Cockservative

“That’s the new guy from my job,” Clark said with a roll of his eyes.

Peter looked across the bar to where a group of young men stood all dressed in a suit and tie that was still tightly bound around their necks.  They looked like clones from a magazine with their slicked back hair and clean shaven faces except for one, the new guy, his hair was parted and chestnut in color, that had to be one Clark pointed out.  He hadn’t quite conformed yet, but he would, Peter thought, all the sales guys conformed so that when you walked into the agency anyone of them could take the place of the other.

“That cutie over there?  He’s so...”

“Conservative.”

“I was going to say gay.”

“Oh, he’s not gay.”

“What’s his name?”

“Brandon,” Clark responded before ordering another martini.

“How would you know if he’s gay or not?”

“Well, he wears a wedding ring.”

“We can get married too you know.”

“He’s like so proper all of the time.”

“So?  Maybe he’s repressed and in the closet.”

“He goes to my gym and he wears the most conservative clothes to workout, like t-shirt and shorts that go down to the knee, nothing that clings.”

“Have you seen him naked?”

“Well, there were a few times, but it’s like he has this system.  He never walks around naked or anything, come to think of it I’ve never seen him without a shirt or pants on.”

“What?”

“Like I said he has this system to getting changed and he never showers there.”

“Sounds like you’re stalking him,” Peter replied.

“I’m not stalking him.  I just notice things.”

Clark began to drink his fresh martini.

“You like him.  You wanna suck his big ol’ dick.”

Clark spit up a bit of his drink back into the glass.  He picked up a napkin from the bar and dried his lips and chin before looking to Peter.

“Never say that again.”

“Girl you got it bad.”

“What makes you think he’s gay?”

“My gaydar is flawless and he’s got all the signs.”

“Like what?”

“Well, he looks so uncomfortable in that suit and tie.  He hides it well but I can see it.  And all night the other guys have been standing looking around at the women, one even put his wedding band in his wallet in hopes he’d get lucky tonight.  But your boy Brandon there, all he does is check his phone and keep his eyes on the bar.  If he looks around when the other guys point out a good looking woman he pretends to see her, makes some kind of comment, but he doesn’t mean it.”

“He’s married, like probably one of those fundamentalist thou shalt not look, married kind of people.”

“Okay, but look at his fashion sense, that suit fits him perfectly and the color combination is superb, like either a gay man or a woman with good taste picked it out.”

“His wife like I said.”

“No honey, that’s all him.”

“How would you know?”

“He keeps looking at his phone but he’s not made one call or sent one text.  If he were married he’d go off on his own to call or something.  And look, he’s staying out way past his bedtime, it’s after ten on a Friday in D.C.  These other guys he’s with are all looking to meet a woman.  Your little crush over there is killing time and trying to be one of the guys.”

“You’re just making this up.  There’s no way you noticed all of that.”

“I’m observant.”

“What are you Sherlock Holmes?”

“You know me.  I watch everything, just like that table of women over there, one of them in the back slipped off her panties and stuck them in her purse, and she’s been flirting with one of the pack for the last half hour on one of those hetero text cruising apps.  I see all.  I remember all.  Look.”

Clark looked to the group of guys and saw one of them step out from the rest then signal for the others to follow as he headed over to a table full of women, all in their twenties.  The men quickly paired up, the leader moved to the woman in back while the other three sat on the side of the booth next to a woman, except for Brandon who was reluctant to move from the bar and paused at the table.  He said something to guys and apologized to the women, in particular the last single woman as he motioned to his ring finger with his thumb, before turning and walking out.

“See,” Peter said.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Have you seen his desk?  Does he have pictures of a wife and kids?”

“I haven’t been to his office or his desk, or whatever.”

“It all adds up.”

“He’s not gay.”

“You’re in denial.”

“What?”

“You don’t want him to be gay, because if he were gay and you tried to hook up with him and he turned you down it would be the ultimate personal embarrassment.”

Peter pulled out his phone, unlocked the screen and pulled up the ride sharing app he preferred.  He set about ordering a lift.

“What?”

“Look, it’s one thing if we got to a local bar or you spot a guy in the gym, a cute little homo with burning desires, and maybe he’s not into you for one reason or another because maybe you’re not his type, but that man that just walked out of here.  You’ve got a crush on him.  You probably got all kinds of fantasies about being his boyfriend and going to the beach together, holding hands and getting married, I know you, but if he turned you down it would crush all of that.”

“You’re delusional,” Clark replied before taking a big drink of his martini, “besides.”

“Besides what dear?”

“I kind of cruised him in the gym.”

“Do tell.”

“He was changing, doing his thing, being shy and not looking around or anything, just staring into his locker.  I thought I’d be kind of cheeky, you know, and I had just finished working out.  It was kind of a joke, you know, to myself, and I stripped down next to him, like completely naked.  He didn’t even glance over.  I know he recognized me from the agency, but he didn’t even acknowledge me, just kind of looked the other way.”

“See, there you go.”

“There I go what?”

“You tried flirting with him and it didn’t work, but it wasn’t a rejection, not a real one, it was a fake one, in a gym with all the other guys around.  He couldn’t look at you, much less acknowledge you.  It’d be too familiar.  No, he’s hiding something and you’re afraid you know already because a man like him wants a butch.  He wants a daddy to come home to, or some other closet case who doesn’t care about being out and being in the public.”

