long this additional punishment would be. The spanking had been intense, thorough even, but not nearly as bad as I had thought, though it was still more than just a sample. How long would the feeling last? How many hours? How many days? I had never been spanked before and it felt like my ass had fallen off.
That’s when I heard him get up, leave the room. I almost turned my head. I almost dropped my hands. I so badly wanted to break the rules, do my own thing, show my ability to resist, but I didn’t. It was a good thing too. He was back a moment later and he moved directly to me.
“This is lotion,” he said. “I’m going to rub this on your butt. It will help heal the area. Just stand there while I do this.”
The lotion was cool. His hand was strong. He worked it all over my butt, just barely into my crack, and then my thighs. I thought for a moment he would work more between my cheeks. I thought for a moment he would go so far as stick his finger inside me but he didn’t. It was these thoughts and the rubbing that got me a little excited. I got a chubby.
If only he could reach around, I thought. I liked the use of lotion when masturbating. But again he didn’t. He finished spreading the lotion, then walked away from me back over to the couch where he sat. I could feel him staring at me. Was he studying my lean frame? Was he noting the way my skin stretched up over my ribs as I had my hands on my head? Was he marveling at the redness of my ass? Did he enjoy my obedience?
I lost track of time standing there until the muscles in my legs were sore, my feet ached. It felt like I could lose control and fall into the corner, hit my nose. My sides, my back, and my arms were beginning to go numb, and that’s when he told me to put my arms down, called me over to him. He had a towel stretched out over his lap. I thought for a moment he would give me another spanking but he told me to sit instead. I was relieved until I did. My thighs, the bottom of my butt stung as I did so. It was a new kind of pain, the stretching of my weakened skin.
My dick and balls between my thighs, my hands on my knees, and my feet barely on the carpet I sat there for a moment appreciating my continued nudity, my continued vulnerability, and the strength, the comfort of the man whose lap I was sitting on. He reached around my back with his right arm, pulled me down to his shoulder. I felt sad. I felt relief. I was in pain, yet it felt like something was leaving me. What was leaving me?
“I want you to go home tonight and write up a list of everything you’ve been doing wrong. I want you to write up a list of everything you want to improve. Bring those two lists to me Monday night and we’ll talk about how we’re going to help you. We’ll come up with a personal contract. It won’t be legally binding but it should mean something to each of us. While this contract is disciplinary in nature I don’t want you to think you have to misbehave to get my attention or my hand. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” I said.
I thought for a moment he was going to push me from his lap, tell me to get up and get out, but he didn’t. I just lay there with my head on him until I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I was there on his lap before he woke me and told me to get dressed. He said he had important things to attend to and I did as well. I thanked him for the experience, then once I was dressed I headed out of his house. I stopped on the porch to light a cigarette but stopped myself. I reached to my butt through my pants. I could still feel it there and smoking was one of the things he said I was doing wrong. I put the cigarette up behind my ear, walked home.
My house was exactly as I had left it, could have expected it to be. My parents were in the living room watching television so I made my way to the kitchen where I made myself a sandwich that I took upstairs. I felt thankful and lucky that my parents hadn’t said anything to me or approached me. I wasn’t sure how I looked, sometimes I winced when I moved.
In my bedroom I took a pillow from my bed, put it on my desk chair, and sat but even that was too painful so I got up and went to my bed where I laid face down with the pillow under me. Even being in that position reminded me of the feeling on my chest as I laid across his lap. I took my phone from my pocket. There were no missed calls or texts which wasn’t unusual for me, so I pulled up a writing app and made a list. I started with the things he had mentioned and ended with an obvious choice.
1.) Get a Job
2.) Improve/Keep Up my grades
3.) Become a Safe Driver
4.) Quit binge drinking
5.) Quit Smoking
6.) Show Respect to My Parents and Elders
7.) Clean Room
After I had completed it, read it over, and felt like it was a good start I rolled over onto my back and thought back about what I had done only hours before. I had been naked over another man’s lap and was spanked. Not just spanked but made to stand in a corner naked, staring at the boring wall, and made to think, or at least I was supposed to think, about what I had done.
I thought about his proposal. I would be disciplined: spanked, have my mouth soaped, and who knew what else he could think of to do to me. It sounded painful and yet it sounded attractive. For once in my life there would be consequences. Pain and discipline.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Back to Basics Pt 1/2
Home between my junior and senior year of college I had few prospects
except sitting around the house, playing video games, and jerking off
when I could, so it was a surprise when after being home for a week I
got a phone call from someone I hadn’t heard from for three years.
