IT'S NOT EQUAL AT ALL!
By Pete Brown petebrownuk @ yahoo.com
Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories
Part Five
After Walter and Rory dropped me off at the bus stop - no, I'm not sure that's right. I mean, if Walter had been in a car, I wouldn't have said that Water and the car dropped me off at the bus stop.... I guess Walter's right, I do identify too closely with the slaves. But then Rory looked like a man and talked like a man, and as the old saying about ducks goes, then he is a man! Anyway, after they'd dropped me off at the bus stop I didn't have long to wait, and now there was none of the embarrassment as I knew how to buy tickets (and I had the money for them, too), and I went and politely sat at the "Whiteys Only" rear.
When I got home I was so proud as I gave mom four new dollars and told her that things were going to be a lot easier from now on as she had two men in the house working. Still, I did feel a bit guilty about holding on to two fifty for myself - a guilt that evaporated the moment I thought about how it would help me pull a couple of bitched that week. I mean, a man has to have his pleasures, doesn't he? And I'd worked hard for that money, and I deserved a bit of fun. When I thought about it, I guess I might have been a bit worried about the sex I'd had with the slave - I'd enjoyed it too much, and I was worried I might be developing fag tendencies: I reckoned I needed a bit of proper fucking to set me right.
Dad didn't seem too pleased with me when he came into the room, though. "Where the fuck did you get to last night?", he snapped.
"I was working...."
"Whoring, more like!"
"No, dad...."
"Don't give me any of your lies, Steve! You left here at two yesterday, and it's almost ten now. There's no job that keeps you working all those hours!"
"No, dad.... Honest... I stopped work at about two this morning, but then it was too late to get home, and so I bedded down at the place."
"...with a whore, no doubt!"
I blushed, as dad was so nearly right. But he'd be really angry if I said I had been with a bitch, and I couldn't imagine his rage if he knew I'd been in the same bed as a naked slave! All Walter's bullshit about it not being like going with a guy wouldn't wash with dad.
"NO, dad!"
"You'd swear on your mother's life that you weren't with some cheap bitch last night?"
Well, at least I could be honest here. "Yes, dad. On mom's life, I wasn't with a cheap bitch, or indeed any sort of bitch last night!"
Mom came to my rescue then and said, in that was she has, "Now, Father, leave the boy alone! He's doing his best - look, he gave me four dollars. And after all that work he must be tired, so I'll make him some breakfast and then he can go and have a little rest."
"It's OK, mom, I've had breakfast."
"Where?", dad snapped suspiciously.
"At the Club, dad. They gave me breakfast...."
"I don't like any of us taking charity, you know that, Steve. We may be poor, but we don't want no nigger charity...."
"It's not like that, dad. The Club doesn't 'give' it to me.... It's the leftovers from the big fancy dinner, and it's given to the slaves, and we joined them...."
"You ate with slaves? And you ate scraps, leftovers?". Dad really was sounding cross now.
"NO, not really... We had to sit in the slave dining hall as the restaurant wasn't open. And the food's all there - amazing stuff. Look, I've even brought some home for you and mom.... Chicken, beef, ham, partridge, and pies and cakes, and...."
"So this Club gave all that to bring home? Why?"
"No, dad. It's not like that. It's in the slave quarters, and if it isn't used, it gets thrown away. There's so much of it.... It was OK... The slaves wrapped it up and everything...."
Dad grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me over to the couch. He pushed me over he arm, and roared "Stealing! I won't have that, Steve! And you know what I said I'd do to you if I ever caught you stealing..."
"No, dad! I didn't steal it! It was just there, going to waste. And the slaves packed it up..."
"It's stealing, Steve, if the owners didn't give it to you. Now, drop 'em, and take your punishment."
It was so fucking unfair. It wasn't like dad thought. I stood up, flushed and angry. "No, dad, you're wrong... I'm not going to take it from you...."
"You live in my house, you're my son, and you're only sixteen. And if I need to punish you, I will, Steve. Now, drop those pants, and get over the arm of the couch...."
"NO!"
