Craigslist 45
WARNING
This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.
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Craigslist
Chapter 45
By: Tim Keppler
It turns out that I just love kids, and this is not something I'd ever have predicted about myself. I mean, I'm gay, for god's sake. Where the hell was I going to get any kids? Where in my life would they fit? But things happen. I have kids -- lots of kids -- and I just adore them. Now, I don't honestly think that I could live without them. They're just so funny, and so much fun. Case in point: Kev comes to me one morning and shows me a tooth right in the very front of his mouth that's...dangling. It's just on the verge of falling out, and it's driving him crazy.
"Well, we can do what my daddy used to do for me when I had a tooth like that."
"What?" he asks, a little aghast that this could ever have happened to me.
"He'd pull it out, and I'll show you how," I say giving him a hug. I take him to the bathroom, and get a dispenser of dental floss out of the drawer. I draw out about five feet, and get Kevin to open his mouth. I tie one end of the dental floss around his loose tooth, and then I tie the other end to the door knob. "You stand here, Kev, and when you're ready to lose the tooth, when you're a little more confident, you slam the door. Slam it really, really hard. We want to hear that door all over the house. It should rattle the windows." Saying that, I leave the room, ruffling his hair. It takes about three minutes for him to get up the courage, and then I hear the door slam -- really hard. I go back to the bathroom, and Kevin's mouth is dripping with blood. His tooth is lying on the floor, at the end of the dental floss, and he has the most radiant smile I've ever seen on a boy. He is giggling furiously.
"Like that?" he asks.
"Pretty much," I say, laughing, as I pick him up and swing him around, eliciting more giggles. Two cups of warm salt water later, Kevin has the most delightful gap in his teeth. He is just fucking adorable. How could I live without this?
Or Kai. Kai was out of diapers when he came to us, at three years old. But every once in a while... One bright morning he comes into the office in tears, sobbing. "I make a boo-boo."
I'm initially confused, but then I notice the crotch of his jeans and realized that he's pissed himself, something he does sometimes when he gets over-excited. "Looks like you peed your pants, baby."
"Yeahhhhh," he wails.
I carry him into the bathroom, pull off his clothes, plunk him into the bathtub, rinse him off, dry him, and carry him to his bedroom where we get him some fresh clothes. All this while he cries piteously. "It's okay, sweetie. Sometimes these things happen. You're okay." He hugs me so tight until he's finally cried out, and then I run a finger down his ribs, and he is beside himself with giggles, awash in laughter. What would I trade for this? Nothing!
And then there's Ian, my eldest. The son of dear friends, neighbors from a former home in San Mateo, Ian is a rather-young 22-year-old. His long-time boyfriend, Alejandro, is a little older. Both now seniors at UCLA, they've been living in a boarding house run by Mme. Tourneau. She's actually not French, but she's so classy, so elegant, that I can't help billing her as such. So, I guess I should say that they live with Ms. Tourneau. How boring and bland for one really exciting woman.
I love Ian, just as I loved his parents. He's an adorable boy. I don't always have a lot of faith in his judgment, though. He's a little...young...a little immature. He got himself into a spot of trouble a few years ago that landed him in a hospital, and once he was healed, I beat him nearly to death for it, him and Alejandro both. Since that time, Alejandro, who is less flighty and more street-smart than Ian, has taken a more dominant role in their relationship. This was one of my conditions for returning Ian to L.A. after his hospitalization and convalescence. Ian is like Jason. Neither of them is really built to be out in the world on his own. Jason, at least, has the good sense to know that, and sticks to his own back yard. Ian is less self-aware, and needs guidance. That's where Alejandro comes in. He's lived in the world and fended for himself. As a homeless kid, he got really good at spotting trouble...and avoiding it. I know he has it in him to protect Ian. It was a matter of getting him to assert his authority. I think he's done that, and little by little I've become more confident about allowing them to stay in L.A. Well, Vivienne has also been keeping an eye on them, and I call her about once a week to chat. She reminds me uncannily of Ian's mother, and gives me insights into what's happening in their lives. She is very, very comforting.