“Rick,” my mom said, “it’s Mrs. Hutch. She wants to talk to you.”
I hadn’t thought about her for so long that her name was strange to me when I heard it, though I quickly snapped out of my confusion when I collected the phone. Mrs. Hutch was the mother of a boy I had babysat for two years, but that was five years ago. He must be eighteen by now, I thought.
“Hello Rick, this is Mrs. Hutch. How are you doing?”
“Good, how are you?”
“I’m doing good. This summer seems like it is going to be a nice one. Do you have any plans?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Good,” she replied, “I have a bit of a dilemma. You see Bobby is eighteen now but he hasn’t really been behaving himself. He got in a bit of trouble this last year and summers are always worse. He gets so carried away with things. I’m afraid of him hanging around with his usual friends and doing something terrible before he goes off to college. Would you be interested in hanging out with him and keeping him out of trouble? He needs a mentor and I thought with you being at college, plus you two got along all those years ago.”
“Well,” I said.
“We’d pay you. I know it’s hard to find a job these days. You said you didn’t have any plans.”
“No, it sounds good, but how much time would be involved?”
“Well,” she said, “my husband and I are going away this weekend and we’re worried about him being alone at the house so maybe you could come over Friday afternoon and stay until Monday evening when we’d be back.”
I thought about the idea of being somewhere else all weekend, baby sitting no less, and for an eighteen year old who probably wouldn’t like the idea, but somehow it made sense so he didn’t trash the house, and I liked the idea of getting paid. I wanted a new video game for the summer and didn’t want to have to ask my parents for the cash.
“Are you interested?” she asked.
I could only think of one other question.
“How much does it pay?”
“We’re willing to give you three hundred and fifty-dollars plus we’ll pay for everything.”
My jaw dropped at the offer. It was more than I’d be paid working minimum wage for two weeks and it would be in cash. I regained my focus.
“That sounds great,” I said. “What time do you want me to be there?”
“Come by after twelve, my husband and I will both be home though we won’t be leaving until four o’clock but I might have to run some errands and it might be easier, especially if there are any problems.”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
Friday, I got there just after noon. I parked on the street and walked up to the front door feeling confident, though slightly nervous. I was more worried about how Bobby would react. I pressed the button for the doorbell, then stuck my hands in my pockets. I had just started to look around when the front door opened. It was Bobby. He stood on there in the opening of the door dressed in white briefs and a white t-shirt that came down to his hips. He was taller and more muscled than I could have imagined, though still not as tall as me. He had loose curly brown hair and I saw that his eyes were red like he had been crying.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey Rick,” he said to me before turning and shouting into the house that I had arrived.
He opened the door and stepped aside to let me in to the house. I entered cautiously. The place was better than my own home. It was newer, but also cleaner. It smelled of vanilla scented candles and everything was in its proper place. I looked to him almost feeling like I should say something about his red eyes but stopped myself because he was no doubt upset about me being there. He had probably argued with his parents, then cried to try and get them to feel sympathy for him. He rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand.
“I just woke up,” he said.
“That’s what’s nice about summer and not being in school. You just graduated,” I said.
It felt like I was rubbing in the fact that he was eighteen but needed a babysitter but I wasn’t. I was trying to make conversation and keep it positive.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“Well, uh, any plans for college?”
“Dad says I have to go to the community college because my grades weren’t very good. It’s either that or a Trade School because he doesn’t want to waste money on tuition. If I do good though he says I can transfer.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” I said.
“I guess,” he replied. “Hey I’m really hungry so I’m going to go eat something. Mom probably wants to talk to you.”
He stepped past me and I followed after him. I could make out his butt in the white fabric and I felt myself getting a little excited. I liked the way his shirt was loose but half covered the curve of it. I followed him to the kitchen where he went to a cupboard. When he raised his hands his shirt lifted too showing his full round cheeks, the way his underwear stretched around them, the small of his back. I wanted to feel them, but I also wanted to grab hold of his underwear and give him a wedgie. I was so focused I didn’t see him look back at me.
“Like something you see?” he asked.
I looked up into his eyes and he smiled at me before turning and leaning back against the counter. No one else was around. His hand went to his hip, the edge of his shirt, then slowly began to slide it up his body, over the fabric around the top of his thigh which made his crotch more apparent but also began to show his abdomen, his belly button. I shook my head. It was a lie.
“Come on big boy,” he said.
I gulped. I looked him in the eye and his face broke into a laugh. His hand fell and he turned away from me back to the counter where he picked up the bowl and walked to another cupboard. I wiped my hands on my jeans. He took out a box of cereal and poured some into the bowl. Each flake that hit felt like a bullet being shot. What had I gotten myself into? Would I be able to maintain my authority?