“I’d never go back in the closet, unless it’s to get something to wear.”

“See, exactly my point.”

“You’re too good at this.  Why do I feel like I just finished a session with my therapist?”

“I’m not a therapist, but finish your drink and let’s get out of here before one of these neanderthals decides to try and impress his date by punching a queer.”

Clark downed the last of his martini and Peter finished the rest of his bourbon before they pushed themselves up from their stools and threw a generous tip on the bar.  They walked out shoulder to shoulder into the cool summer night.

“Should we go to another bar or head home?”

Clark swayed on his feet a little and Peter moved to hold him up but he held him back and steadied himself.  He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.

“I thought you gave those up,” Peter said.

“I only smoke when I drink this much.  It helps me get back home.”

“You are just full of denial.  Hey, the car is here.  Do you want to go with me?”

“No, I’m going to walk a little,” Clark replied.

They hugged and Peter kissed him on each cheek before moving to the car he had ordered.  He opened the back door and slid inside before looking back to Clark who waved at him as the driver pulled away.  He took a few puffs from the cigarette and put the pack back in a pocket of his jacket.  He hated the taste of the tobacco but he needed the buzz after having one too many drinks and being given the honest truth by a close friend.  He had fantasized about Brandon in all of the ways Peter had said and more.  He had fantasized about talking over coffee and cuddling after sex.  He had imagined them on a boat or a cruise holding hands in matching swimming briefs.  He had thought of all those things but pushed them from his mind when he heard the door to the bar close and remembered just where he was, in front of a bar and drunk. 

So he started to walk, aimlessly at first down the nearly empty streets of D.C.  Only the occasional car passed by and the further away from the bar he got the more lonely he got, and sober, so he started to think of a place where he could go for one last drink, a place to maybe meet a guy for one night of sweaty passion.  He thought of all the gay bars in the city but one place stood out in his mind and it was the leather bar he had been to a few times, successful each time even if the other guy was into something more kinky than he was ready for.  He pointed his toes and followed his feet along the path to it.

Fifteen minutes later he came to the alley leading to the back of the bar and stepped into it.  He was surprised and terrified when he heard footsteps near the door.  He looked to the sound as he stopped in a shadow.  There under a yellow light was Brandon, and he was pacing.  It was true, it had to be true, maybe this stuck up conservative was gay, but he was also afraid.  Clark made sure he couldn’t be seen as he watched the other man who muttered to himself as he moved back and forth.

“Come on, come on,” Clark said under his breath as he watched.

Finally Brandon pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it off before shrugging his shoulders as if to push away any fear and doubt and headed into the bar.  Clark bit his lip at the sight of it.  This wasn’t what he expected, if Brandon was in the closet then he sure was starting high for an adventure at a gay bar.  He moved to the door, waited a few minutes, then headed inside himself.  He was greeted by a familiar darkened hallway with passages that led off to private rooms where no doubt men were meeting up for sex and/or a kinky time.  He moved past them to the bar area, stepped into the dim lights and looked for Brandon.  He was disappointed at first when he didn’t spot the other man and moved around to the other side of the room where he finally spotted him, both elbows on the bar and a bourbon between his hands.

Clark thought to head straight for him, surprise him with a friendly face, give him a consoling pat on the shoulder, maybe a smile, comfort him and start up a conversation.  They would know each other’s secret and they could bond but then he noticed how scared the other man looked and he stopped himself.  This might be his first time and the last thing he wanted to see was a friendly face, a face from work.  Clark moved to a table in the shadows where he could keep an eye on his coworker.

Brandon downed his drink and ordered another without looking at the bartender who was working shirtless and had an attractive, muscled and furry body.  He started to drink the second as he looked around at the other men who were now looking his way.  He darted around nervously, but the more he looked the more men who looked back, and Clark could tell they all wanted him.  He was one of their fantasies, a good looking, conservative, married young man looking to live out his secret desires.

Some of them might ease him into it.  Some of them might take advantage of his drunken state, but all of them would fuck him and all of them would leave him wanting more.  They’d give him everything he desired, more, and then end it in the morning, leave him confused and needing to feel the rush again.  Clark felt a pain in his heart as he thought over the other man’s situation.  Would it be a night of passion that opened his heart or one that locked it away for good?  He watched one of the men in leather walk over to Brandon and try to start a conversation but Brandon barely responded and the man quickly returned to his group of friends at the bar where they laughed and quickly turned away from Brandon to look for some other prospect.  Brandon had noticed and ordered his third drink.  I better do something, he thought and before he could stop himself he was on his feet and made his way to the other man.  But he didn’t move beside him, didn’t attempt to see if he was recognized, and instead moved behind him, slowly put his arms along both sides of his shoulders as he leaned in close to his ear.  He looked to the wall behind the bartender and was glad this part of the mirror was blocked by bottles, then to where his favorite quote was scrolled on a small plaque.