But on the Saturday she calls, she is not comforting. She tells me that Alejandro left three days ago and hasn't been back since. She tells me that Ian is despondent, and rarely comes out of his room. When he does, his eyes are red and puffy, as though he's been crying. She doesn't think he's going to his classes. And he's not eating. She's worried.
I thank her for her call, and immediately call the airline, reserving a seat on a Southwest flight leaving in two hours. I get into LAX at 5:22 and take a cab to the house. When Vivienne answers the door she's stunned. "Well, that didn't take long."
"No. I was concerned. Is he upstairs?"
"Yup. You know the way."
Ian and Alejandro live on the third floor, a loft, very spacious and very bright. But the stairs are a bit of a haul. When I get to their door, I knock, but I don't wait for an answer -- I just go in. And there is Ian, lying on the bed, crying. He's surprised to see me, needless to say, and runs at me when he sees me, wrapping himself around me. I lift him into my arms (he isn't very big, after all), and carry him back to the bed where I continue to hug him. "What the hell is going on, Ian? Where's Alejandro?"
"I don't know," he wails. "We had a fight three nights ago, and he left. I don't know where he is."
I stroke his hair. "And you fought about, what?"
He pauses for a long, long moment, and then begins to look confused. I figure he's thinking about how he wants to respond, what he wants to say about the fight, but then realize that his confusion is because he can't quite remember what the fight was about, which, you have to admit, is pretty damned common in situations like this. Then it comes to him. "There's this tamale shop on the east side. I wanted to go pick up some tamales, but he said I couldn't. He said I had to wait for him. He said I couldn't go by myself, and I said... And I said..."
"That's enough, Ian. I think I know what I need to." Long pause. "If you'd told me that you were going to the east side for tamales, what do you think I'd have said?"
I think he was actually waiting for this question. I think he saw it coming, and was waiting for it. He starts to sniffle again. "That I couldn't go by myself? That I had to wait for you?"
"Yeah. So, how ugly did the fight get?"
"Pretty ugly."
"And, who said the worst things? Who was the most abusive?"
He's sobbing now. "Me," he wails.
"Are you ready to apologize?"
Sobbing. Sobbing. "Yeah, but he hasn't come home, and I...umm...don't know where he is."
Sometimes this boy is such an idiot. I guess sometimes we're all idiots. Sometimes we just don't like to see the elephant that's standing in front of us. I pull out my cell phone, go to "Contacts," and auto-dial Alejandro's mobile number. Three rings. It takes three rings. "Hello."
"Alejandro? It's Tim. How's it going?"
There's a long pause as he tries to figure out what this call means. "Umm...could be better."
"Yeah, I gather. Where are you?"
"I'm...umm...at my sister's."
"You planning to stay there forever?"
"Umm...no...I was going to..."
"I'm sitting here at Mrs. Tourneau's with Ian, my impossibly-stupid son. Could you come home for a while?"
"Umm...yeah...I guess."
I wait several beats, several long beats. "Do you love him, Alejandro?"
Long pause. "You know I do."
"Then come home and let's work through this."
Now he starts to sniff. "Okay," he says, meekly.
"How long?"
"It'll take me probably 45 minutes."
"Great. We'll see you then."
Thirty-two minutes later, thirty-two minutes I've used to berate Ian about how he's treated his boyfriend -- no, his partner -- there's a knock on the door. The knock is a surprise, but not because we don't know that Alejandro has arrived. We've listened to him bound up the stairs two at a time. The knock is a surprise because who, after all, knocks on his own door? Not a good sign. I open the door, and a very contrite Alejandro presents himself. He's staring at the floor. He's glassy-eyed. Ian takes one look, and flings himself at him, wrapping himself around him, sobbing. I move them into the room...slowly...because Alejandro can't move very well...with Ian hanging from him. I maneuver them to the bed, realizing in seconds that Vivienne, their landlady, is right behind him. She's smiling brightly, happy to see Alejandro home, but I frown, indicating that there's some "tough love" to come, and then she frowns, but smiles again. She's just happy that they're back together. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I let them hug, and kiss, for several minutes, having taken my place in the IKEA chair next to the bed. After maybe five minutes of this, which looks to me like a prelude to really-good make-up sex, I interrupt.
"Guys..."
Ian breaks their kiss, and looks up, and Alejandro looks surprised. I think he's forgotten I'm here.