He put the box of cereal away and went to the refrigerator, though he looked back at me as he did. He smiled and got out the soy milk. He poured some into the bowl over the cereal and I could hear it run over the flakes. He put the container away, closed the refrigerator door, and picked up his bowl, crossed the room to a drawer where he took out a spoon, then moved to where I stood. I thought if he could just walk past me it would be over but he didn’t. He reached up and pinched my right cheek. I hated when people pinched my cheeks, but I didn’t want to swat his arm away and cause a scene. I realized he was testing me, trying to get rid of me so he could be home alone.
I took a deep breath to keep my emotions in check, but that’s when his hand moved a little, his thumb suddenly at my lips. He brushed across them from one end to the other. I felt as if I had just lost something but he only shook his head, then began to laugh. He dropped his hand, then walked around me. I lowered my head but then remembered his mother and decided I should find her. I was going to tell her it was off. I was going to tell her to find someone else.
That’s when I heard her coming out of her bedroom and down the hallway. She was well dressed and she had aged noticeably since I last saw her but she was still an attractive woman. He wore these silver ear rings and smelled of perfume. She moved close and put her hand on my forearm.
“Thank you for coming. It means so much to us. I have to run to the store for some errands but I’ll be back in about an hour. Go make yourself comfortable in the living room. If my husband shows up don’t worry about it because he knows your supposed to be here.” She stepped away from me faster than I could react. I watched her look into the living room to her son. “Behave yourself young man. Your father will be home soon and I’m just running errands,” she said. Then she turned back to me and put her hand back on my forearm, “if anything goes wrong you just call me.”
And like that she was gone. She turned and left the house with her purse in hand. I listened as she got into her car and drove away before looking to Bobby in the living room. There was nothing else to do so I joined him. I sat in the living room watching him watch TV for about half an hour. It was an enjoyable sight and I was half hard when his father came home.
He came to the living room. He was dressed in a suit and tie which he began to loosen. He spotted me and nodded a hello before he looked to Bobby.
“Still in your underwear,” he said, “and we have a guest. What’s wrong with you? It’s the afternoon. You can’t just sit around all day like that.”
Bobby turned to look at his father but didn’t speak. I felt awkward just sitting there, almost as if I had done something wrong. I thought to say something to break the tension but his father spoke first to me.
“Let’s go talk in my office,” he said.
“Right,” I replied before jumping to my feet and following after him.
He led me to the back of the house where he opened a large, solid oak door and ushered me inside to find a clean, orderly home office. It looked more like it was for show than use as there were no papers, no work around. The desk was completely empty, just one long, dark top.
“Do you smoke?” he asked as he offered me a cigar.
“No thanks sir,” I said.
“Good, and don’t let Bobby have any of them. He’s too young.”
“I won’t sir,” I said.
“Yeah well, the boy has a mind of his own. Sometimes by the way he acts he just doesn’t seem to get it. He’s supposed to be growing up to be a man but he does so poorly in school and now with his behavior issues. Maybe he’s lacking testosterone.”
I was stunned by his comments, yet somehow expected them. I had dealt very little with the man in my former service. He had always seemed aloof and distant. He had given me a ride home once and I remember being on edge around him, afraid I would say the wrong thing.
“Well, I had to give him a spanking just before you got here. He was being such a brat. I didn’t have to always do that. I did when he was young but as he got older I stopped but then lately the way he’s been acting. It started as a threat and then it just happened and it seems like its the only thing I’ve been able to do to keep him in line. If it comes down to it don’t be afraid to give him one. I think you should be able to overpower him, but really he should respect you and I’ll have a conversation with him. If he doesn’t behave himself this weekend then he’ll pay for it when I get back.”
Maybe it was something to hold over him, but it felt more like something I didn’t want to think about as I thought Bobby was too old for such treatment. Maybe I could succeed where he his parents failed by rationalizing with him, convince him to be behave. I liked the idea but wouldn’t dare tell his father.
“Whatever you do don’t let him get in control, don’t let him have his way. He wants to throw a party this weekend like all young men his age but we can’t have it. I don’t want the police showing up. I don’t want to get calls from the neighbors. Is that clear? If I do then it might just be your ass on the line. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” I said.
What did he mean by my ass? Would he spank me too? Wasn’t I too old? What had I gotten myself into? I thought about Bobby in the kitchen earlier and how it would be to spend the weekend of three days and three nights. I swallowed hard but decided I would have to man up and handle the situation.