Look, I've told you that I'm fit and strong as I do a lot of sport. And I reckon I'm a bit taller than dad, too. But dad's a big, heavy-muscled guy as he works hard in construction, and as he grabbed me I knew I couldn't win as I'd not yet fully developed a proper man's body. So it was only a very short tussle before he had me over his knee, as he used to when I was a kid. He held the nape of my neck with one big hand so I couldn't get up (although I did try a bit, but it's not easy), and his other ripped down my jeans, and then my boxers. I knew I was all exposed to mom as I sprawled there, and I hated the idea that she'd be seeing me like that - most guys don't show their asses and dicks to their moms once they've sprouted pubic hair, so they?
He slapped my ass eight times, hard. I'm not going to tell you it didn't hurt, as it did: he's strong and tough from all that construction work. But even worse was the humiliation of being stripped by my dad like that - I'm a man too, I fuck bitches, and now I'm having my bare ass spanked by my dad. I got to my feet, and if I wasn't so angry I'd have cried, I suppose. I stood there, my hands at my side, my fists clenching as I fought back the temptation to really pile into dad. I made a half-threatening move towards him.
"Come on, Steve! Try it!", he taunted me. "You think you're a man, but come and try me - but if you do, expect to get hurt. I've beaten bigger men than you to a pulp before now."
I knew he had, too - dad had a bit of a reputation as a tough. I raised my fists, but mom grabbed at me. "Steve, stop it! And you too, Father! Grown men, both of you, squaring up for a fight - you're just like two kids in the playground at school. There'll be no fighting in my house, either: I work too hard to keep it nice, to have two oafs like you wreck it!"
Dad looked a bit sheepish, and I was calming down, too - I'd been worried, I suppose, about actually fighting dad, but a man can't back down, can he, once he's issued a challenge? But mom had given us both a way out. Then it struck me - I was standing there almost stark naked, and I knew my butt must be glowing red, too. My dick had shrunk and my balls had retracted as I guess they do as a response to a "fight" threat, to keep them out of harm's way. I must look like a kid with a shrivelled dick and no balls, and mom and dad were both looking at me! The blood flowed to my cheeks as I blushed scarlet, and I made a grab for my boxers to pull them up.
"That's right, Steve. You'd better hide that tackle of yours", dad sneered. "You may have hair there like a man, but you need to grow a bit more I reckon before you put yourself on display...."
"Now, Father, stop that!", mom cut in. "But he's right, Steve - pull your clothes up, as it's not decent for a young man to standing in front of anyone like that.... Unless she's your wife."
Blushing even more now, I pulled up my boxers and jeans, and fumbled to fasten my belt.
"Now I want no more of this from either of you two men!", mom said in that way she has when we both know we've got to do as we're told. "It was very good of Steve to think of us after he'd been working all night, and to bring this stuff back. Now you're both going to calm down, shake hands, and then Steve is going to rest, and then we're all going to have lunch together as a family. A really good lunch, I think...."
Dad and I glared at each other for a few seconds. Then dad put out his hand, and muttered "OK, son. No hard feelings?"
I looked at his hand, that hand that a few moments ago had been spanking my ass, then I saw mom looking sternly at me, so I muttered "Yeah, dad...", and shook it. But I hated the way the bastard had thought he could beat me like that - I mean, once you're a man, you only get beaten for doing something wrong if you're a slave.
The lunch was good, though, and we were like a proper family as we tucked in. Mom insisted on saying grace as she does on a Sunday, and as usual I just stared down at the table and didn't take part as it's ridiculous to thank some mythical ju-ju for the food I'd worked for. But Mom's a really good cook when he has the chance, which is not often as we're so short of money to buy stuff most of the time, after we've paid the rent our nigger landlord charges, and the taxes and everything. Then afterwards I went out on the prowl as I'd got the money to go into the local cafe, and I'd only been there surveying the scene for about ten minutes before I'd made eye contact with an OK-looking bitch. I'd got the money to buy her a coffee now, and it was easy to chat her up.
It wasn't a really good fuck - I could hardly take her home and use my bed, could I? So it was the usual thing of her riding my cock as I mostly supported her weight, as we fumbled around in the alley behind the cafe. All over in ten minutes. Not all that different from jerking off, actually.