“This is just fantasy, the actualization of all the tension you felt all week, the tension of dishonesty and secret motivations, hidden agendas and coded actions that would order you to your death but never show, never confess, the true brutality of their meaning.  This is a place where honesty, the truth, really matters, where we can see ourselves in our most fantastic of selves thus expressing who we truly are.”

“Did you just make that up?” Brandon asked.  He didn’t look up from his drink.

“No, I read it on the sign behind the bar.”

“It’s true.”

“I know it’s true.  And I know you’re afraid, but I’ll be gentle with you.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but you have to do everything I tell you to do.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Brandon replied.

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir,” Brandon forced out of his lips.

“That’s a good start,” Clark replied still whispering in his ear.  “Now tell me, what do you want?”

“I want to do it, just like you said.  I’m so tired of all the secrets and the lies.  I want to actually feel it.  I want to feel the pain and the humiliation.  I want it to be real.”

“I can do all of that but you have to trust me.  Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”
Clark turned him on his stool but kept leaning into him so that when they were face to face Brandon’s back was against the bar.  He looked up into Clark’s eyes and for a moment was about to cry but stopped himself.

“You?” the word barely sounded from his throat.

“It’s okay.  I’m here too.  It’s our secret.”

“Did you follow me here?  I saw you at the other bar with your friend.”

“Like minds,” Clark replied.

“But I...”

“Sh, it’s okay, like I said it’s our secret, but we can do so much more.”

“I thought, I mean when I saw you with your friend, your so...”

“Gay?”

“Flamboyant.”

“Well, the more I drink the less inhibitions I have, but for you, right now, I’ll be so much more.  I’ll be anything, anyone, you want.”

“I’m scared.”

“Let’s start by loosening your tie,” Clark said before moving his hands from the bar to Brandon’s chest.  He took hold of the other man’s tie and loosened it but not completely.  If this was going where he hoped he wanted to have something to pull the other man around by.

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Tonight there is no shame, no past and no future, just us here in this moment.  I can make you feel everything you’ve ever wanted.  Do you want to go to a back room?”

“Yes please,” Brandon replied.

“What?”

“Yes please, sir,” Brandon said.

“Good boy, now come with me,” Clark said before taking hold of the other man’s tie and leading him from the bar.  As they passed the gaggle of men, one of whom had tried to pick up Brandon, they applauded quietly as they watched the two men pass.  He led the other through the bar and into the hallway, then down one of the passageways past several closed doors to an open one.  Clark checked to make sure it was empty before leading his prey inside and over to the far wall.  He moved back to close the door, then took a cigarette from his pack and lit it.  He looked around from the sling in the middle of the room to the desk in the corner and the various implements for spanking hanging on the walls. 

Brandon stared at him, an erection evident under his slacks.  He tried to put his hands in his pockets, tried to cover his erection, but eventually they made their way to his sides as he watched Clark smoke a cigarette, somehow he fell into the role that he had always imagined.  He puffed up his chest, straightened his shoulders, and his eyes fell to the floor.

“Strip,” Clark said.

Brandon moved his hands to his tie but Clark said to leave that on but take off his sports jacket, shoes, shirt, his pants, and his socks.  Brandon took off his shoes and placed them on the desk, his jacket was easy and he put it on top of his shoes.  His shirt was a little more diffcult but he did it, set it atop his jacket.  His pants were removed more slowly as if in the act he was really committing to the role.  He set them atop his other clothes, gulped and put one hand then other against the wall to remove his socks.  His bare feet flexed against the cold, barren floor.  He stood before Clark in his underwear, a white undershirt tucked into white briefs that bulged with his form.  He was much more muscular than Clark had really noticed and his erection looked ample.  He fought back the urge to smile or to even compliment him.  They were both playing a game now, they had taken roles, roles that the other person wanted.

“Nice underwear, for a boy,” Clark said.

The comment cut to Brandon’s heart and he lowered his eyes a little as it registered.  He had always been told he wore a boy’s underwear, but to him it had always felt so conservative, so spartan and masculine, just the necessities, nothing flashy or expensive, just the basics.

“Do you still want this?” Clark asked.

“Yes please, sir,” Brandon replied.

“What do you want?”

“I want to be spanked sir,” Brandon confessed.  “I want to be made to cry sir.  I want to feel it, what everyone really wants to do to me all week sir.  I want to be humiliated and punished sir.  I want you to spank me and fuck me sir, fill me and have your way with me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“It would break my heart sir.  I would be so embarrassed sir.  I’d leave town and try to move on with my life sir.”

“Over the desk, grab the sides,” Clark ordered with more authority than he ever knew himself capable.

Brandon immediately complied, bent over the desk and grabbed hold of the sides.  He pressed the side of his face against the wood.  Clark admired his butt for a moment before moving to the wall and selecting from the paddles there.  He found a small one, a light one and struck his hand several times as he walked behind the other man.  He tapped the paddle to Brandon’s butt, first one cheek then the other.

“Please, on the bare butt,” Brandon asked.

“We’ll get to that, when I want to, and you didn’t call me sir.”

Clark cracked him on the left cheek with force.  He smiled at the sound of it, delighted in the grunt from Brandon.  He smacked the other cheek, back and forth several times then stopped.

“That was just to warm you up, and make you think twice before not calling me sir.  Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Brandon squeaked.