Part 2
“Rick,” my mom said, “it’s Mrs. Hutch. She wants to talk to you.”
I hadn’t thought about her for so long that her name was strange to me when I heard it, though I quickly snapped out of my confusion when I collected the phone. Mrs. Hutch was the mother of a boy I had babysat for two years, but that was five years ago. He must be eighteen by now, I thought.
“Hello Rick, this is Mrs. Hutch. How are you doing?”
“Good, how are you?”
“I’m doing good. This summer seems like it is going to be a nice one. Do you have any plans?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Good,” she replied, “I have a bit of a dilemma. You see Bobby is eighteen now but he hasn’t really been behaving himself. He got in a bit of trouble this last year and summers are always worse. He gets so carried away with things. I’m afraid of him hanging around with his usual friends and doing something terrible before he goes off to college. Would you be interested in hanging out with him and keeping him out of trouble? He needs a mentor and I thought with you being at college, plus you two got along all those years ago.”
“Well,” I said.
“We’d pay you. I know it’s hard to find a job these days. You said you didn’t have any plans.”
“No, it sounds good, but how much time would be involved?”
“Well,” she said, “my husband and I are going away this weekend and we’re worried about him being alone at the house so maybe you could come over Friday afternoon and stay until Monday evening when we’d be back.”
I thought about the idea of being somewhere else all weekend, baby sitting no less, and for an eighteen year old who probably wouldn’t like the idea, but somehow it made sense so he didn’t trash the house, and I liked the idea of getting paid. I wanted a new video game for the summer and didn’t want to have to ask my parents for the cash.
“Are you interested?” she asked.
I could only think of one other question.
“How much does it pay?”
“We’re willing to give you three hundred and fifty-dollars plus we’ll pay for everything.”
My jaw dropped at the offer. It was more than I’d be paid working minimum wage for two weeks and it would be in cash. I regained my focus.
“That sounds great,” I said. “What time do you want me to be there?”
“Come by after twelve, my husband and I will both be home though we won’t be leaving until four o’clock but I might have to run some errands and it might be easier, especially if there are any problems.”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
Friday, I got there just after noon. I parked on the street and walked up to the front door feeling confident, though slightly nervous. I was more worried about how Bobby would react. I pressed the button for the doorbell, then stuck my hands in my pockets. I had just started to look around when the front door opened. It was Bobby. He stood on there in the opening of the door dressed in white briefs and a white t-shirt that came down to his hips. He was taller and more muscled than I could have imagined, though still not as tall as me. He had loose curly brown hair and I saw that his eyes were red like he had been crying.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey Rick,” he said to me before turning and shouting into the house that I had arrived.
He opened the door and stepped aside to let me in to the house. I entered cautiously. The place was better than my own home. It was newer, but also cleaner. It smelled of vanilla scented candles and everything was in its proper place. I looked to him almost feeling like I should say something about his red eyes but stopped myself because he was no doubt upset about me being there. He had probably argued with his parents, then cried to try and get them to feel sympathy for him. He rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand.
“I just woke up,” he said.
“That’s what’s nice about summer and not being in school. You just graduated,” I said.
It felt like I was rubbing in the fact that he was eighteen but needed a babysitter but I wasn’t. I was trying to make conversation and keep it positive.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“Well, uh, any plans for college?”
“Dad says I have to go to the community college because my grades weren’t very good. It’s either that or a Trade School because he doesn’t want to waste money on tuition. If I do good though he says I can transfer.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” I said.
“I guess,” he replied. “Hey I’m really hungry so I’m going to go eat something. Mom probably wants to talk to you.”
He stepped past me and I followed after him. I could make out his butt in the white fabric and I felt myself getting a little excited. I liked the way his shirt was loose but half covered the curve of it. I followed him to the kitchen where he went to a cupboard. When he raised his hands his shirt lifted too showing his full round cheeks, the way his underwear stretched around them, the small of his back. I wanted to feel them, but I also wanted to grab hold of his underwear and give him a wedgie. I was so focused I didn’t see him look back at me.
“Like something you see?” he asked.
I looked up into his eyes and he smiled at me before turning and leaning back against the counter. No one else was around. His hand went to his hip, the edge of his shirt, then slowly began to slide it up his body, over the fabric around the top of his thigh which made his crotch more apparent but also began to show his abdomen, his belly button. I shook my head. It was a lie.
“Come on big boy,” he said.
I gulped. I looked him in the eye and his face broke into a laugh. His hand fell and he turned away from me back to the counter where he picked up the bowl and walked to another cupboard. I wiped my hands on my jeans. He took out a box of cereal and poured some into the bowl. Each flake that hit felt like a bullet being shot. What had I gotten myself into? Would I be able to maintain my authority?