As I sauntered home I was kind of disappointed - all the time I'd been with that slave at the Club I'd been thinking it wasn't proper sex, wasn't as good as fucking a bitch. But the reality of what I'd just done didn't live up to my expectations of proper sex, and the more I thought about it, the more I realised that the way the slave had gone about it was so much better. I felt my dick getting hard as I replayed the feeling of his body against mine, his mouth on my dick, his hands.... I stopped, and shook my head. This couldn't be happening - I wasn't gay, and yet I was thinking that a bit of messing around with a slave was better than fucking a bitch.
I was at the Club early again the next Saturday, and some time after four Walter strolled out to join us valets. He came over to me and said in a low voice so that the others couldn't hear "I've been in the gym this morning, and Brad's looking forward to tonight."
"Who's Brad?"
He grinned at me. "Don't be coy, Steve! Brad - the personal trainer slave - the slave who serviced you last week."
I realised I hadn't actually known the name of a guy I'd been more intimate with than any other guy on the planet, and it made me think! Although I didn't hold with slavery and stuff, it was surprisingly easy to start to treat them as if they weren't men. I mean, even if you have a drink with another guy you exchange names, don't you? And this slave had sucked my cock and jerked me off, and I was just thinking of him as "the slave", as if he didn't matter, as if he were some sort of object rather than a real guy.
"No, Walter. I reckon I'm going to walk home. I don't want to mess around with slaves. I keep telling you I'm not gay, and I know you say that it isn't gay to go with a slave, but I still don't think it's right."
"Suit yourself, Steve. It's your loss. And maybe my gain - I had a good look at the butt on him this morning, and I reckon I might switch from my waiter in favour of rather more rugged delights...."
The guests had started to arrive by then and Walter didn't have much time to talk - well, not to me, at least, as I was kept so busy going to and fro to the holding place: I think he had a lot of time to talk to the other Class A valets, as I was doing most of the work as I had been the previous week. I was kept pretty busy most of the evening as apparently it wasn't a big "thing" that week, so folks started to leave in ones and twos from quite early on. And when it started to rain about eleven and they all had to move indoors from the terraces, a whole lot more decided to leave then.
I felt pretty sorry for the ponies - I had a waterproof poncho with the Club's logo all over it to keep dry, but they had nothing. They had to wait around in their bare skins with the rain hitting them, and I wondered why the Club didn't provide at least some minimal shelter for them - something to keep the rain off, and to provide protection from the fierce summer sun. That talkative pony Jack was standing there, his arms wrapped around his body as he tried to keep some of the rain off him, and I told him how badly I felt about this - after all, some sort of simple shelter would hardly cost a fortune.
"That's not the point really, Steve. There's never a shelter for us guys anywhere, and I reckon it's because our owners like to see us suffer a bit."
"You can't be serious....."
"Think about it: You're an owner, and you do well in life. You've got the trophy wife, the two little picaninnies, the nice little demesne out here in the suburbs, and you're the lord and master of some slaves. But all your friends are like that, too, and I guess it starts to get rather boring - life's good, life's easy. But if your pony is suffering a bit - this rain really stings the bare skin, you know, and being wet, even on a arm day, makes you cold as the water evaporates - or if in the summer you can see him sweating and panting in the heat - then it reminds him of how fucking good life is for an owner. The owners need us as a contrast to themselves."
"Aw, come on! No-one would treat another guy like that! I mean, I can see you're shivering...."
Jack gave a little shrug. "Not another guy, maybe. But a slave? You'd be surprised how us slaves get treated, Steve. You know, some owners even fuck us, or make us have sex...."
I felt a bit uneasy as Jack said this, as I knew Walter fucked the waiter.... And I wondered just how willingly the gym slave - Brad, I must call him Brad, he was a man after all - had agreed to show me the ropes. I was going to ask more, but one of the other valets came up and told me to stop fucking around and wasting time, and to take number seventy around to the front at once (we gave the owners numbered tickets when they arrived, and pinned the other half of the ticket to pony's harness or pouch so we could identify them).
The rain got heavier and heavier as the night went on, and by the time we'd finished and I was thinking of the long, miserable walk home through the downpour, I was pretty damp already as a lot of it had penetrated the poncho. I still hoped one of the other valets might offer me a lift, given the weather, but they didn't seem at all concerned about me as successively they were driven off - charitably I thought that perhaps they just assumed I had a ride; but on the other hand, being a whitey, perhaps they simply thought of me as a slave, so I didn't matter. Anyway, Walter saw me standing here and slapped my ass playfully. "Come on, Steve! You're not thinking of walking in this weather, are you? Come on up to the slave quarters with me - there's a nice warm bed... And a nice warm slave....."
