Brians Amazingly Quick Transformation

BRAIN'S AMAZINGLY QUICK TRANSFORMATION

Chapter One By Donny Mumford

Until recently I was living the good life at college: parties, money in my pocket, a girlfriend, my own car. It was awesome! Oh yeah, can't forget the academic part; I was good with that too, great GPA. So I was rockin' the cool carefree ride of a stud in his junior year at an Ivy League college, Brown University, until, BANG!! it all turned upside down for me and my family. My mother and little brother are coping okay, and I'm healthy and still getting good grades, so it's not all bad, but instead of going to parties and cruising around in my BMW, I'm now using public transportation and thinking about getting a summer job to help with expenses at home. To make a long, painful story short and vanilla: My dad lost his job right before Christmas and couldn't get another one. When the unemployment benefits ran out mom and dad got flustered and began letting things go, one of the things they let go was dad's life insurance. The grace period expired and some weeks later my dad had a massive heart attack; he passed away shortly after that. Mom, me, and my brother were devastated. Auntie Rose and uncle Mark visited from Delaware to help us get our lives up and running again, but that didn't change the fact that there wasn't any money coming in. Mom had to sell our house last month. It was a sad day for all of us; me and my brother have lived in that house our entire lives. Mom and Mikey now live in a four-room apartment, which is where I'll be living now that school is out. My junior year of college is over so I'll be sharing the little second bedroom in the apartment with Mikey. For me, returning to college next year will now entail a college loan. It'll be a first-time experience for us so I've been reading about financial aid, trying to get a handle on it. My mom's the sweetest mom ever, but she's very fragile right now and never been real good with financial matters anyway. Our lives are so different now, it's made me feel something I never before gave much thought to: I'm feeling some responsibility to do something that will help our situation. Not to be pretentious, but I feel a responsibility to try and take over dad's role in our family, or at least some part of it.

There's been plenty of lamenting by my mom about how she and dad recklessly spent money without a thought for the future. We lived the good life in that great big house in Dover, Massachusetts; basically the quintessential upper middle-class three-car American family. We ate out a lot and vacationed on Martha's Vineyard three weeks every summer, and happily went about doing other showy stuff like that. Oh yeah, I attended a private school, St. John's prep, and Mikey's going there right now, but that can't continue. Contributing to our collapse is the real estate market which tanked, so our house barely sold for what was owed on the mortgage. What I'm trying to say is, "We're fucking poor!". Yeah, and get this: I didn't have money to go on spring break this year and my girlfriend, Diana, didn't care for that at all. She used it as the reason for breaking-up with me. "We're only young once, Brian. I'm not ready to do 'poor' with you. Sorry, good luck and all that, but I'm outta here!" That was her classy 'dump' line. No big loss, I never really had deep feelings for Lady Di anyway. She's a stuck-up bitch to be honest about it, and I only stayed with her because it was kinda cool being the boyfriend of the hottest chick in our class. Diana always teased that the only reason she's going steady with me is because I'm the best looking guy at school. I assumed she was joking, but now I'm not so sure. And to clear this matter up, I'm not the best looking guy at Brown; there are some really hot guys there, believe me... not that I'm interested in guys you understand, I'm just saying. Diana took for granted my family had money, until they didn't, and then I guess being the best looking guy wasn't cutting it for her anymore. Oh shit!... none of this is important now! Why am I even going there? That life is over for me.

Taking a deep breath, I get up and head for the front of the bus. It's been a long bus ride but we're finally pulling into the Framingham bus terminal. I can't wait to get some fresh air and hug my little brother. He's picking me up in mom's car. As I step off the bus I'm thinking, oh my God, this place is ghastly... ugh! It's new territory for me, riding buses; I've always flown to and from school in the past. It's dirty and crowded and smelly in here. I'm not a snob, but come on! This sucks! I fight my way through to an EXIT only to find that outside the terminal isn't any nicer than inside. Geez, will Mikey even be able to find this place, or find me if he does somehow get here. It's a nice day at least, especially for early June in New England. I need to practice concentrating on positive aspects of things, like this nice day. The sun is bright and the temperature's in the seventies, so.. uh oh, so why's this scruffy man wearing two overcoats? Good lord! He's coming over to me. Getting too close to me, the man asks, "Can ya spare ten dollars, sonny? Help an old soldier get dinner?" Oh, the smell! I can't even look at this guy, and, dinner? My ass! He'll have a bottle of booze three minutes after I give him the money. That's if I had any money to spare, which I don't. My clothes probably make it look like I'm rich; clothes from before. I mumble, "I don't have ten dollars myself. Sorry!" and hustle away with him saying, "Have a nice day." Once clear of the panhandler, I light a cigarette thinking again how I should give up this expensive smoking habit. That's not something I'm looking forward to doing though because I'm hooked on cigarettes. I usually light up whenever I'm stressed-out, which has been a prevalent condition for me lately.

Walking around the outside of the terminal looking for Mikey I can't believe the run-down condition of this section of town. It's an eye-opener alright. So, where the hell's my brother? He's a great kid, but I worry about how he'll do in public school next year. Mikey's shy and artistic and kinda frail. He takes after mom, while I take after dad. I'm the opposite of my little brother. I played tennis and basketball all through high school while Mikey plays clarinet for the school orchestra and he's been in three or four school plays too, but no athletics. He's always looked-up to me and I love the kid, but he needs to be a little tougher. His feelings get hurt all the time at St. John's Prep because everyone asks him, "Are you really Brian O'Rielly's brother?" And they ask it like they can't believe it's true. That pisses me off! That poor kid is the nicest person I know; well, him and my mom.

Leaning against a building smoking a Marlboro red my mind travels to that kid I met on the bus today. He got off at the stop before this one, but sat with me through the entire ride from Rhode Island. A very youthful looking boy for nineteen, which is how old he claimed to be. His name's Frank and I'll be goddammed if it didn't remind me that I once knew another Frank; I was just a kid at the time. This Frank though, the one on the bus, rubbed his ankle against mine and looked me in the eyes biting his lip, a nervous expression on his face. We'd had a nice conversation up till then. Guess, he thought I was gay for some reason. I can't imagine why, I've dated girls steadily from middle school on and I've done more than my share of screwing along the way as well; not that I'm bragging about it. On the bus, with his ankle rubbing mine, I'd smiled at the kid, and said, "Oh, my bad, I think I'm bumping into your leg." Why humiliate him, ya know? I gave him an easy out, but he'd looked away blushing, and mumbled, "Sorry, I'm clumsy." Poor kid. He's was kinda cute too, just misguided, ya know. I tried staying friendly, but he backed off and wasn't very talkative after that. Obviously his ankle rub hadn't gotten the response he was looking for; I guess he felt rejected or something. It made me feel bad for him. Oh yeah, he had the coolest wavy light blond hair too. I'll bet any girl would love that shiny head of hair. He also had this amazingly pale, clear skin and delicate looking facial features; like I said, cute kid. If he were straight he'd get the girls alright.

Anyway, that was my strange encounter on the bus, but stranger still was my other "Frank" encounter. I haven't thought about him for years. The other Frank is Frank Barns. He and me got into some childish behavior in our youth lasting most of one summer. This was way the fuck back when we were both eleven, or maybe we'd just turned twelve. The huge event in our lives at the time was both of us getting our big boy dicks, and then..."let the experimentation begin". Frank had a way about him that made me think it was okay for us to do circle jerks together; we did 'em a couple times a day. Well, ya know, I hung out with him all the time. Now that I think about it, that was kind of weird because he was actually a bit of a bully towards me. Fact is I was quite a bit taller and bigger than Frank, but he bullied me. I guess I let him get away with the bullying because we both got awesome boners during the circle jerks and our dicks were so much fun to experiment with! Oh man, why fuck that up, ya know? Ha ha! Well, all boys go through a phase like that I suppose. Frank was a very cocky kid too; he liked to boss everyone around, especially me. It's funny how, half the time, he'd get me jerking his dick off, then he'd order me to jerk myself off while he watched. Most of his ideas, like that one, he'd get off the Internet. Oddly, back then Frank bossing me around would get me short of breath, and kinda excited. He was always telling me what I was to do with my dick, or with his. Sometimes my heart would beat so fast it was hard for me to get enough air into my lungs. It was like I had asthma or something, but my dick would get so hard during this period, and feel so good, that the shortness of breath was a small price to pay. Come to think of it, since then I've never had climaxes with the intensity of the ones I had when Frank was telling me what to do. We used to tie each other up and all kinds of nutty shit. Jesus! The things kids do. While reminiscing I'm walking around the outside of the bus terminal, wondering, "Where the hell is Mikey?"