He put the box of cereal away and went to the refrigerator, though he looked back at me as he did. He smiled and got out the soy milk. He poured some into the bowl over the cereal and I could hear it run over the flakes. He put the container away, closed the refrigerator door, and picked up his bowl, crossed the room to a drawer where he took out a spoon, then moved to where I stood. I thought if he could just walk past me it would be over but he didn’t. He reached up and pinched my right cheek. I hated when people pinched my cheeks, but I didn’t want to swat his arm away and cause a scene. I realized he was testing me, trying to get rid of me so he could be home alone.
I took a deep breath to keep my emotions in check, but that’s when his hand moved a little, his thumb suddenly at my lips. He brushed across them from one end to the other. I felt as if I had just lost something but he only shook his head, then began to laugh. He dropped his hand, then walked around me. I lowered my head but then remembered his mother and decided I should find her. I was going to tell her it was off. I was going to tell her to find someone else.
That’s when I heard her coming out of her bedroom and down the hallway. She was well dressed and she had aged noticeably since I last saw her but she was still an attractive woman. He wore these silver ear rings and smelled of perfume. She moved close and put her hand on my forearm.
“Thank you for coming. It means so much to us. I have to run to the store for some errands but I’ll be back in about an hour. Go make yourself comfortable in the living room. If my husband shows up don’t worry about it because he knows your supposed to be here.” She stepped away from me faster than I could react. I watched her look into the living room to her son. “Behave yourself young man. Your father will be home soon and I’m just running errands,” she said. Then she turned back to me and put her hand back on my forearm, “if anything goes wrong you just call me.”
And like that she was gone. She turned and left the house with her purse in hand. I listened as she got into her car and drove away before looking to Bobby in the living room. There was nothing else to do so I joined him. I sat in the living room watching him watch TV for about half an hour. It was an enjoyable sight and I was half hard when his father came home.
He came to the living room. He was dressed in a suit and tie which he began to loosen. He spotted me and nodded a hello before he looked to Bobby.
“Still in your underwear,” he said, “and we have a guest. What’s wrong with you? It’s the afternoon. You can’t just sit around all day like that.”
Bobby turned to look at his father but didn’t speak. I felt awkward just sitting there, almost as if I had done something wrong. I thought to say something to break the tension but his father spoke first to me.
“Let’s go talk in my office,” he said.
“Right,” I replied before jumping to my feet and following after him.
He led me to the back of the house where he opened a large, solid oak door and ushered me inside to find a clean, orderly home office. It looked more like it was for show than use as there were no papers, no work around. The desk was completely empty, just one long, dark top.
“Do you smoke?” he asked as he offered me a cigar.
“No thanks sir,” I said.
“Good, and don’t let Bobby have any of them. He’s too young.”
“I won’t sir,” I said.
“Yeah well, the boy has a mind of his own. Sometimes by the way he acts he just doesn’t seem to get it. He’s supposed to be growing up to be a man but he does so poorly in school and now with his behavior issues. Maybe he’s lacking testosterone.”
I was stunned by his comments, yet somehow expected them. I had dealt very little with the man in my former service. He had always seemed aloof and distant. He had given me a ride home once and I remember being on edge around him, afraid I would say the wrong thing.
“Well, I had to give him a spanking just before you got here. He was being such a brat. I didn’t have to always do that. I did when he was young but as he got older I stopped but then lately the way he’s been acting. It started as a threat and then it just happened and it seems like its the only thing I’ve been able to do to keep him in line. If it comes down to it don’t be afraid to give him one. I think you should be able to overpower him, but really he should respect you and I’ll have a conversation with him. If he doesn’t behave himself this weekend then he’ll pay for it when I get back.”
Maybe it was something to hold over him, but it felt more like something I didn’t want to think about as I thought Bobby was too old for such treatment. Maybe I could succeed where he his parents failed by rationalizing with him, convince him to be behave. I liked the idea but wouldn’t dare tell his father.
“Whatever you do don’t let him get in control, don’t let him have his way. He wants to throw a party this weekend like all young men his age but we can’t have it. I don’t want the police showing up. I don’t want to get calls from the neighbors. Is that clear? If I do then it might just be your ass on the line. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” I said.
What did he mean by my ass? Would he spank me too? Wasn’t I too old? What had I gotten myself into? I thought about Bobby in the kitchen earlier and how it would be to spend the weekend of three days and three nights. I swallowed hard but decided I would have to man up and handle the situation.
Part 2
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)