"Look, Walter, I don't like this sex stuff. I don't think it's right...."
"You seemed to be enjoying it last week, judging from the noise coming from your bed."
I blushed as he said that, and felt so ashamed that at the thought that other guys could hear when Brad and I had been doing.
"Still, if you're chicken.... If you don't feel that you can manage a slave...."
Well, I couldn't let a nigga like Walter taunt me like that, could I? I was bigger and stronger than him, and there was no way he should suggest that I couldn't handle a slave if he could. So I gave a big shrug, as if to make it clear that it really didn't matter to me. "I guess you're right - this dammed rain is pretty hard, and it's a long way home. It would be better to wait until the morning. Come on, then - lead the way!"
All the way up the stairs I was in a real dilemma - one part of me wanted to simply take the slave's bed and get to sleep. And the other half of me was worried that if I didn't sleep with a slave Walter would think I was some sort of wimp. All kinds of compromises ran through my mind - perhaps I could actually get into bed with the slave but then absolutely refuse to let him touch my dick, or maybe I could keep my clothes on so our bare skin wasn't touching..... By the time we'd gone onto the dorm I was still wrestling with it, totally unable to decide what to do. Fortunately Walter didn't make all the slaves line up as he had the week before, and simply said to me "Do you want Brad again, or do you want to try something different? The waiter I had last week was hot stuff and he can hardly wait to start riding your dick, and I quite fancy that Brad's meaty ass...."
I almost panicked at the thought that the waiter might spring on me and start to ride my dick - I simply couldn't think what it would be like to have him astride me as I lay there, working himself up and down, just as I usually have the bitches do as I don't much like doggy fucking or the missionary position. It would be awful - either I'd have a rock-hard boner an then he'd slide it into his ass, and I'd be ass-fucking a guy; or I'd have a terrible, embarrassing failure and my cock would lie there all limp and he'd think I wasn't a real man as I couldn't keep it hard. This was a lose-lose rather than a win-win situation.
There was only one way out, so I whispered as I didn't want to disturb the other guys, "No, I'll stick with Brad.", and then in a fit of bravado, to show Walter I was just as sophisticated in these matters as he was "There's a few tricks I want to try out on him this week." How easy it was to say, and how ashamed I felt that I was even thinking of bragging about sex with another guy.
Brad must have been waiting for me, though, as the moment I was near his bunk he leapt out, showing that amazing lithe agility that he had, especially for such a big guy - I suppose that comes from being a personal trainer. His cock was jutting straight out, and it bobbed around a bit as he moved - and I suppose that comes from being excited about sex!
I've never had anyone else undress me (well, not since mom did it when I was a little kid) - it was usually me who was fumbling with the buttons and zippers and the bra fastenings and all that stuff as I was so keen to get started with a bitch. Brad seemed smoothly practised at it though, as he unbuttoned my shirt and teased it out from my jeans even before I could think of stopping him or telling him there was to be no sex and I was not going to sleep naked. And as soon as my chest was exposed his big head bobbed down and he started to suck at my tits! I gave a little yelp of surprise and would have pulled away had his arm not snaked around behind my body and held me to him, his naked flesh hot against mine.
He alternated working on my nips with bringing his mouth up and sucking and gently biting that soft area at the base of my neck, and I couldn't help it - I was moaning gently as it was somehow, in spite of my general view on this stuff with guys, so amazingly sensual. His other hand ran over the front of my slacks, and I knew there was no use trying to disguise it - my dick was so hard it was almost painful.
"Relax, sir", he whispered, his face so close to mine that I could feel his hot breath. "Just take it easy, and let me give you a good time...."
Before I could say no, he dropped away to fall to his knees, and he was deftly unbuckling my belt and pulling down my zipper. It was somehow both brusque and professional the way he pushed my slacks down and off, slipping my trainers off as he did so. Then his hands came back up, and before I could say "no" his fingers were under the waistband of my boxers. I was conscious of him looking up at me and smiling, and the next instant there was a rush of cooler air to my ass as he slipped my boxers down..... And the next moment I gave a really audible groan as his warm wet lips closed around my aching dick.