Lighting another cigarette, my mind goes back to Frank Barns again. I remember the shortness of breath I'd get being aroused by Frank, and he'd get pissed-off when I had breathing troubles; at times he'd actually pull my pants down, put me across his lap, and spank my bare ass. Oh my God! I'd cum like an explosion went off in my nuts. Ha ha! Those childish things we did were off the wall at times, but we had a blast doing them. Back then we never had a guilty conscious doing any of it... it was all experimentation and quite normal for young boys that age I would think. Of course, it's a bit embarrassing to think about that stuff nowadays, but when you're a baby ya don't know any better. Frank was an awfully good looking kid as I recall and I guess he was sorta like a hero to me. Back then people kidded us about being twins. What a crock that was, I was much taller like I said, but at the time I think I was flattered that I looked like him. Yeah, come to think of it, we did some oral sex together too, but as I think back, it was me doing Frank more than him doing me. It's possible he never did me actually; no, I don't believe he ever did suck my dick. He was like a magician though, he'd get me actually wanting him to order me to do it to him; you know, to blow him. Geez, that's uber embarrassing to think back on. Frank did that bum thing to me one time too; that thing where he sticks his brand-new dick up my butt. Maybe it was more then once, I forget. Near the end of the summer he drifted away and we somehow lost touch. Whoa, kind of creepy thinking about all that. As I mentioned, I haven't thought about Frank in years, but damn, it's got my dick stirring even after all those years, ha ha! Fuck, this has been a strange bus trip; first the kid rubbing my ankle and now me going down memory lane with Frank Barns, of all people. Oh, another weird thing about the bus, it has a subtle motion during the ride that gave me a boner. I'm not used to buses and I had the boner most of the ride, not that I'm complaining. What the hell, it always feels good having a boner, but maybe the kid on the bus saw my erection and got the wrong idea...

Then, ah ha! There's mom's Toyota parked across the street. Mikey's probably walking around looking for me. Stepping on my cigarette butt, I head across to check inside the car to be sure it's mom's car, and sure enough, there's an open bag of Swedish Fish on the seat. Mikey's addicted to that sweet chewy candy. Something makes me look down the block then, and down there, on the other side of the street I see Mikey talking to a husky Hispanic kid. Maybe I heard Mikey's voice somehow. Mikey's got a frightened expression on his face, his eyes squinting the way he looks when he's stressed. Dodging traffic, I head across the street and up the block towards him. Getting closer I see Mikey's taking his wallet out of his back pocket. "Mikey! Mikey! I'm right here!" I yell, and Mikey stops what he's doing to look in the direction of my voice; so does the husky Hispanic kid. That kid looks to be in his late teens and is almost as tall as me, but with a more muscular body than mine. His sleeveless t-shirt's displaying some serious biceps. As I'm jogging quickly up to them, Mikey tries to come to me but the other kid grabs him by the arm, saying, "You hold up, maricon!" and to me, he says, "Don't butt in, we got a little business to finish..." If he had more to say I never gave him the chance to say it. I took one last big step and hit him with a fierce uppercut right on the point of his chin, thinking I'd broke my fuckin' fist in the process. He didn't collapse backwards, he sat down in slow motion without making a sound. There was a hushed hubbub all around us because of the unconscious kid on the sidewalk. I got Mikey by the arm and we skedaddled across the street to the car. He was shaken-up of course, so I took the keys from him and drove us away.

My brother stutters when he's excited or upset, whatever... he goes, "Brian, you sa, sa, saved me! He wa, wa, wan wanted my wal, wal, my money." I go, "Calm down, Mikey. Everything's okay now. Fuck him!" Mikey unhooks his seat-belt and leans over to awkwardly hug me, mumbling, "Thanks, br, br, bro! I miss you sa, so much!" "It's fine now, Mikey, and I miss you too. I'll be here all summer. How much money did ya have in your wallet?" Getting his seat-belt back on, he's calmer now, he says, "Four dollars." I'm thinking, "That Hispanic kid would have been pissed to find out his robbery was netting only four dollars! Probably take his frustration out on Mikey." Mikey's still talking fast, "It's great your home, Brian! We're sharing a bedroom ya know. The apartment sucks, but don't tell mom 'cause she's doing her best. She works at Macy's six days a week. She said it's the first job she's ever had. Damn, Brian, I feel real bad for her... I catch her crying all the time. She cries 'cause dad died. It's been a bitch!" Geez, yeah, I'm thinking how it must be hard on both of them... and meanwhile I'm away at college not helping out with anything. Damn, I gotta do my part!

Mikey directs me to the apartment which is surprisingly small, and right inside the front door are four UPS boxes full of my stuff from college. It actually seems excessive to have so much 'stuff' when we live in this small place; it's all stuff from before, of course. Mikey and I manage to find storage space for the boxes under my twin bed and I'm startled to find my bed is almost touching Mikey's, that's how small the room is. Wow, this is gonna be tougher to deal with than I thought. Mikey and I talked about getting jobs this summer as I smoked a cigarette outside on the tiny balcony. Finally mom got home from work and cried as she hugged me, saying she was so happy to see me. She's a pretty woman who's too young to look as old as she does. It's all the grieving and worrying I guess. She's thinner now than the last time I saw her. Man, I'm really feeling the pressure to help out here, but I'm not sure what to do. The first thing should probably be: display a positive attitude. So I did that by being real upbeat, telling both my mom and brother that these things, like this apartment, Mom working as a cashier, Mikey going to public school next year, everything; they're all temporary. I'll graduate college in a year and get a great job and together we'll turn our situation around. "Just know there's better days ahead!" and blah, blah, blah, with other positive comments. Mom and Mikey were smiling when I was done talking and we all helped put together a nice chicken dinner cooked on one of the apartment's outside gas grilles. That night laying in bed, with Mikey breathing eveningly in his sleep two feet from me, I'm thinking, "I gotta get one of these jobs I'm interviewing for tomorrow! I just gotta!"

I'm out of college for the summer, but Mikey's isn't out of prep school just yet so first thing in the morning I drive him to St Johns. He'll live there in his dorm for another two weeks while finishing-up ninth grade. My mom carpools to work so I have the use of the car. This year there aren't many summer jobs because of the economy, but I was still able to set-up four interviews from the local newspaper mom sent me last week. These are the only job openings I think I'm qualified to do, and the only ones that pay at least ten dollars an hour. Three interviews today and one tomorrow. With any luck I'll get hired today and be able to call and cancel the one scheduled for tomorrow. I eat a light breakfast and drive to my first interview with a totally optimistic outlook. Unfortunately, by four o'clock in the afternoon it was apparent that I have no luck, except bad luck. The first job opening was "tentatively" already filled when I got there for my interview, at another place the interviewer said I was overqualified and would therefore probably get bored and quit in a week and she'd need to do the interviewing process all over again. She apparently is a fortune teller, knowing what I'd do in the future. Actually, I didn't argue too much about that because the job did seem unbearably dull. The third interview was a disaster... the arrogant woman doing the interviewing got me so pissed-off and flustered I lost my cool and wasn't as pleasant as I should have been. I also wasn't as nasty as I could have been... this was one obnoxious lady who does not care for us male types. That's true enough, but just the same, as I'm driving home I'm chastising myself for thinking I'm too good to grovel. That's what that last woman wanted; she wanted me to grovel and beg her for the job and instead I acted too proud. Tomorrow, groveling humbly or even begging is exactly what I'm going to do because it'll be the last best chance I have to score the kind of decent paying summer work I need. I gotta help out mom and set an example for Mikey. In my financial position if I need to I've got to grovel, beg, lie, whatever... I gotta get a fucking job!

Forcing myself to continue with a positive attitude when talking to mom, I put the best spin on today's disappointments, and then act optimistic about my chances for tomorrow. After dinner, to clear my head, I drive around to a couple of spots I used to hangout at, but didn't run into any old friends. Most of my real friends were made at prep school or college anyway, and none of them live in the area. It gave me a lonely feeling. There were neighborhood kids I'd hang out with during the summer of course, but that was in my old Dover neighborhood days and I'm embarrassed to call them now that we're poor. Maybe that's stupid, but right now it's kind of a humiliating situation for me. Anyway, my main concern needs to be: getting a job! Next morning I'm up and at 'em driving mom's car to the big wholesale complex where there's an opening on the loading dock. The ad indicated the pay is at least twelve dollars an hour, more for experienced workers. I'm tall and strong enough to do the work so that's gotta be in my favor, but what's this about experience? What kind of experience do you need to unload a truck I wonder? It's hard to imagine they'd want some experienced little guy unloading trucks, or whatever else it is one does on a loading dock. Pulling into the parking lot I realize I've never been here before in my life. No problem finding the place though. They've got this huge sign you can see a half mile away... it reads BJ's WHOLESALE CLUB in red letters the size of cars. Parking was a problem; the large lot was nearly full with the shopper's cars, many more than I'd have thought would be here on a weekday. Jesus, I had no idea so many people bought in bulk. I Googled this place last night so I shouldn't be surprised it's so busy, except seeing it in person is kinda shocking. People filing out of the place with big shopping cart full of stuff: electronics, office supplies, sports and toys, health and beauty items, seasonal items, and the most popular supermarket products like forty rolls of toilet paper, or gallon jars of peanut butter, or a whole case of orange juice... all kinds of things bought in large quantities. Jesus, these people must be from awfully large families. It seems stupid to me, but I don't give much of a shit how dumb it is to buy in bulk, all I want is the job.