"So, let's chat, shall we?" I say, with a really-thick layer of false amiability. "Before I start my lecture, is there anything, Ian, that you'd like to say to Alejandro?"
Ian looks into Alejandro's eyes. "I guess I've said a lot of it already," he says, giggling, still sitting on Alejandro's lap. "I love you. I adore you. And...and...I'm so sorry for what I said, for everything I said. I'm so...so...sorry. Please forgive me."
Alejandro kisses him.
"Alejandro, anything you want to say?"
"I'm sorry, too, baby. I was...mean." Again, they kiss.
"And, how were you mean?" I ask.
"Well," Alejandro says, looking sheepish, "I've been trying to remember how all this started. I think it was that you wanted to get tamales, and I said you couldn't. That was...stupid of me. Too controlling."
"NO, GODDAMN IT," I erupt. "That was not too fucking controlling. That was right!" I'm really angry at the stupidity of these boys. "You need to fucking take care of each other, to watch out for each other. I don't want him" pointing to Ian "off getting mugged while he tries to buy fucking tamales. Do you fucking want him alive?" Neither of them, I think, has seen me this angry. They've entirely missed the message, and that just pisses me off.
"First, Ian, the last time you went wandering through east L.A., you damned near got yourself killed, and that damned near killed me. I told you then, and I'm telling you now, I expect you to tell Alejandro what you're doing, and I expect you to do what he says. If he says you shouldn't do something, then don't fucking do it. He is your voice of reason. He knows how to live in this environment. He's good at it." Ian is teary-eyed, hugging Alejandro against the onslaught of my anger, I think.
"Second, Alejandro, you need to exert control over Ian. Goddamn it, he's a child in this town. You need to keep him safe. Don't give me this `too controlling' bullshit. He's your responsibility. Telling him not to go to east L.A. by himself was exactly right. Own that decision, and stand behind it, and when the little shit whines about it, don't go skulking off to your sister's, abandoning him, stand up to him. Do you guys love each other?"
They look into each others' eyes and hug fiercely, both nodding, both crying.
"Then work out your roles. I accepted you, Alejandro, when Ian brought you home, because I saw you as a viable keeper of my treasure. Ian is like my Jason. He was not designed to function stand-alone. Maybe none of us were, but it's more evident with some of us. You complete each other, but you have to...accept...that you have certain roles. Your role, Alejandro, is to protect and to guide, and that might not always be all that comfortable. Sometimes you're going to resent those responsibilities. Sometimes you're going to find them to be a burden. Sometimes you're going to wonder who protects and guides you. But you can't just walk away! And your role, Ian, is to submit, to be protected and guided, to love him, but to accept his instruction." I look at them for probably a minute. "Is any of this a surprise to either of you?"
They look into each others' eyes, and then back at me, shaking their heads.
"Then let's get on with it. I am very disappointed in both of you. Alejandro, I'm not disappointed in you for forbidding Ian to get tamales in east L.A. by himself, but for running off like a scared little puppy-dog when he refused to accept those boundaries. And Ian, I'm disappointed in you for your ongoing rebellion, for your refusal to accept Alejandro's authority. How should we deal with this?"
Both Alejandro and Ian are silent for many seconds. Finally, Alejandro looks up. "I think I should be..."
"No, Alejandro. You're the easy one. I already know what we're going to do with you. It's Ian I'm concerned with. What are we going to do about you, Ian?"
"I think I should be punished," he says almost immediately, looking at the floor.
"Yeah, and...?"
He looks at me, quizzically.
"How?"
He's confused. "Well...I should be...umm...spanked...shouldn't I?"
"Okayyy... By whom should you be spanked?"
Now he gets it. Now he understands what I have in mind. He nods, squeezing Alejandro tight, leaning into him and resting his head against his chest. "Alejandro should spank me," he says softly.
"Sorry?"
"Alejandro should spank me," he says a little louder.
"I'm sorry. I didn't quite...get...that."
"I want Alejandro to spank me," he says, nearly in a shout.
"Right. I think you said that," I respond with a smile. "And why should Alejandro spank you?"
"Umm...because it's his job to guide, to instruct?"