“Good,” Clark replied before letting into him for another round.  He worked back and forth, alternated the force and area of impact.  He could tell it was starting to work when Brandon began to shift on his feet and struggle to hold onto the edges of the desk.  He kept at him, his own erection beginning to leak ejaculate in his underwear creating a wet spot.  Brandon groaned and moaned but tried to stifle his sounds.

“Let it out boy,” Clark said.  “Let me hear you so I know I’m doing a good job of spanking your little butt.  I want to know I’m making an impression so you don’t forget me boy.  I want you to remember me and this lesson you’re learning.”

“Thank you sir,” Brandon said through clenched teeth.

Clark kept at him for several more swats until his arm got tired, then he paused and set the small paddle on the table next to Brandon.  He reached out and touched his butt, massaged it with both hands.  He inched the fabric up between the other man’s cheeks with each motion until he had given him a slight wedgie and he exposed his mounds of flesh.  He moved his fingers to the warm, sensitive skin, pushed the underwear further until it was like a string.

“Please sir,” Brandon said.

“I’m not done with you yet.  Are you feeling embarrassed yet?”

“Yes sir,” he replied.

“Good, do you feel ridiculous with your underwear like this?”

“Yes sir.”

“What if I told you I liked  it?  What if I told you it would stay this way?”

“Please sir, whatever you want sir.”

“Good,” Clark said before slapping a little just to remind him the spanking wasn’t over.  He played a drum solo with no particular beat until he got bored and then he took hold of the band of the other man’s underwear and pulled it up a little just to remind him it was there before he pulled it down over his twitching cheeks to his thighs and picked up the paddle.  He heard Brandon’s breath quiver for a moment before he held it and clenched his jaw.

“Let go,” Clark said.

“I can’t sir,” Brandon replied.

“I’m in control here, not you.  I want you to breath deep.”

He ran a hand up his back to his ribs and told him to breath in, breath out, breath in, and breath out.  Brandon obeyed and in time he relaxed, his feet settled and his grip on the sides gave a little.  That’s when Clark laid into him again, a sharp crack of the paddle and that was just the beginning as he kept one hand on the Brandon’s back.  He laid into each cheek with as much force as he could and he told him to keep breathing deep.  Brandon felt the underwear around his thighs, the crotch area barely holding his dick, the back part rolled into a string, the sides tight around thighs.  He kept breathing despite the growing pain.  He wanted to hold his breath.  He wanted to resist. 

The muscles in his butt twitched uncontrollably, his legs began to shake but he held tight to the desk because if his hand slipped just one inch he knew it would go back to shield himself, shield his exposed butt.  He felt the growing warmth, a tingle that ran up his back to his skull, a spot right behind his eyes.  He felt the pressure of the desk against his chest.  And he thought about where he was, in the back room of a leather bar with a stranger, no not exactly a stranger, but a coworker, someone he had thought of as a nancy, a flamboyant gay boy.

Tears welled in his eyes and he felt them run down his face to his lips.  He tasted them, the hot, salty liquid.  And it was all so true, all so real, the pain he had felt all week, the illusion of control he had maintained broke.  He began to cry, real tears and real pain.  Clark stopped and pulled away for a moment.  Brandon felt his knee give and he fell towards the wall, slid to the floor.  He pulled his hands up to his face and let it all out.  Clark looked down at him for a moment before getting down to his knees and taking hold of him, put his head against his shoulder.  Brandon felt the muscles of the other man, the power of him and they leaned against each other until the pain was gone, the frustration and anger was gone.

Eventually they pushed away from each other as the moment of connection ended and they sat shoulder to shoulder.  Clark set the paddle down and pulled his knees to his chest.  Brandon felt the parts of his body coming back one at a time, the underwear rolled up like it was, his nakedness.  The room smelled of sex and cleaning products.  What stories could be told by this room?  He ran his fingers through his hair and looked to Clark.

“What now?” he asked.

“Well, that was a real boner killer, but I’m glad it happened.  You were looking so desperate and angry like you were going to snap on someone.  Is it over now?”

“I think I’m better now,” Brandon replied.

“Do you want to go back to my place?”

“I don’t want to be alone, so yeah.”

“Okay, give me a minute.  Why don’t you get dressed?”

Clark set about ordering a ride on his phone as Brandon gathered his clothes from the floor where he had pushed them off the desk.  He got dressed as best he could, picked up the paddle.

“Where does this go?”

“Over on the wall there,” Clark answered pointing his finger.

Brandon returned it to the appropriate spot and looked to Clark.  None of this had been exactly as he could have wanted but it had been something meaningful.  He just hoped it didn’t come back to haunt him, that he could trust this other man with his secret, not just of being gay, not just being kinky, but being the one who needed a spanking.  He bit his lip as he walked over to him and offered his hand. 

He pulled Clark to his feet and put an arm over his shoulder.  They walked out of the room, through the bar, and onto the street leaning into each other.  Clark pulled a cigarette out and lit it while they waited.  Brandon felt so close to him, he leaned to the other man and kissed him on the head with wet lips.  Clark giggled a little at the action.

“I forgot you smoke,” Brandon said.

“I should quit,” he replied.