My interview is for ten this morning and it's three minutes of ten right now so I try hurrying except I don't know where to go and the place is enormous, plus the hordes of people are in no rush to get out of my way. I finally see someone wearing a BJ's vest and asked directions. Sweating, I arrive at the reception office at ten after ten only to find the reception desk empty except for a nameplate reading Stella Percoskie. Six men of various ages are sitting on folding chairs against the back wall filling out forms by resting clipboards on their laps. Something tells me these men are after the same job I'm after, and they'd managed to get here on time. To my left I see a heavy set woman looking through a big drawer in a file cabinet; she has an extra large buttocks in back and extra large tits in front which seems to be keeping her balanced and upright. I did a quiet, "Ah hem," clearing of my throat and she turns to me with a friendly smile. "What can I do for you, cutie?" she asked, looking me over with a grin on her chubby face. I politely reply, "I've an appointment with Mr. Junior at ten this morning, ma'am." She shakes her large head, and says, "I'm sorry, sugar, but you're late and Junior don't interview anyone that's late. He runs a very tight ship on the loading dock." I bite my bottom lip to keep from screaming, and then humbly say, "Please, please! I need this job really badly!" Her face softens and she walks over to stand behind her desk, still looking me over. She grins, looks around, then says, "Junior ain't called for the application forms yet so maybe I can help ya. I must say, you got the most beautiful eyes I think I've ever seen. I do believe I'd like to have you around every day as eye candy." I try to look cute while opening my eyes wide at the same time. It made her laugh, and say, "Oh boy! You got the girls falling all over you, don'cha?" She picks up a clip board, and says, "Okay, green eyes, what's your name?" I tell her and she writes it on the top line, then writes something in the upper right-hand corner, explaining, "I need to put the time of your arrival here for Junior to see." She looks up and explains further, "By the way, Brian, Junior is his first name; it's not "Mr. Junior" like you said. I put the time of your arrival as nine fifty-five 'cause if I put ten-after-ten he wouldn't even pick your application up. He's a pill, that Junior! A serious pill!" I smile again, although I have no idea what she meant by that "pill" comment.

Still smiling my best smile, I'm babbling, "Thank you so much! This is wonderful of you! Thank you!" and I hold out my hand to shake her hand. She waves at me, and goes, "Oh, get going now, you cute thing; he probably won't even get to you before he hires one or two of the others 'cause he takes the interviews in order of when ya' all got here. Now, you fill those forms out and let me get back to work." She's smiling as she's talking and I know damn well that if she were doing the hiring, I'd be in. She's not though, so I sit down and conscientiously fill-out the forms putting emphasis on my extra-curricular activities at prep school and my GPA in college. At the bottom I write, "You won't find a harder worker than me, Sir!". I've decided to go the"Sir!" and "Ma'am" route with this interview. Sucking in and being humble, that's my approach! As I'm filling out my forms the other six applicants finish filling out their's and are now silently sitting back to await their fate. When I finally hand my completed clipboard to Stella, she holds up a finger like she wants me to wait so I stand in front of her desk while she glances over the forms, then she whispers, "Honey, ya gotta put that you worked at a loading dock some place or Junior won't hire ya." I'm like, "Oh, okay... ah, where..?" She says, "Maybe you worked for Home Depot last summer; he won't check on it. I'm suppose to do that." She winks at me and I take the clipboard back to add the lie that I have experience on a loading dock. Stella nods her head when I turn it in, and just then her phone beeps. She picks it up, nods her head again, saying, "Okay, Junior, I'll bring them right in," then to me, "Ya finished in the nick of time. Junior wants the applications now. Take a seat 'cause, like I said, you'll surely be last." She carries all seven of the completed forms, sans clipboards, through an office door and I sit down to wait. Two minutes after Stella returns to her desk, and almost immediately her phone beeps again. She picks up and listens, looks startled, then motions for me to come to her desk. "This is a first, sweetie! Junior never interviews out of order, but he just called for you. Good luck, green eyes!"

"Do I just go in, Stella... or should I knock, or what?" She's like, "Oh my, knock first, by all means knock first. That's one of his no-no's, ya don't knock he feels you're not respectful of his position." I nod at her and smile, thinking, "This guy must be insecure... I mean, he's the boss, what's not to respect?" But he's obviously a stickler for doing things his way so now I'm even more nervous then before, as Stella can see. I'm walking by her, biting the inside of my cheek, when she grabs my wrist to stop me, and says, "Brian, Junior's just a kid, he's going into his senior year at Natick high. You don't need to be so nervous; just be yourself. You're the right size for the job, maybe you'll get picked. He needs two, actually." As I'm walking toward the office door I'm trying to process that remark about Junior being a high school student, but it doesn't compute by the time I'm knocking on the door. "Come!" is the stern response from inside the office, so I open the door and step into a small office with, sure enough, a boy sitting behind an old desk. He looks like a high school student alright, except I'd think maybe he's closer to a freshman than a senior. He has a choirboy's innocent face, very clean cut and attractive. I'd guess he's about five foot eight inches and a hundred and thirty or forty pounds. Slim body, but muscular too. Sitting against the wall on a folding chair is a younger, smaller, version of the boy behind the desk. The one sitting against the wall has a blank expression on his face and the one behind the desk, still seated, has a pleasantly surprised look going for him, he says, "Stand there a second!" He gets up and walks around the desk to stand in front of me, eyeing me up and down, without saying anything. It's like I'm standing inspection or something, and it's damn annoying so I need to remind myself, "Don't forget to be humble... grovel if necessary!" I needed the reminder because, to tell ya the truth, I've got the urge to tell this little kid to go fuck himself before we even get started.

Obviously I'm totally confused with what's going on here. Is this boy actually doing the interviewing? It's what Stella intimated so I guess he is. Fuck it! I want this job, what do I care if this kid wants to play grown-up.

As the boy looks me over he's getting into my space, if you know what I mean. His face is too close to mine... it's not normal, but what the hell, I'll play it out 'cause I'm desperate. Finally the boy nods his head as if confirming something to himself, and then says to me, in a rather arrogant manner, "Can I believe this shit?! You're the same Brian O'Rielly I met once. Do you remember me? I'll never forget your name." I go, "No, sorry." He stares at me, still standing real close, and it's getting awkward. Finally, he says, "You seem uncomfortable. Are you?" I shake my head, and say, "Na, I mean, no! I'm good." He makes a face, like, "I'm so sure!" and says, "My names Junior Knight. I was on the grass cutting crew last year at Dover country club." I shake my head 'no', like I'm not getting the connection, and then say, trying to seem interested and upbeat, "No, I'm sorry... wish I did remember you, but I can't say that I do." He goes, "Huh? Where you a member at the country club?"

Wondering where he's going with this, I say, "Ah, well, yeah... last summer we had a family membership there, but not anymore. We're not members now." "Why not?" he bluntly asks, as if it's any of his business. I'd like to wipe my neck 'cause he sprayed saliva on it speaking so close to my face, but I stay still and try to keep my voice level. There's a cockiness about this kid, a confidence that belies his age and it has me off balance. Junior might be the most intense and serious seventeen or eighteen year old I've ever run into. He's definitely making me feel uncomfortable, but I'm not going to admit it to him... and he's still too fucking close to me, right in front of me, almost touching. I say, "My dad died and we had to drop out of the club," and as I'm saying that, it's almost like a whine. The last couple of words hardly get out loud enough to even be heard. I can't believe I'm being intimidated like this by a high school student. Junior cocks his head to the side and looks at me, then he says, "My condolences. Do you remember reporting to the club manager that members of the landscape crew had helped themselves to left-overs from a buffet luncheon?" My face turned red 'cause just like that, a memory of that pops into my head and I stutter like Mikey for a few seconds, "Wha, ah, tha, tha, that is, I didn't mean to get anyone in trouble." His mouth is level with my Adam's apple, if I leaned my head slightly forward my nose would touch his forehead. He appears to be completely relaxed being this close, also he has a very pleasant natural aroma coming off of him; not an after-shave lotion or something like that, it's a natural body smell. He wouldn't have a use for after-shave anyway, his face is so close I can tell there isn't even peach fuzz growth yet.

Abruptly he turns around, nods his head again as if he's confirming something else to himself. His back to me, he says, "Stay there, please," and sits back behind his desk. 'Little Junior', the one sitting against the wall, hasn't moved and continues staring at me with his head tilted slightly to the side, giving off an arrogant, superior air. Boy would I like to kick both their asses, but that probably won't help me get the job. Junior says, "You claim you didn't mean to get us in trouble by telling on us, so why'd ya do it." The real reason is I was mocking them and having a good laugh with my girlfriend at the time. It was Lady Di, who, as I mentioned has since dumped me. I can't tell him that though, so I mumble, "I don't know! It was stupid of me, I'm really sorry I did it. I wasn't thinking..." His eyebrows go up, startled, as he says, "Oh, so you weren't thinking and we all get fired from jobs we badly needed. That's just great!" He goes back to reading my application, then says, "You wrote here you worked at Home Depot last summer and we both know that's a crock of shit because you were hanging out at the country club last summer. Correct?" He's looking me right in the eyes, and I start stuttering again, he's so damn intimidating, "Ah, um, oh yeah, I man, I mean, I meant to write 'I tried to get a job there'." Junior rolls his tongue around in his mouth, then uses it to poke-out his cheek, then he rolls his eyes, and utters, "That's another lie! Isn't it?" He's beyond intimidating and he's caught me again, and it didn't take him long either. I meekly mumble, "Yeah, it is a lie, but please, I really need this job. I'm sorry about lying, I'm sorry about telling on you boys last summer, it's just that..." He holds up his hand to cut me off, and says, "Look, for some reason I'm inclined to overlook the lies this one time, but no more. Do you understand me?" I say, "Yes, Junior!" He stares into my eyes until I look down.