"Don't phrase it as a question, Ian. Know it! It's his job to protect you. And if you disregard his protection, it's his right...no, it's his responsibility to punish you. I don't understand why, after your last trip to east L.A., you guys don't get this.
I look at them both for maybe fifteen seconds, scanning their faces. They look embarrassed, and contrite, but also confused. "Okay, up. Ian, I want you naked and on your belly on the bed. NOW! While Ian strips, I take off my belt, which is as close to a razor strop as I could find, and hand it to Alejandro. "I expect this to hurt him, Alejandro. This is punishment, not erotic. Keep in mind that your punishment is next, and if I'm not convinced that your heart and soul are into causing your boyfriend, the love of your life, great pain, I will wail on you like you've never felt before. Got it?"
He nods, sniffing back his tears.
"And, I want a lecture. I want you to clearly articulate why you're punishing him. He needs to know you mean it. He needs to know why you're doing this, and he (and I) need to know that he will be punished again if he disobeys you in the future. Make us believe it, Alejandro. Mean it."
He nods.
By now, Ian is on his belly, naked. I move to the IKEA chair, and wait. Alejandro strokes Ian's back. "I'm sorry, baby."
"You are not fucking sorry, Alejandro!" I bellow. "He deserves this. This is your job. Your job is to keep him safe, to keep him alive so you can continue to love each other. If you can't do that, then he belongs back with me. Is that what you want? Should I take him home?"
Alejandro starts to crumple, but then gets control. He wipes away his tears. "You need to obey me, Ian," he says with remarkable authority, channeling his anger from three days back. "If I tell you not to go somewhere, you need to obey me, not question my authority. I've lived on the streets. I know what's safe and what isn't. I love you," he says, choking. "And...and...if you're not going to obey me when I tell you how to be safe, well...then...Tim is right. We don't belong together. You should go back with him. Is that what you want?"
Ian is in tears. "No," he whines. "I want to be with you."
"Then...you need to obey me. I don't want a fucking discussion if I tell you to wait for me to get tamales in east L.A. Okay?"
Wailing, "Yes."
And then Alejandro lays into him, and he truly is channeling his anger, maybe a little too much. After twelve strokes, Ian is bruised and sobbing, exactly where he needs to be, and to his credit, it's here that Alejandro stops the spanking, dropping the belt, picking Ian up off the bed, and setting him on his lap where they hug as he kisses his face. "I'm sorry, baby," Alejandro says. "That was really hard for me. But I will do it again, I promise you. I know what is best for you. I will never leave you again. That was stupid of me...dishonorable. It was a disgrace. But, if you disobey me on safety issues, I will spank you again."
"Alejandro," I say from the corner, "I want this boy spanked every week. Every Thursday night, I want him spanked until I'm sure that you have your roles down pat. I'm going to call you every Thursday at 8pm, and I expect to hear him crying. If I don't hear him crying, I'll be on the next plane...and I will beat you nearly to death before I take him home. Do you understand me?"
He nods.
"Do you understand me, Ian? Because I don't trust you. I think you're going to go off and do some other damned-fool thing. Alejandro is in charge here, and if I find that's not true, if I find that you're willfully disobeying him, then you're coming back with me, back to San Jose. If I find I can't trust you to keep yourself safe, by which I mean to follow Alejandro's instructions, you're coming back home with me. If that's what you want, then go on doing what you've been doing. Is that what you want?"
"No," he wails.
"What do you want?"
"I...umm...I want to be with Alejandro."
"Then what do you need to do?"
"I...umm...need to do what he tells me to do, and I need to get spanked every Thursday."
"Right! I mean it, Ian. I'm serious about this. If I find that either of these things isn't happening, I'll be back for you."
"Okay," he whines.
I let the boys cuddle for a few more minutes, and then I motion Ian into the chair that I've been sitting in. Picking up my belt, I stare at Alejandro. "Naked," I say.
He strips quickly, and lies on the bed, waiting. "We've done this before Alejandro, and for pretty much the same reason. I expect you to keep this boy," pointing toward Ian "in line. I'm not going to spank you for this again. Next time, if there is a next time, I'm going to come and take him home where I know he'll be safe. You are my surrogate. You're the guy I trusted to watch over my son, and you've fucking failed me twice. And walking out on him, disappearing for three days is un-be-fucking-lievable in the depth of its stupidity. What was he supposed to do? Fend for himself? Do you love him at all?" I pause. Alejandro is crying, "Do you?" I shout.