“Well, if you really want to I could give you a good spanking to encourage you to stop,” Brandon said.  “It worked for me.”

“Really?”

“Sixteen, my father took the belt to me.”

“Well, I’m not exactly into getting spanked, but after this one if you catch me again you can give me a good hiding.”

“It’s a deal.”

They spotted the car and Clark tossed his cigarette to the ground, stamped it out.  Brandon admonished him for littering as they made their way to the car.  They got into the backseat and Clark closed the door.  They were whisked away and back to his apartment across town.  Brandon caught a second wind and they stepped out of the car with a new kind of energy between them.  They made it all of the way to the front door and Brandon started to have second thoughts.

“Wait, do you live with anyone?”

“No, it’s okay.  I’m lucky enough to not have roommates.”

“Okay,” Brandon replied.

They made their way inside, into the apartment, hung their jackets near the door and Clark led him into the bedroom.  For the first time they could see just how unkempt Brandon looked with his clothes disheveled, his face red and puffy, his eyes bloodshot.  They laughed a little at themselves.

“Can we just sleep on it?  I mean, just, you know, sleep?”

“No problem, but let me strip you down,” Clark replied.

He set about stripping the other man out of his clothes until he was down to his underwear again.  He pulled off his own and they made their way to the bed and under the covers, side by side and flat on their backs.

“How do we do this?” Brandon asked.

“Normally, I like to be the little spoon.”

“Normally, I liked to be the big spoon, but right now I need to be held.”

“Okay,” Clark replied.

Brandon rolled away onto his side and Clark slid in behind him.  He felt their bodies touch in all the intimate places, put his arm over the other man’s side and closed his eyes until their breathing was synched and they fell asleep.

Back to Basics Pt 2/2

By the time I got back to the living room Bobby had on a pair of jeans and was sitting on the couch, but right in the middle.  I thought about asking him to move over.  Some part of me wanted to wrestle him out of the way but I didn’t.  I thought about his parents, especially his father, and decided to be polite by taking a seat on a nearby chair.  The arms of the chair were high, the cushion long, and I felt ridiculous sitting there but tried to act casual.

I zoned out in front of the television and it didn’t seem like long after that his mother, Mrs. Hutch had returned.  She went about her business quietly, met and talked with her husband in his study, then proceeded to their bedroom.  It wasn’t long after that her husband joined her, a trail of cigar smoke followed after him.  It’s strange listening to people, strangers, someone’s parents, as they pack and get ready.

Everything was going calmly until I heard Mr. Hutch call out both our names from the bedroom followed by Mrs. Hutch chastising him for yelling through the house.  I guess everyone gets it in the end in this house, I thought.  Bobby was quicker to his feet but I got up and followed after him.

Their bedroom was elegant and stylish, everything was in its proper place.  Mrs. Hutch smelled of perfume that made me wrinkle my nose and Mr. Hutch smelled of a musky cologne that made me think about asking what he wore.  There were two suitcases on the bed as well as two travel bags with wheels that stood near the corners.  Mr. Hutch placed his hands on Bobby’s shoulders.

“Everything valuable has been locked in the safe, only we know the numbers.  If something happens our lawyer will give them to you.  We’ve left you two plenty of money in an envelope on the dining room table.  There is plenty of food in the refrigerator.  Since Rick has his car we’ll leave ours in the driveway.  You know where the spares are just in case you need to move it.”  He looked to me.  “That reminds me you shouldn’t leave your car on the street.  Park it in the driveway behind mine.”  He looked back to his son.  “Don’t misbehave this weekend.  I’ve given Rick here permission to do whatever he needs to keep you in line and if he needs to take the belt to you it will be double when I get home.  Do you understand me?”

Bobby nodded.

“We’re taking a taxi to the airport which should be here any minute.  We want to be able to trust you so don’t screw this up.”

“I won’t dad,” Bobby said.

“Good,” his father replied before pulling him into a tight hug.

I watched as Bobby hugged his father.  Their bodies were obviously different.  Bobby was so much smaller and not as bold.

Mrs. Hutch moved to her son and I could tell she was about to go into her own long tirade when her phone rang and she answered it instead.  She just listened for a moment before she ended the call and put her phone back in her purse.

“That was the taxi,” she said.

Mr. Hutch moved to one of the suitcases and indicated I should take the other.  I moved to it and looked to Mrs. hutch who was still intent on talking to her son.
“Help me carry these to the car,” Mr. Hutch said.  “Bobby and Mrs. Hutch will bring the others.”

I pulled the suitcase from the bed, unprepared for its weight I nearly dropped it before redoubling my effort and using my second hand.  Mr. Hutch led the way and I heard Mrs. Hutch begin to talk as we moved down the hallway.  I followed him out of the house and to the waiting taxi where driver opened the trunk.  We hefted the bags inside and moved them to the rear.  I felt like I had accomplished something just by that simple chore.  I stepped to the side and into the grass with Mr. Hutch who looked back at the house impatiently before he remembered something and looked to me.

“One last thing, there is to be absolutely no alcohol this weekend.  I’ve locked up the liquor cabinet and I don’t want you buying any.  You might be legal age but Bobby is not.  If I find one bottle, well it’ll be your ass.  Do you understand me?”