As Junior's reading more off my application I try remembering if there are any other lies there. He looks up after a bit, and says, "You went to that ritzy St. Johns prep and now you're reduced to scrounging around in BJs sucking in with a seventeen year old trying to beg your way into a manual labor job. How's that make you feel?" I shuffle my feet awkwardly 'cause he's asking the damnest things! "Ah, I'm humbled, I guess." He goes, "Yeah, and why's that?" I'm looking down again because it's hard to keep eye contact with him. Trying desperately to sort my thoughts, he snaps, "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" My eyes dart up to meet his, I meekly reply, "Sorry. I guess I feel humble because back then I didn't consider that there are so many people in life who have it so tough, who are barely getting by... and now I do." He goes, "You mean guys like me who need to cut the grass of Country Clubs during the summer while you play golf or sit on the veranda and do nothing except mock us workers. Is that it?" I looked down again, "Look at me, and answer me!" Looking up, I quietly mumble, "Yeah, but I didn't know any better then." My eyes are misty, it's like I want to cry. The poise and mature manner Junior exhibited impressed me tremendously, which actually made it easier to accept the way he's treating me. I'm feeling funny... funny about him in a weird way. Funny-weird because he's so fucking "in charge" and confident, and he has all the power here, and mostly he has what I need and want which is the say-so about me getting a job here. And, in addition to that, if I didn't know better I say he's the reason my dick is moving in my pants and my stomach is buzzing way down low, near my balls. He's also apparently mocking my humble answer by smirking over at the smaller version of himself and silently mouthing the words, "He feels humble!"

The kid against the wall doesn't change expression, just shifts his eyes from me to Junior, and then back to me.

As I'm taking quiet quick breaths, Junior reads more from my application, and after a bit, asks, "What time did you show-up here this morning?" I try to remember what time Stella wrote on the form, then thought about Junior's warning against more lying, and croak out, "It was ten after ten, but I was in the building before ten. I just couldn't find this office. I really tried hard to be on time. I'm always on time!" He's nodding his head now, nodding it the way you'd nod when listening to a little child lie about why they went into the cookie jar... or, maybe it's more of a condescending nodding to mock me again. He does the tongue against his cheek thing and then takes a deep breath and signals for the younger version of himself to come over. Their head are together whispering for maybe ten seconds, then the younger kid sits back in his chair, and Junior says to me, "Okay. Here's the deal." He's holding up his index finger lecturing me as if he's much older than me, instead of much younger, which he is. He leans back in his chair and speak in a lecturing manner, "My father supervises the stockroom for BJs and the loading dock is one of his responsibilities. In the summer when he's got the full garden section going there's simply too much else to worry about so he gave me the job of loading dock boss from June until September. That's when the workload is heaviest, thus we put on part-time help. Dad showed me exactly how he wants the job done and that's the way I do it. Obviously I'm a kid, but I take the job seriously; I'm not about to let my father down. So, anyone who wants to work on the dock, including the full-timers, has to understand and accept the fact that from June till September their boss is a kid. Got it? You got a problem with that?" This is sounding encouraging, so I go, "No, Sir!" and he says, "Don't call me sir. My name's Junior." He flicks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the kid against the wall, and adds, "That's my younger brother, Brett. He's my assistant and therefore he's also your boss. I'm gonna be eighteen pretty soon and he's gonna be sixteen pretty soon. You good with all this?" I nod eagerly, and say, "Absolutely! Yes, thank you!"

His eyes open wider, like he's surprised how agreeable I am. Then he bobs his head a few times like he's confirmed something else to himself and I think I almost saw a grin, but instead he shrugs, and goes on, "So now that we got the age thing out of the way, let's move on to another topic: personal appearance. This is a labor intensive job, but we're still going to look neat at all times while we're doing it; that's my way of keeping everyone on par with everyone else. We wear a uniform that you're required to pay for. Khaki shorts and a red BJs short sleeve shirt and vest, and white Converse sneakers on your feet, just like Brett and I are wearing. That's the uniform; we deduct the cost of it from your pay. Everyone on the crew gets a short haircut, so that means your pretty pile of blond hair has got to go. Look at Brett and me, we're neat and squared away. You need to be too. Any problems so far?" I've had longish hair for as long as I can remember. I think it looks good on me and the girls like it, but I say, "No, no problem, Junior. Thank you for taking a chance on me." He says, "I like what you wrote on your foam about being a hard worker, so we'll see how it goes." He writes something on the form as I'm starting to relax and feel relief.

Done with the paperwork, Junior looks up, and says, "To be honest, initially I brought you in here, not to interview you, but rather to piss all over you about that Dover Country Club issue, and then not give you the job, but you fooled me. Brett's not convinced about you yet, but I'm the boss. You seem decent enough to me, sincere and, as you say, humble, so I'll give you a try. But this is just a trial period. I need to see how you follow instructions from Brett, for example. Also, you're not officially hired until you take the strength test and so forth, but you're a step closer. Do you understand?" I'm so anxious for this opportunity, I gush, "Oh yes! I'm very excited about this! And, thanks again!" He glances over at his brother and they exchange looks that I can't decipher, and then Junior says to me, "It's too soon to thank me. You don't have the job yet. I need to interview some of the others out there; I've two openings. Two part-timers were fired last week for goofing off, one was fired by Brett here, the other by me. There's no second chances for goof-offs." My eyes glance at this kid, Brett, who's still staring at me as he sits against the wall. I'm thinking, "That baby-faced kid fired someone?! Jesus!" Junior's not done, he goes, "Okay, here's what you're going to do." He writes something on a scratch pad, tears it off and holds it in my direction. I take the piece of paper, and he explains, "To expedite things, go here for your haircut. My uncle is the barber, tell him you're one of Junior's rookies and he'll give you the rookie haircut. You can let it grow out as long as mine after the first one. Okay?" I nod my head with a sinking feeling in my gut because I gotta get this haircut without being sure I'll even get hired. He says, "Be back here for your strength test, which I wouldn't imagine you'll have any problem with." He stands, then says to Brett, "Show him around a little; you know, where to meet us at noon, and all that kind of thing." Looking back at me, he goes, "You'll have no excuse for being late now, will ya?" I say, "No, I'll be on time." Picking up the phone, he snaps at me, "Try being early!" and then he tells Stella to send in the next applicant. Back to me he says, in a dismissive manner, "No more fuck-ups like being late or lying about anything. Follow instructions from Brett and me, and do what you're told, that's important! You got that?" I go, "Yes, Junior." He motions with his hand toward the door, Brett and me go out it with me having hope in my heart that things are going to work out okay. Yes!

As I'm following Brett out the door I feel a respect for Junior. He's a tough customer alright, but serious and he seems to know what he doing. It's hard to match that youthful face with his toughness, but there it is. Being bossed around by him somehow seems okay to me. Actually, I think his bossy manner is what caused that buzzing in my nuts near the end there, you know, when I totally accepted he's my superior. Truth is, I'm damn glad he's giving me a chance, and what the hell, why wouldn't I want to please him. It's weird, but it's the second time in two days that something's made me think of Frank Barns. First the kid on the bus, and now Junior. He has that same superior way about him that Frank had. Hey, maybe it's called leadership. Maybe both of them are natural leaders. Brett says, "Keep up with me, O'Rielly!" That snaps me out of my musings and I hustle to catch up. Brett's maybe five foot, four inches tall, and slim like his brother. He also has an arrogance about him like Junior, but it's not hitting me in the same positive way I feel about Junior. This sounds nuts, but I wish Junior had insisted I call him 'Sir'. That was my plan, to call my boss "Sir" to show respect, it'd be kinda cool calling a high school student 'Sir!'. That sort of thing happens routinely in the military, of course. Kids right out of college become officers and the old crusty career enlisted men, sergeants for example, need to address the young officers as 'Sir'.