He chokes out a "Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes..."
"Then how could you leave him like that?"
He's sobbing now. "Stupid," he wails. "I was stupid. I am so...sorry."
"You need to be sorry. You need to be sorry to me, because I am depending on you, although I'm beginning to wonder whether my trust is misplaced. But, more than that, you need to be sorry to Ian, who you set adrift by walking out on him. He wasn't eating during that time. Did you know that? Thankfully, according to Vivienne, he wasn't even coming out of his room much, which means he wasn't going off getting himself into trouble. If I'd flown in to more broken ribs, I wouldn't be spanking you, I'd be kicking your sorry ass. You need to apologize to Ian. Do it!"
Alejandro is wracked with tears, but turns on the bed, looking at Ian, the love of his life. "I'm...sooo...sorry, baby," he chokes. "I was so...stupid. I was...so insensitive. I'm so, so sorry." Ian nods, sobbing. I'm being hard on Alejandro, and Ian knows it, and it's just killing him, but I need to make a point, apparently, a point I didn't make sufficiently the last time.
"I mean it, Alejandro. Next time I will fucking take him away. Do you get it?"
"Yes...yes..." he pleads.
"And what do I expect of you? What's going to happen from now on?"
"I will protect him. I will make sure he knows his limits. And I will spank him every week."
"And why are you spanking him every week?"
"So he accepts my...umm...authority."
I give a long pause. "Right," I say finally. "Now get ready to accept mine." And then I let fly, channeling my own anger. I'm still pretty angry at both these boys, and have to consciously back off a couple of times because I'm swinging way too hard. Finally, at 17 strokes, I'm spanked out, and Alejandro is sobbing. I put the belt back where it belongs, around my waist, and pet Alejandro for several seconds before sitting down next to him, and moving him onto my lap where we hug. "I'm serious, baby. Next time, he's coming back home with me. Exert your authority. I expect it of you. No, I demand it of you."
"I will," he sobs, and I hug him again.
By now it's nearly 11:30pm, too late to catch a flight back to San Jose. Vivienne, saint that she is, keeps a guest bedroom for the occasional guests of her boarders. That's where I find myself long about midnight. "Well, that seems to have gone well," she says with a giggle as she takes me downstairs. I look at her quizzically. "This is an old house, Tim. It was built at the beginning of the last century. It isn't well insulated -- against cold or...sound. Umm...the whole house...heard every word. Mandy, the girl that lives in one of the second-floor bedrooms was impressed at your ability to fit `fucking' into the middle of another word, like `un-be-fucking-lievable.' And Mike and Allen," she says with a giggle. "They live in the room next to Mandy's. They mentioned that they could hear every stroke you laid across Alejandro's ass. They thought he had it coming, though, based on the...rather voluble preamble." I'm nearly dying with laughter.
"Well, hopefully this incident won't markedly change the relationship the boys have with their fellow boarders."
"Oh, I don't think so," she says with a grin. "I think it simply confirmed a lot of tacit assumptions that were made about you all in the first place." And then, she starts to laugh, and I can't help joining her. What a hoot. Finally we hug, and she leaves me to rest before I fly back home in the morning. Another whirlwind visit to L.A.
In the morning, Vivienne feeds me -- eggs, a sautéed portabella mushroom stuffed with tofu and rice, some orange juice, and one of the strongest cups of coffee I think I've ever drunk. She's a vegetarian, and gets her eggs from a flock of chickens that live in the back yard. Halfway through the meal, Alejandro and Ian come down and join us. "You okay," Vivienne asks, and they look at each other, smile, and nod.
"You sleep well?" I ask, a question that earns a snort from Vivienne.
Again, the boys look at each other and smile, but shake their heads.
"Good!" I wink. "Sleep is overrated at your age."
And that's it. An hour later, I'm at LAX waiting for my plane. I'm not that big on travel any more. I used to travel constantly, and loved it. But that was before Jason, Kenny and the boys. Now I'd mostly prefer to stay home because it turns out that I just love kids.
Did I mention that before?
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