My ass?  There was that threat again.  Was I really to take it that he’d spank me like he did Bobby?  Somehow at that moment I was more worried about not getting paid than getting a spanking.

“I promise no alcohol,” I said.

I thought about the taxi driver there who overheard the conversation.  He looked Indian or maybe Middle-Eastern, so maybe a spanking was normal where he came from and maybe he thought I was the oldest brother instead of the young man hired to watch their son.

Moments later Bobby and his mother emerged from the house, each carrying a bag to the driveway where they set it down then rolled it to the back of the cab.  Bobby lifted both inside and closed the trunk.  His parents hugged him one las time before they got in the backseat.  Bobby moved to my side in the grass and we watched them depart.

Just after they were out of sight he smacked me on the ass and said, “race you inside.”  He sprinted for the front porch but I was close behind him.  He pulled open the screen door and I was right there to take hold if it.  I was on his heels and he didn’t get a chance to close the main door on me.  I closed it instead, then looked for him but he was already gone.
“Where’d you go?”

“I’m getting my game system so we can play on the big screen,” he said.

I sighed in relief, then made my way to the living room.  Bobby came from his bedroom ten minutes later with the game system and wires.  I watched him hook everything up.  There was a dangerous yet playful feeling about him.  He had the potential to do bad things and I was intrigued.

We played video games for over an hour when I began to get bored.  He was much better at them but I couldn’t help but feel a little competitive.  To try and distract him I started pushing him on the arm but it didn’t really work.  When I slipped once and my arm went to his arm pit he laughed a little.  I knew at once by the way he squirmed that he was ticklish.  My character died on the screen and I decided to give up as I had a new source of entertainment, Bobby.  I tickled at his arm pit more.  As he resisted I moved behind him and put my other hand in his other pit.  I tickled at them and down his sides, anywhere he couldn’t defend himself.  It was enough to make him pause the game.

That’s when I really went at him.  He laughed more and squealed from my fingertips as they worked his sensitive areas until he was leaning back into me, trying to grab my hands.  He put his own hands in his arm pits to block me so I reached around to his stomach where I lifted up his shirt and went for the area around his belly button.  It wasn’t as intense but he was still giggling.

“I can’t breathe,” he said.

“Say uncle,” I said.

“No,” he replied.

He grabbed at my hands, my wrists but I managed to get them back out of his grasp.  I tickled his sides again but this time he fell over on his side.  He pulled his knees up into the fetal position but this only brought his feet closer to me.  I grabbed his shoe and pulled it off, held his ankle and tickle him through his sock which made him howl and laugh.

“No stop,” he said.  “I can’t breathe.”

“If you can talk, then you can breathe,” I replied.

He tried to pull away from me but I had a good grip on his ankle.  I locked it against his thigh with my knee to free both hands.  One went to his side and one stayed at his foot.  I tickled him and his giggles became laughter, then squeals of nearly breathless pleasure.

“I’m going to pee myself,” he said.

But I kept at him.  The more he suffered the more I tickled.  It was a renewed effort until finally he cried out.  I stopped and rolled him onto his back and I looked to his crotch where I could see it slowly getting wet.  He had in fact pissed himself.  I immediately regretted what I had done and stopped.  We were both panting from the action.  He lay motionless and I was partially over him.  My hands found their way to his forearms as I looked down at his face.  He was about to cry.  I pushed myself up to his lips and I kissed him gently.

He kissed me back, put one hand up under my shirt and the other down into my pants where he grabbed at my underwear.  I thought for a moment he would slip it down to my ass cheek but he didn’t.  He grabbed the waist band in back and he pulled.  My briefs gave easily, the sides pulled in to my ass crack and he kept pulling until the band was well out of my jeans and up my back.  I pulled away from his kiss and tried to reach back and stop him but I couldn’t.

“No we’re even,” he said.  “Get off me.”

I did as he said.  I got up, if only to get my underwear out of my ass.  He got to his feet and ran off to his bedroom.  I thought about going after him but my own ass took priority so I took down my jeans and undid the wedgie before I pulled them back up.

The living room was quiet.  I felt like I was waiting for hours but then he came into the room.  I looked to see an almost familiar sight.  He wore a white t-shirt and something white covered his crotch, but it wasn’t briefs.  It was plastic and shiny.  I turned my head a little in a quizzical look.  It was a diaper.

“What’s that for?  I promise I won’t tickle you again.”

He didn’t say anything at first.

“You’re not going to make fun of me?” he asked.

I shook my head.

Part 1

Act Your Age Ch 17 - The Undisciplined Boy

Filling out the applications was a tedious exercise.  I felt more foolish with each one as I had little experience to really put down, no good references.  It was easier to fill them out for the places I liked and more difficult for the ones I didn’t but I completed all of them, double checked them.  It took me three evenings to do them all.  I arranged with Mr. Grant to drive me back to drop them off.  Secretly I hoped none of them would call me.

A few days later I was working on my homework when Mr. Grant came into the room and moved behind me.  He reached down around my sides and tickled me a little as he kissed me on the cheek.  I relished the feel of his warm body, the smell of his cologne.

“Have you heard back from any of the jobs?”

“No,” I said.