Brett leads me into a room that looks like a gym. There's a basketball backboard and rib, some bar bell weights, a lifting bench, a chin-up bar, and so forth. Brett says, "Report to me here at noon today, at the latest!" I mumble, "Okay," and he says, "Don't mumble. You heard Junior, I'm your boss, pal! For now, stand up straight." What the fuck? Being a little goofy, I stand like I'm 'at attention', trying not to grin at how silly little Brett seems. Jesus, this kid does not look fifteen-going-on-sixteen. Like his brother he looks very young for his age, he looks about thirteen actually... cute kid too. Brett checks my posture, then reaches up to put his smallish hand under my chin, saying, "Keep your chin up! I don't want to have to tell you that when you're lined-up for calisthenics. We do calisthenics every morning before work to loosen-up. It prevents muscle-pulls and gets everyone awake and ready for a productive day's work." I can't believe a fifteen year old is acting with such authority. These two brothers are unique alright! Brett's probably not looking for me to say anything to that last statement, so I nod by head and he lifts his hand to poke his finger under my chin again, saying, "Chin up, goddammit!" I comply, and he murmurs, "Good, but you need to follow directions better." Whoa, this kid is as tough as his brother, maybe tougher. He lectures, "Okay, I have your attention now. Listen up! I lead the exercises each morning and you need to be aware that if I deem you're not enthusiastically participating I'll send you home for the day and your pay will be docked. Three strikes and you're out of the job. Got it?" Just for the hell of it, I say, "Yes, Sir!" He nods, and adds, "Good! You might just work-out after all. I had my doubts that a former rich kid would accept our disciplined way of doing things, but you seem to have learned how to do it." It's so goofy, I know, but I felt kind of proud to have won Brett over already; I'll bet it was the ,"Yes, Sir!" that did it. He seemed like such a prick at first, but now I kind of like him.

Not knowing if I should go for the haircut now or what, I stay in my 'at attention' position, if you will, until Brett says, "Okay, you'll be getting your rookie haircut, after which you're to go home and change into shorts for your strength test. Be back here no later then twelve, noon." He's standing behind me as he's speaking and just when I'm about to follow his orders he shocks me by getting a fistful of my butt cheek, goosing it tightly, adding, "But first, hold still for a second!" He grabs my other butt cheek with his other hand pulling up with both hands. This kid is strong; it hurt the way he yanked my ass upward. Letting go of my buttocks then, he murmurs, "Stand where you are," and then presses and wipes the palms of his hands all over my ass, then the palms of his hands slide around in front, his fingertips almost touching my cock, "Easy..." he says. I take a stuttering inhale and bite my lip as my dick starts getting hard. The fucking nerve of this kid! But it's so completely unexpected and off the wall, I just stand here trying to make sense of it. He blows a lot of air from his lungs, as if he'd been holding his breath, and says, "The kind of lifting you'll be doing requires strong gluteal muscles and yours are a bit on the weak side. Like here.." as he re-grabs my left butt cheek low and under my thigh, near my balls, and massages there getting my dick to firm up even more. "And here, see?" he says, as he grabs the other buttocks and squeezes making me gasp and go up on my toes. "Stand still!" He'd snapped-out that command with such authority I froze. The side of his hand traces the crack between my buttocks; first up, and then down under to bump my nuts, the tips of his fingers pushes my sack of nuts forward, then holding it there as he quietly asks, "Have you ever done exercises for these three muscle groups in your buttocks?" My cock is now poking out the front of my pants, which he's sure to notice, but what can I do. I croak, "Ah, no, Sir. I haven't." One last squeeze, and he says, "Well, you'll need to. Stay after your strength test today and I'll show you how to do them, if I have time. I've been studying exercises for the human body since I was nine years old, plus I've a black belt in karate, so I know what I'm doing." Jesus, these two Knight brothers are remarkable! Brett pats my ass, and then one last squeeze before saying, "Okay, O'Rielly, you're excused. Be back here before twelve! When you're just on time, you're late!" I put my hands in my side pockets and get my boner over to the side, mumbling, "I'll get here early, Sir." He actually giggled then, and it was so out of character for him, but maybe he saw me adjusting my boner. It was a giggle sort of like he couldn't help himself, it just blurted out. It's the first thing he's done that's been something of a normal nature for a fifteen year old boy. Obviously the ass grabbing had me wondering if he's gay, but for some reason I rejected that idea as ridiculous. There's just something about him that convinces me he's straight and since I am too, it's a relief to recognize that.

Outside I hurry to my car then take a few minutes to have a smoke. My dick's still buzzing from that strange encounter of grab ass. Then sitting inside the car checking the address of the barber shop, I'm thinking, "Forget about the grab ass and concentrate on what you need to do!" The barbershop is sort of out of the way; the corner of Alston and Main Street in downtown Framingham. I know Main Street, but I've never been to Alston Street. Following Main Street almost to the end I find the shop, "Knight's Barber Shop." It's the last small shop in a chain of eight different businesses on Alston Street. Parking, I walk down feeling a odd churning in my stomach. Getting this so-called rookie haircut is such an unexpected requirement, but what the fuck... I've never had a job before, maybe it's not so odd. Still, no one's ever told me what kind of haircut to get, not even as a little kid. This haircut is obviously going to be real short denoting I'm the bottom guy on the totem pole as far as seniority on the job goes. Looking in through the window I see there's no one in the shop except the barber, a middle-aged balding man barely five feet tall. He looks up when I walk in, and says, unnecessarily, "You're next!" Resigned to my fate, I sit in the old barber chair, which he has cranked down as far as it will go. "How you want this mop cut?" he asks. Another aggressive member of the Knight family, apparently. This is nerve racking and I find myself answering like a dork, "Ah, it's a... That is, I need a rookie haircut for my boss, Junior, at BJs. Or, you know, he wants me to get it. He said you'd know, right?" The barber got the cape around me as I'm babbling, and he's already got the clippers running. He grunts, "Yeah, I know." Then he demands, "Sit up straight!" It must be a Knight family trait to insist everyone sit or stand straight. I sit up straight and without hesitating he runs the clippers all the way up the back of my head and does it repeatedly all around the back and sides until there's just stubble left there. I gulp, feeling dizzy. Jesus! A huge amount of blond hair cover the cape on my shoulders and a pile of it is in my lap. The hairs on top don't last long either... he combs-up a load of hair from front to back and runs the clippers along the comb leaving hair at the front of my head a half inch long; the hairs taper shorter and shorter until they're about a quarter inch at the back. Forehead to crown all over the top, and then he does some blending of the sides to the top and outlines around my ears and he's done. It took him about five minutes.

Looking at the mirror in front of the barber chair, I gasp at my changed appearance. The barber takes the cape off to shake a pile of my hair onto the floor, and demands, "Ten dollars," which thankfully I had. After paying him, there's four dollars left in my pocket, the same amout Mikey had in his wallet when he picked me up at the bus terminal two days ago. It hadn't occurred to me I'd need to pay for this, which is dumb of me, and only now do I think of how embarrassing it would have been if he'd said, "That will be fifteen dollars!" for example. Walking to the car I feel a little sick to my stomach; sorta like I've turned myself over to Junior and Brett, and I guess I have, but I need this fucking job. Feeling my hair, it's mostly bristles. Oh, what's the difference, who cares about a haircut? The breeze feels odd on my scalp though. Oh well, hair grows back pretty quickly. Still, I feel strange about this, it's kinda weird... those two teens, with all that confidence, and me meekly doing what they say. What else could I do though? Fuck it! Driving home quickly I go into the apartment and put on cargo shorts, then get hung-up looking at myself in the mirror. I look so fucking different! I feel different too, like I'm almost not myself anymore, or like I'm entering an entirely new life, or something. Oh balls! I think I got the job so I should stop my whining!

With a cigarette between my lips, puffing on it like crazy, I drive too fast back to BJs and by the time I park the car it's already quarter to twelve. Finishing my smoke while running through the parking lot, then running through the crowded building, I arrive at the gym only to find it empty. At least I got here on time, actually I'm early. Okay, a good start. Funny, but all the way through this building I felt self conscious about my military-style haircut, like everyone was staring at me. They probably weren't, but it felt like they were. Obviously that doesn't do anything to bolster my confidence. While waiting I lift a few of the weights wishing I had another cigarette and then realize I haven't seen a single person smoking in BJs, or on the grounds, and somehow it doesn't seem likely the Knight boys would smoke themselves, or tolerate their workers doing it. What the hell, that'll help me quit an expensive habit. My wristwatch indicates it's noon and sure enough Brett walks through the door at that exact second. Moving briskly he nods officiously at me, and I grin back; then, trying to be funny I point at my nearly bald head. Maybe I was looking for approval from Brett, I'm not sure. In any case, he makes a dismissive face at me, and with a shake of his head he seems to indicate, "We've got more important things to think about than a haircut!" It makes me feel childish somehow, like I'm goofing around and he needs to shape me up. I take a deep breath and tell myself to get serious 'cause Brett certainly is.