“Any new thoughts?”

I had a thought but I was intimidated, no shamed, about having to ask.  I wanted to ask if he would hire me but it felt like I was asking for help.  It felt like nepotism.

“Well, we could use some extra help at the restaurant opening night.  I know you don’t have any experience so you’d have to start as a busboy.  You’d clean up the tables when people were done.  You get a percentage of tips from the waiters’ tables you work, about 5 percent maybe, as well as a base pay.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“We need the help.  You might like it, think it over.”

He pulled away from me and walked out of the room.  I wanted to run after him, grab hold of him and tell him I would do it but I let some time pass.  I started to think over what it would be like.  It wasn’t a real job offer.  It was just one night.  Maybe if it worked out then it could lead to more.  I decided I’d do it.

Fifteen minutes before the restaurant opened for dinner service Mr. Grant had the staff gather in the dining area near the kitchen.  I was dressed exactly as he had instructed me, ready to do everything required, and yet as I stood there I was terrified about how the people thought of me and that I wouldn’t be able to do my job.  He introduced everyone by name, most of which I forgot immediately except for Ryan.  He had this look in his eyes.

At 5’ 4” he was shorter than me but I could tell he was stronger, more confident.  He had a short mohawk and tattoos.  One I could spot immediately on his neck, just under the collar of his shirt so only a bit of it stuck out, another on his forearm.  I knew he was trouble from the moment I saw him because of the way he acted when Mr. Grant was around.  It was a tolerable mischievousness, a cute defiance.  He wasn’t the normal type to see in an upscale restaurant and yet I knew that he was the type of person Mr. Grant would pick for that same reason.

“Everyone I want you to meet Shane who will be our new busboy for the night.  He doesn’t have much experience but I expect each of you to help him as you would anyone else.”

“Yes sir,” they all replied.

“Let’s get to work,” Mr. Grant said.

Mr. Grant and the hostess went to the front door to open, the cooks and dishwasher went into the kitchen, Ryan and another young man as well as a young woman tried to make themselves look busy, but it was a young woman who I had forgotten her name that got my attention and pulled me into the back room.

“We should make ourselves scarce for a little bit, until some people come in and need something.”

“Okay,” I said.

I looked to her and I suddenly felt terrible for not remembering her name.  She had this kindness in her eyes and personality that made me wish I knew it.  I could tell that she knew what she was doing and that she would be helpful and kind to me.  I opened my mouth several times to introduce myself and ask her name but I just couldn’t do it.  She seemed to recognize my peril and offered me her hand.

“I’m Rose,” she said.

“Shane,” I replied.

We shook hands but always our attention was on the dining area.  It wasn’t long before she told me to stay behind and watch her as she went about her duties.  I watched as she moved around the tables between courses, helped bring glasses of water and other things that were needed.  Once more people were seated she came back and invited me to join her.  As easy as it was I couldn’t help but look at her for advice and approval until I felt comfortable.  I was on my feet for three and half hours before she pulled me aside.

“Things have slowed down a little,” she said.  “Why don’t you go take a break?  Be back in fifteen minutes and I’ll go for my break.”

“Okay,” I said.

I walked away from the dining area with a feeling of movement and hustle that I didn’t want to end.  I felt like my reflexes were at their best.  I was confident.  So when I saw Ryan in the kitchen I couldn’t help but smack him on the ass.  He let out a small yell, then laughed at me as he saw me go by.  I stepped out the back door to the kitchen into the alley and moved to the far wall where I looked over the brickwork before deciding to lean against it.  I saw my breath in the night air and I missed having a cigarette.  My desire doubled when I saw Ryan step out a few minutes later with a pack in his hand that he tapped against his palm.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked.

“No,” I said.  “But maybe you can blow some in my face.”

He laughed a little, stepped to me, offered me one but I refused.  He lit his cigarette, then put his back to the wall next to me.  I wrinkled my nose at the smell.  Quitting was difficult and I was writing my lines each day before bed to keep it fresh.

“Trying to quit is hard,” he said.  “I don’t know if I can give it up.”

I thought about my predicament and before I really thought it through I started to talk.

“It’s not that difficult for me,” I said.

“Really?  Why’s that?”

I had blocked myself in a corner.  I didn’t want to tell him I’d be spanked or otherwise punished, and yet I had gloated about not smoking so I had to say something.

“Just a bet,” I said.

“That’s cool, maybe I should do that.”

It felt as if a moment had passed between us so I decided to start heading back inside.  The kitchen was louder and hotter than I remembered.  I went to the dining area that seemed quieter though more crowded.  I looked for Rose to let her know I was back when I felt a swat on my ass.  I yelped from the hit and looked to see Ryan pass me as he headed to the cash register.  I stared at him as he looked through his bills.  He had a nice ass.  He had a narrow waist.  How many tattoos did he have?  Where were they?

Rose grabbed my elbow, jerked me from my fantasy.  She told me she was taking a ten minute break.  I looked for something to do.  It was easy as I spotted a few people looking around desperate for water and a few others had empty appetizer dishes as they waited for their entree.  I started to move with the list in my head, adding and subtracting things as needed until I was clearing a table.  I spotted Rose was back from her break, the tub for dishes was heavy.  I carried it to the kitchen.  Mr. Grant and I made eye contact.  I smiled to him but he barely reacted.  I knew he had to keep up a professional attitude so I tried to not think about it.

I turned and headed back out to the dining area when Ryan caught hold of me, put his arm around my shoulder, led me to the supply area where I had been standing with Rose earlier.  He led me to a corner where I saw a mop and bucket.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Someone pissed on the bathroom floor and it needs to be cleaned up,” he said.

I sighed.

“Sorry it’s part of your job,” he said.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah, and one last thing.”  He dropped his arm from around my shoulder, his hand went in front of me, then snapped back to hit me in the balls.  I moaned.  He laughed as he turned and walked away.
Was it some kind of game?  Had I started it?  Why did I have to smack him on the ass?  I regretted doing it, but I also regretted what I would have to do as I took hold of the bucket and mop.  I went to the men’s room with it, only to find it was an easy mess to clean up.  I set out a small warning sign, then put things away and got back to my regular work.

After that it was easy to pass the night until we showed out our last customers.  Mr. Grant closed and locked the door after them.  The waiters broke into their own group and began to count tips.  I moved to where Rose leaned against the bar with a drink in her hand.  Mr. Grant was on the other side making himself something.

“Do you want one?” he asked.

I looked to Rose before I looked back to him.

“Can I have just one?”

He nodded.

“Are you making it?”

“Of course,” he answered.

“Then I’ll have a dirty martini,” I said.

He set about making my drink as I looked to Rose awkwardly.  She smiled at me before she headed over to the waiters.  I waited for Mr. Grant to hand me my drink.  I took a sip, thanked him, and then headed for the waiters as I saw him go into the back with the other kitchen workers.  Ryan and the other waiters had their tips broken up.  I was tired but felt pretty good.  He handed me a wad of bills that I glanced at before I stuck them in my pocket.

“Hey, would you help me out with something,” Ryan said.

“Sure,” I said.

“I think someone left their cell phone under the table towards the back.  Would you see if you can get it?”

“Sure,” I said.

Everyone looked to me as I moved to the table, squatted.  I thought I could see something on the floor in the back against the wall.  I dropped to my knees, my shirt rode up my back.  There was a phone there.  I reached for it but couldn’t get it so I moved forward a little until I could get it with the tips of my fingers.  I slid it to me and began to crawl backwards when I heard everyone laughing.

“Nice undies,” someone said.

“Who wears tighty whities?”

I started to get up but hit my head against the bottom of the table.  Everyone laughed more and louder.  I had exposed myself to all of them.  It was minor though, I thought.  I had been naked only a few nights before and with a bunch of straight guys.  I moved back a little more.  That’s when I felt a hand grab my underwear.  I knew at once it was Ryan.  He yanked as hard as he could.  My underwear gave easily, the band stretched up, the fabric that had covered my ass bunched in the middle, went between my cheeks, up my ass, against my asshole, and the fabric kept stretching.  He had it half way up my back when it began to tear.  I jumped up to my feet and tried to reach back but some of the others stopped me.

“Just take it like a man, new boy,” Ryan said.

He let go of my underwear and I turned on him but as I saw everyone else was laughing I felt that if I attacked him everyone would turn against me so I decided to laugh it off, then walked away.
Inside the mens room I turned see my backside.  My underwear hung out the back, a limp, flaccid embarrassment.  I started to unbuckle my jeans when I realized someone could walk in and see me so I moved to the stall where I closed the door.  I pulled my pants down, reached back to my ass.  I felt my ass cheeks, the way the fabric ran between them.  I pulled my underwear out, felt for holes.  It was very obvious what had happened.  I debated about whether I should keep them on and risk Mr. Grant seeing them, finding them, or just throwing them away.  I decided to keep them on though they felt loose and bothersome.  It felt strange walking back out with my underwear stretched out under my pants.

By then most people had left or were headed out.  Mr. Grant stood watching them leave as he chatted with Ryan.  I was worried something had been said.  I went to where they stood and looked to the ground trying to make my presence known without disturbing them.  Ryan was recounting to him how he thought the night had gone.  I started to think about my own story, what I would tell Mr. Grant and what I wouldn’t, when Ryan took hold of my arm.

“Shane here was great too,” he said.

“Good to hear,” Mr. Grant said.

I looked up to them.  They were both focused on me but for different reasons.  Mr. Grant looked happy.  Ryan looked mischievous.  I had this suspicion that he was cruel and thought that I was weak.  I gulped.  Mr. Grant was right there but he couldn’t see it.  He didn’t know.  Would I be able to tell him?

“Well, thanks for all of your help Ryan.  We should be going.”

“Of course sir,” Ryan said.

Ryan walked away from us.  I moved a little ahead of Mr. Grant by anticipating his moves until we got to the front door where he locked it with us on the inside, then we doubled back through the kitchen and out the back door where he made sure it was locked.  We walked through the alley to his car.  I went to the passenger side.  I saw Ryan was still there in the parking lot in his own car, a beat up Dodge truck.

“Tonight was fun,” Mr. Grant said.

I looked from Ryan to him and smiled before I agreed with him.  It had been fun but it had also been humiliating.