Putting a clipboard with my application papers on the small desk, Brett says, "In the future, be at attention when I come through that door. That way we're not wasting time! If you get hired you'll see how to do it properly at morning calisthenics." With a serious expression on my face, I stand-up straight, then remember to jut my chin out, as he's asking, "Where are your shorts? I told you to wear shorts for the strength tests." Well, I've got shorts on as he can plainly see, so these must be the wrong kind of shorts. Okay, but why does he have to be so fucking abrupt about everything? It intimidates me, so I meekly reply, "Whaddaya mean, these are my shorts." Brett shouts, "Gym shorts, nitwit! We're in the gym for your strength test, so gym shorts would seem obvious." Hands on his hips, he's frustrated. Jesus! I don't want to fuck this up at this late stage, so I quickly apologize, "Sorry, I thought... I mean, I didn't think about gym shorts. I feel so stupid." He shakes his head, disgusted at what an idiot I am, and then sticks two fingers inside the waistband of my cargo shorts and pulls it away from my belly. My mouth drops open as he leans his head over and looks down my shorts, bumping his forehead against my stomach in the process. A quick look and he declares, "Okay, you've got boxers on. We'll make do with them. You can wear them as your gym shorts this time, but have gym shorts for the morning exercises!" I say, "Oh, sure! Thanks! I'll definitely buy some gym shorts for that. Thank you!" Brett rolls his eyes, like I'm the biggest nerd ever, and asks, "Okay, what's the hold-up? Drop the cargo shorts, and while you're at it, take off your shirt, sneakers and socks too. First we'll measure sizes for your work uniform and sneakers... then the strength testing which should be just a formality for someone your size." Relieved, I say, "Yes, Sir!" and get busy taking everything off except my white POLO boxer shorts. I really am relieved he's allowing this exception; he could have sent me off to get proper gym shorts. He's not so bad, I guess.

As I'm undressing, Brett's lecturing me again, "If you want to work for me you need to understand this: When I tell you to do something and your not sure exactly what it is that I'm telling you to do, ASK ME! Make sure you know exactly what I want! Are we straight on this?" I say, "Yes, Sir," but I'm back to being pissed-off at him again, thinking how I'd like to kick his skinny ass all around this fucking room. My feelings about him change from minute to minute! He shouts in my face, "Get in the 'at attention' position!" and I snap to it thinking, "Is this the fucking Marines I'm joining?! Fuck!". He gets me so furious but makes me feel so vulnerable at the same time... vulnerable, and sorta naked, and yet, I do need to admit I have this growing respect for him. He's not looking to make a friend here, or have me like him. He's doing the job the way Junior and his dad want it done. It's amazing a kid his age can handle himself in this manner; I couldn't do it now, never mind when I was fifteen! He's looking me over as I stand at attention, my eyes straight ahead. Sure I feel stupid doing this, but I'm committed to following through since I've come this far with the bizarre haircut and everything else. As I'm standing here like a fool, at attention, in front of this little kid, I get that buzzing in my nuts again; the same buzzing I got from Junior bossing me around. It has something to do with the way they control the situation... and my total lack of control. I am actually at their mercy where this job is concerned and, anyway, the buzzing isn't unpleasant; it feels good.

Brett's eyes move over my almost naked body, from head to foot. I have a pretty good body so I don't mind him looking at it; it's not like I'm fat or something. Well, I'm a little on the slim side actually, but there's some definition in the right places too. Brett's apparently the touchy/feely type; he's touching me again. He puts the palm of his right hand on my bare belly and his other hand grasps my hip, clutching at the material of my boxer shorts. It increases that funny tingling sensation in my balls and then the feeling spreads out all around my groin area. It's not normal to be touched so blatantly like this, there's been so much inappropriate touching this morning I should complain, yet it increases the pleasant, dare I say, sexy feeling I'm getting. What the hell's happening here anyway? Brett somehow seems to know he can get away with whatever he feels like doing to me. He's so young looking, and small too, but what choice do I have except to do what he says? After he feels me up, he asks, "How much does POLO underwear cost?" I go, "Gee, I think about twenty dollars, something like that." He puts his forefinger inside the waistband of my underpants now, the back of his finger rubbing against my belly very near the top of my pubic hairs; pulling out the elastic waistband a little, then a little more, as he looks arrogantly into my eyes, like, "What are you gonna do about it?". I gulp as cool air swirls down the opening and surrounds my dick and balls. Still staring at me, he slowly says, "Seems like a lot to pay for underwear. Don't it?" I take in a quick breath and let it out slowly, then say, "Yeah, I guess so." Brett pulls his finger out and my waistband snaps back in place. "Follow me," he commands.

I need to take another big lung-full of air as I follow Brett across the room. There's so many unique aspects to this fifteen year old kid. He's really pushy and aggressive and confident, making it hard for me to know what to think. He points to a section of wall that has measurements marked-off for heights beginning at four feet and going upward to seven feet, inch by inch. I back up against the wall and stand up straight. After checking the mark at the top of my head, he mumbles, "Seventy-four and a quarter inches," then marks it down on a form. Next he pulls out a strip of measuring tape from his pocket and wraps it around my waist; leaning in to read the measurement the top of his head is just under my chin. I immediately notice a pleasant natural scent wafting up from Brett, the same scent I noticed from Junior. Both brothers are very neat and clean, and quite good looking. Their dark brown hair is short, combed down on top and flipped up in front; preppy style. It's weird, but the more they boss me around, the more attached I'm feeling to both of them and I haven't a clue why that is. I'm not fucking gay, if that's what you're thinking. It's just, well, they are attractive and I guess I'm impressed with their confidence and apparent competence. Authority figures have always been a bit of a turn-on for me anyway and this goes all the way back to my Frank Barns days. I mean a turn-on as far as respect goes, not a sexual turn-on. I admire people who handle authority competently, and these two seem to qualify as competent. Their father trained them to lead others, be stern and insist it's your way, or the highway! Come to think of it, I usually get this nice buzzing in my balls and stomach whenever I'm in the company of particularly authoritative people; especially young male authority figures and. like I said, this goes all the way back to my Frank Barns days. I've always thought my admiration for these guys was an off-shoot of me hoping someday to be like them, ya know.

Brett's now holding the end of the measuring tape at the top of my leg, inside near my groin, the back of his hand pressing against my cock and I gotta believe he realizes that, but he leaves it there just the same and stretches the tape down to my ankle, determining my inseam. After that he says, "Bend down a little," I do and he measures my neck size, his face so close to mine I feel his moist breath on my nose; it smells like Spearmint chewing gum. Up close he looks no older than twelve. Using the measuring tape as a rope, holding my head in place, he takes me completely by surprise again by running the fingers of his free hand slowly through the short stiff hair on the top of my head, as he asks, "What did you mean by pointing at your head when I first came in? You don't like your rookie haircut?" Still bending down because he's tightened the measuring tape around my throat, I shrug a little, and mumble, "I'll get used to it, it's very different than I'm used to; that's all." Again he rubs through my very short hair and this time his nose touches my forehead and he leaves it there for maybe two full seconds while he rubs my hair. I can't help but feel this is demeaning to me somehow... it's the kind of thing you might do to your dog, rub him saying, "How ya doing, boy?!" or it's maybe like an uncle might rub his nine year old nephew's hair right after the boy's gotten a buzz cut. It's certainly not what a fifteen year old does to a twenty-two year old, I know that much. Brett tightens the measuring tape around my throat further, and says, "For your information, this is Uncle Leo's version of a burr haircut, very close on the sides and back, and at the longest half an inch of hair on top. I think you should keep it this way. I might even insist that you do, if ya know what I'm saying." Again, I can't believe the gaul of this kid, but I find myself complying just the same, saying, "Oh, okay, I guess I will keep it this way then." He takes another big breath, and says, "See that you do. I'm writing on your papers, "Uncle Leo's burr haircut every two weeks!" I'll be including that in my inspection of you before exercises. Ya got that?" I feel my face get red; this is so humiliating, but I croak out, "Yes, I got it." He pulls on the tape and the sides of our faces rub for an instance, "You can afford twenty-dollar pairs of underwear, you can afford a haircut every two weeks. Right?" I try unsuccessfully to nod my head, feeling so inferior to Brett now. He's too much for me, I give in to his dominating behavior. Needless to say, I've never run into anything like this before. He snaps, "Right?" and I say, "Yes, Sir. I'm to get a burr haircut every other week." A very smug nod of his head, like, "I got him right where I want him!".

He looks at me as he's nodding his head slightly, then reaches up to get some short hairs in front of my head between his thumb and forefinger and pulls at it roughly. I do a quiet, "Oww," and he lets go of the measuring tape then. Mesmerized, I watch the tape slide off my neck onto the floor. One more yank on my hairs, just because he can, and he lets go allowing me to straighten-up, rubbing my neck and adjusting my crotch 'cause I felt a strong, deep, pleasant buzzing down there again. I have an unbelievable urge to jerk myself off, which is definitely the first thing I'm going to do as soon as I get home. Man oh man, this kid's so intense! Turning away from me, Brett finishes recording the measurements on my papers and then, in a calmer voice, says, "Well, enough of this haircut talk. Listen up, I'll be doing most of your testing 'cause Junior's busy supervising a big unloading project." Surprisingly I discover I'm disappointed Junior won't be part of the testing. I thought both brothers would participate. For reasons I can't fully articulate, Junior really impressed the hell out of me earlier and, I don't know, I sorta thought he'd taken a kind of special interest in me too, but now that he's assigned his little brother to do this, I'm probably mistaken about that. Oh well, Brett's not that bad. Like I said, it's weird, but even though at times I want to punch them both out, overall I don't mind being bossed by these two kids, and that's just one more truly surprising fact... go figure! If I wanna be honest with myself, I kinda like them bossing me around... ha ha! I know it's weird, but I do. It's more like a game than anything else, I've never taken myself too seriously anyway. I'm easy going in most cases.

Brett says, "Pay attention! This is how I want you to do jumping jacks," and he does three with effortless, graceful moves. I do some, and he's like, "No, no! Watch me," and I do, thinking that the way he moves is really special. "Now you," I try again, and he says, "Be light on your feet, let the motion flow." We do that a few times, then he goes, "You're tall and awkward, but it'll have to do. Now some sit-ups." He demonstrates, and then I imitate him, satisfactorily this time, "See how many you can do," he orders, as he kneels down to hold my feet. My legs are bent, knees in the air; I pull my torso up and touch my knee with my nose and then back down. Brett's squeezing my bare feet as he's helps hold them down. He instructs, "Touch with your fucking chin, like I did. I don't want to have to tell you to pay attention again!" What fucking planet is this kid from? I do a few sit-ups exactly the way he did his as he continues squeezing and sort of fondling my feet. He says, "You have big feet and very long toes. Junior and me don't have big feet, but our toes are long." I'm thinking, "What an odd thing to be talking about," but by now I'm on my twentieth sit-up and near my limit, grunting with the effort to do number twenty-one. Brett goes, "You're joking, right? You can do more than twenty sit-ups I hope!" Not wanting to expend energy answering that, I struggle to get to twenty-five then collapsed backward on the floor, breathing hard. "This might be a problem," Brett mutters, as he records the number.

I lay there catching my breath as Brett retrieves an instrument that measures feet. He looks down at my nearly naked body for a few seconds. I stare up at this little clothed fifteen year old boy, then he stares at my big feet for a while before saying, "Lift a foot up to me." I do and he measures it, "Size twelve. That's a lot of foot! Lift up your other one." I do, and he measures, "Size twelve alright," he mutters, and then holds my foot and massages it. Another unexpected development... who the fuck wants to massage someone's sweaty foot? After a bit, he rest my foot against his stomach, near his crotch, and it appears he's smelling his hand and blinking a half dozen times real fast. When he lowers my foot to the floor it rubs right across his dick and I'm pretty sure his penis is boned-up. He's standing over me now, looking down on me again, this time with a superiority smirk. I'm hooked onto his blue eyes, bright blue with dark blue highlights. I can't help thinking, "Any girl would love to have those eyes and those long curvy eyelashes!" It's like I'm hypnotized for a few seconds, then he breaks the spell to order, "Put your legs down flat on the floor," and when I do he sits on top of my thighs with a knee on either side of me. Adjusting his position by sliding his ass off my thighs and onto my crotch causes me to gasp. He seems so small and I do a second quiet gasp when he cups my sides with his hands and does some kind of massage action there, saying, "You need to work on the sit-ups; we do anywhere from twenty-five to fifty each morning. I'm massaging your oblique muscles now, getting more blood circulating so you don't cramp up." His butt cheeks are muscular and hard, and as he moves forward and back while doing the massaging his butt cheeks are rubbing against my cock, getting me hard for the third or forth time today. The palms of his hands feel good and strong, and the way he grabs, pulls, and rubs deeply into my skin and muscle tissue creates a warming sensation that's very nice; then he drags his fingernails lightly down my sides and the warmth gives way to chills and shivers as goose bumps rise on my arms. I shudder and shiver under him. He stares into my eyes the whole time this is going on, and it's all so surreal. When he finishes massaging me, he stands up to look down on me again, the front of my boxer shorts pokes out noticeably. My boner's as hard as a pipe

Brett looks like he's holding back a grin or a smile, not that I've seen him do either one to this point. Relaxing his expression, he points at my lap, and asks, "Do you get erections easily? I ask that question because there's a lot of bodily contact when the crew is loading and unloading together in the small space of the dock. Also, some of the exercises are interactive because that sort of thing builds a strong team, good esprit de corp ya might say. So, you might be embarrassed springing a boner all the time" I shake my head, and say, "Na, na no, not at all! It just happened now, it doesn't mean anything." Why am I stuttering like my brother? Brett goes, "Oh, it don't bother me none... erect all ya want. Push-ups are done like this," and, just like that, he moves on and demonstrates how he wants push-ups done. When I do mine he sits on the floor at my head with his hand under my chin, saying, "Keep your chin up and hit the floor with it instead of your nose. And keep your back straight!" My boner recedes quickly as I huff and puff trying to do perfect push-ups. When he's not cupping my chin with the palm of his hand, he's running the palm of his hand over my burr haircut again. He seems enthralled with it. It feel nice to have my head rubbed and, in general, I guess I'm getting used to being touched by Brett. After a bit he moves to sit near my ass and holds it down with the flat of his hand, "Stay flat!" he orders. I'm sweating up a storm by now and, as I said, I'm getting used to him touching me so as a consequence I don't even give a second thought to him massaging my ass again, even though my dick once more begins to get hard. Okay, I'm aware there's something going on here, something I don't understand yet, but frankly I don't give a damn about it. Squeeze my ass all you want as long as I get the job.

All the exercise results are recorded, of course. Brett says, "Before we continue, you need to hydrate. Be sure to stay hydrated on the dock too." I hurry off to drink a lot of water from the sink in the locker room feeling a little bit refreshed afterwards and beginning to think I've won my boss over. It's his demeanor of late, he's not hollering at me as much and he seems to be petting me, like maybe he sees me in the same way he sees his pet cat. He sounds less bossy now too, saying, "Before the weights, I want to see a series of leg thrusts. They're done like this," he kneels down with his hands on the floor and throws his legs out behind him and then bring then back and stands up, then immediately repeats the exercise. "Now you," I start doing them and because I'm tall it's a more clumsy looking procedure for me, it's exhausting too. The sweat has my boxer shorts stuck to my body, they're soaking wet and during my second leg thrust my penis comes out the pee slit in front," Brett says, "Forget that, continue!" so my cock flops around with each leg thrust. I'm past being self conscious around Brett; he's groped me and fondled me and pointed at my boner... so just forget about it! I'm sweaty and tired and this is ridiculousness, but I calm myself down and remind myself this uncomfortable experience has to be almost over; then it'll simply be a matter of working eight hours a day. Such a relief to just work after all I've gone through today. "Five more," he casually says, as the door opens and Junior walks in. "How's it gone with O'Rielly, Brett?" "Oh, he's borderline in many areas, but I like his effort and he follows directions well," reports Brett. I'm feeling proud to hear that. Junior's looking at my chart shaking his head, mumbling, "Borderline alright." Then to me, "Don't you ever workout or exercise in any way?" I can hardly talk I'm so wiped-out from doing the thrusts, but I manage, "No, Sir. I know I should and I'll start tomorrow. I can do better." Brett's like, "See what I mean about the good attitude, Junior?" Junior goes, "Yeah, I picked-up on his cooperativeness early on," and then, if I'm not mistaken, they make a face at each other about my "cooperativeness"... they exchanged a smirking look, like, "Can you believe this piece of work?!" Ya know what, fuck 'em... I don't care!

Done with the last five leg thrusts, I'm sitting on the floor breathing heavily, my dick forgotten as it lulls outside my boxers. Junior, looking at Brett, nods at my exposed cock, his hands held palms-up, like, "What's up with that?" and Brett casually leans over, picks up my cock with his thumb and forefinger, squeezes it a few times, and then pushes it back inside my shorts. I watch in shocked amazement. Will I ever stop being surprised at what these two do?

Junior's telling me, "You need some more water and then we'll begin the strength testing." I'm thinking, "Begin the testing! What the fuck we been doing?" but of course I muttered, "Yes, Sir,". Junior hasn't objected to me calling him 'sir' the last few times so apparently he's joined with Brett in allowing me to reply to him in this respectful way. Isn't it crazy that it gives me kind of a charge to call them "Sir"? Ha ha! I don't understand it myself, except I've never meant teenagers anything like these two and, like I said, I kind of respect the heck out of them. If I can continue looking at it as a game more than anything else, then putting up with all this bizarre stuff is bearable.

Anyway, while I'm hydrating, dripping with perspiration, Junior and Brett whisper for a minute or two, then Junior sends Brett to check on dates for next week's shipments, and finally, he says to me, "Over here, Brian. We'll start with some curls. He got me going on the weights by showing what he wants me to do. The fucking weight lifting went on forever... lifting and jerking and curling and doing pull-ups. Oh my God, I don't know how I held up through it all but my determination to get this job somehow motivated me to do more than I ever thought I could. With all I've already gone through, I'm determined not going to blow it now. Junior's relentless though, "Do another set with ten more pounds on the bar, and use your arms more and do less jerking with your lower body." Doing the curls with a full bar I'm throwing my hips out to help get the bar up. I tried to stop doing that, but shortly I'm back to thrusting my hips out and my dick flops out the pee slit of my shorts again. I don't give a shit anymore, but Junior does which is probably why he told me to stop using my hips. For the record, I've got a nice looking penis. It's average size, five-plus inches of pale pink flesh that I'm quite fond of. I might as well be naked now anyway, my boxers are so wet with sweat they're plastered to me like another layer of skin. I can see the shadow of my pubes through the wet material in the front of my boxers. Junior goes, "That's enough. Put your dick away and relax."

Junior lets me cool off with a cup of water, me sitting on the lifting bench. I'm so relieved these tests are over. Junior's recorded all the results and is looking them over when Brett comes back in. Brett nods at me, then looks over Junior's shoulder to see the results, and says, "Just barely qualifies, huh, Junior?" Junior says to me, "Congratulations, O'Rielly, you made it!" I was psyched! I pump my fist, and yell, "Yes!!!" Both Junior and Brett maintain their stern expressions so, in a calmer manner, I added, "Thank you so much. I really, really appreciate you hiring me." Junior writes something on my application, and says, "I'm starting you at thirteen dollars an hour. That's a dollar more than we advertised the position for, but Brett likes the way you follow orders and he recommended a higher starting salary, so you can thank him for the extra buck an hour. Seven o'clock Monday morning we start the exercises, be here well before that. See you Monday, I gotta get going 'cause I've still got a lot of work to do. Brett will finish up with you here." I stand, and say, "Yes, Sir! Thank you again!" and the brothers smirk at one another and sort of nod their heads, like, "Yeah, we were right about him!". At least I hope that's what their silent exchange means. Before leaving Junior wrote some more notes on my papers, then gets up to leave, saying to Brett, "Give him a quick check to be sure he didn't hurt himself with the weights and then send him on his way." Brett says, "You bet. See you in a little while, bro." As Junior's leaving, Brett's all business again. "On your feet, Brian, and stand over here." He's pointing right in front of him. I'm beat, really tired but I know the drill by now so I stand at attention in front of this short fifteen year old boy, and say, "Yes, Sir!"

Brett's reading what Junior wrote on my papers, smiling, then chuckling to himself. He looks up at me, and says, "Drop your underpants, I need to check for signs of a hernia." I hesitate and he snaps, "Now, O'Rielly!" and I pull my boxers down to my knees. "All the way off!" and he seems exasperated again, as he's saying, "It's been a rough day already, and I still have a couple of hours to go so don't fuck around with me. Do what I say, when I say it! Are we clear about that?!" I go, "Yes, Sir! Sorry!" as I'm stepping out of my underwear, then I stand naked, at attention, in front of this ninth grader. Believe me, it entered my mind that I'm going to be a senior in college and yet I'm acting very submissive to these two much younger boys, but my determination to get this job requires pleasing them and that's what I intend to do. After this summer I'll probably never see them again, so what do I care? The end justifies the means, and like I said, I respect them, I'm grateful for the job, and I get a buzzing in my nuts being so submissive; it's part of the game. This might even be fun if they weren't such hard-asses and I don't give a fuck if that's a blatant rationalization! But really, seeing a couple of young, small-sized boys playing drill sergeant, or hard-ass boss, or whatever isn't something you see every day and if one has the proper attitude, it can be a bit of a hoot!

Facing me, Bret casually takes my cock and balls in his right hand and pulls them to the side. He's got small hands and his fingers barely reach around my package. Pressing two of his fingers at a spot on my belly near my thigh area, dangerously close to the root of my cock, he says, "Turn your head and cough," which I do, but it's not much of a cough because he's tightening and loosening his grip on my cock and balls, then pulling down slightly, followed by upward pressure. I don't know what it is, maybe it's that he's so serious, but it strikes me as very sexy and my uncut cock begins firming up for about the hundredth time today. As it gets harder and harder it grows a little longer and gets a little fatter and it's easier for Brett to stroke the foreskin on an off the knob. He seems oblivious to my growing boner, saying, "Cough again!" and I get a good one out, but my hips involuntarily hump against his hand; he casually strokes my cock a few more times. Then, saying to himself, "Okay," Brett switches hands with my package, but this time he only grabs my firm dick leaving my nuts swinging. Stroking my boned-up cock with another three quick strokes brings on a full-blown hard-on. I go up on my toes gasping, then grab hold of Brett's shoulders for balance. Ignoring all my activity, he pressing on the other side of my belly, and orders me, "Cough!" which I do as best I can. Three more full strokes with his fist tight around my boner, and I go, "Ahhh, oohh,". When he lets go of my cock it points straight up at me, a glistening pearl of wetness at the pee slit. There's been sexual overtones to this entire process and it's finally caught up with me. Brett's blase as hell when he says, "We already spoke about erections, which you seem to get a lot of, but don't worry about it 'cause I don't give a shit. Now, get dressed so I can get back to work." I mumble, "Yes, Sir!" All I can think of is: I want to whack off so badly I'm not sure I can even wait until I get home. Why am I so aroused? I'm totally exhausted, but turned-on like I haven't been for a long time... I can't even remember when I've been this hot. It's this whole process I guess. Jesus, what an ordeal! On the other hand, it does feel good.

After washing his hands Brett sits at the small desk writing some more notes on my application. He looks up, pulls a dollar out of his pocket, and says, "I need you to run down to the employee's vending machines and get me a Coke." I snatched the dollar, mumble, "Yes, Sir," and take off running. The employee's vending machine is right next to reception so I'm running by Stella's desk and she shouts, "I like your haircut, Brian. Stop at my desk before you leave!" I yell back, "Thanks, okay!" and keep moving, but wonder if she got in trouble writing the wrong time for my arrival on the application. At the vending machine I find that the Coke is a dollar and a quarter so thank God I have a quarter in my pocket. I get the Coke and run back to the gym. Brett's like, "Put the Coke on the desk and run these papers to Human Resources, then get your ass back here." Running through the crowds I can see these aren't my papers, he's still going over mine. I feel like an asshole running, saying, "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me..." the whole way, but that's what I do. There's an in-box so I dropped the papers there and run back to Brett. Sweating again, and pretty much out of breath, I say, "I put the papers in the "In Box". Do you have anything else for me to do?" Brett's drinking the Coke while making sure everything in the gym is in the exact same spot it was in when we started, he looks over his shoulder, and says, "You stay here, if Junior calls tell him I'm in the lavatory and I'll be down to the dock in five minutes. You may leave after that." I shake my head like, "Sure!" and mumble, "Yes, Sir, thank you," as he leaves.

Thank God this day's almost over, it's sucked but I have this glow about getting the job too, and for thirteen dollars an hour no less... yowl! Figuring in my head how much eight times thirteen is, I glance at the desk and see the notes Brett and Junior wrote to each other. Okay, I shouldn't look, but I slide the top papers a little to the side, and read: "He could be the perfect replacement for Victor!" From Junior, I read,"No shit! That's what I thought too. Bet he isn't the badass Victor was. Five bucks says he'll be seeing things our way by the end of day one! This is gonna rock, bro!!" Then, in the weight testing section, Brett wrote: Junior, this is better than I thought. He's a natural... oh man, how fast ya gonna move on him?" The last response, in Junior's printing, was: "Ha ha ha! You're a riot, Brett! Let's give it till the end of the week anyway... don't get impatient!" This is gonna be hot fun!" What the fuck do I make of this? Is this good, or bad? Maybe I'm not the only one who's having a bit of fun doing all this dominant and submissive shit. It's hard to say what they mean, but fuck it; I'm going to take it as a good sign 'cause there ain't nothing I can do about it if it's bad. Okay, they seem to like me, I'll leave it at that. And I don't know who the fuck Victor is, but I'll bet he didn't work as hard as I'm going to!

Putting the papers back the way they were, I sit on the lifting bench again and bask in the glow of success. I got the job, and at a higher hourly wage than advertised, and both brothers appear pleased with me. I'll keep brown-nosing them and try getting a raise in pay next month too. Oh, I better thank Brett for recommending my higher wage. He was back a minute later, "Did he call?" I go, "Ah, no, but I want to really thank you for recommending the extra dollar an hour. Thanks a lot, really!" He's like, "Yeah, but if you fuck-up I'll drop it just as fast... so, don't fuck up. Now get outta here!" I thanked him on my way out and walked on air to my car. Before starting home I had a victory cigarette congratulating myself on acting humble, submissive, respectful, sucking-in, or whatever you want to call it. That posture got me what I wanted, the job, which is all I care about. So what if they humiliated me a couple of times, I can take it. They obviously like being the boss and bossing older guys like myself probably adds to their fun, but like I said, I don't care!

Smoking my cigarette I'm thinking that there aren't a lot of guys who would put up with the shit I did, but the job market is tight so there are those, like me, who will be submissive in order to get what they need. Probably Junior and Brett do this bossy routine on everyone they interview, and if the interviewee happens to says, "Fuck you", they say, "Fuck us? No, dude, fuck you! You don't get the job!!" Yeah, probably. I wanted to kick their ass a couple of times myself, but I'm mature enough to subdue my ego and absorb the embarrassing situations. Bottom line: I got the job, so who's the winner?! I can't wait to tell mom and Mikey the good news!

to be continued....

It won't surprise you when I say, "Feedback welcome". I appreciate it actually!

You can check me out on a free website, if you'd like: boys4boys.com Thank you for reading my story.

Donny Mumford thinat20@comcast.com