Well, what can I tell you about the rest of the night? It all seemed to rush past, as my senses were so overwhelmed with what he did to me. His fingers, his lips, his tongue, were everywhere, all over me. My body convulsed and arched helplessly as he nibbled t my tits and then probed my navel with the tip of his tongue. I moaned with the sheer pleasure of his mouth as he slurped at my dick, and found myself thrusting up and down as he worked away, as if I was trying somehow to fuck his face. And all the time the hand that he wasn't using with his mouth was teasing at my asshole and that bit right underneath - protests were useless, as he just kept pushing and teasing until I gave up trying to clamp my legs together to stop it, and after a few minutes, when he'd sucked at his fingers and drooled a big glob of spit onto them, he finally slipped one inside me!
I don't think I've ever shot so much cum before, as the combination of Brad's mouth on my dick and his finger massaging inside me was simply devastating. And afterwards he cradled me to him, and we lay together so totally intimately close with our breathing still laboured and sweat soaking both our bodies.
Had I known it was coming, I'd have tried to stop it. But Brad's lips were suddenly on mine, and in total shock I guess I opened my mouth as his tongue battered at me. It was so utterly strange to have a tongue in my mouth, probing around, playing with mine - I mean, that's what I usually did (even if some bitches said they didn't like a guy's tongue in them). And now, to have someone else making the running, to have him doing this to me.... It was at once sensual and somehow totally exciting - but then that awful thought ran through my brain that the excitement might be because it was forbidden: two guys kissing and making out!
Somehow it seemed right when Brad guided my hand down to his dick - it oughtn't to have, I know, as I wasn't into touching other men down there. But once I had my fingers around the long shaft and could feel his skin, and the little veins and things, I was intrigued. I just couldn't help starting to stroke it gently, feeling him stiffen even more as my fingers excited the prominent flange around his cock head.
"Don't stop", he murmured as I pulled my hand away once I realised what I was doing. "Please, please, sir....". And somehow it seemed churlish to do so, as it was pretty harmless really, and somehow felt so right. I suppose if he hadn't been so constrained by Victorian morals, Darwin would have told us that the human hand and the human dick have evolved together so that one is so perfectly suited to the other! I also didn't care when Brad's stream of cum shot all over my belly as we lay there so close. And when he pulled me tight up against him and again pressed his lips to mine, I could no longer resist - it was if the waves of cum smell coming up from the bed had acted as some sort of aphrodisiac.
In the early hours of the morning I was half awake - I guess I was still not used to all those little ways that two people evolve so that they can move a bit in bed without disturbing their partner - and as my eyes opened Brad saw me as he was awake too and our heads were together so we were expiring our hot breath over each other.
"OK, sir?" He whispered.
"Yes."
I saw a serious look start to play over his face, and thought I'd done something wrong. I mean, are you supposed to say "Fabulous!", or something? I'd never done any of this with a guy, remember, and perhaps the rules are different than when you're with bitches.
"It's OK, Brad... Fine... It was...", I paused, surprised at the word that came bubbling up to the top of my brain "....fantastic."
He sensed that I was somehow awkward or embarrassed, and stroked my hair gently. He moved a bit so we were positioned even more comfortably, our legs intertwined and our dicks touching, and went on "I'm glad, sir. It was good for me, too." There was one of those long pauses that add layers of meaning to conversation, and he added "I was such a fool!"
"What do you mean?"
"Master Walter said you were new here, you were only just able to start work as you were sixteen, right?"
"Uh huh."
"I mean I was such a fool to fuck things up. I fell out with my wife big time as she found out I'd been putting it around a bit - only a bit, once a month or so, nothing serious. Then she wouldn't let me have free access to my son, so I stopped paying the alimony in return. And the next thing I knew, I was enslaved for debt - the lawyers she hired to make me pay up tripled the bill, and it was more than I could afford. And if I hadn't done that, hadn't thought I was a big man who needed to use his dick around the town, I wouldn't be you here now, Steve. I'd be at home, in my own bed - and, who knows, my own son might have been with me.... He's a few months older than you."
"So how old are you, Brad?", I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"Thirty six. I've been a slave for eight years, as all this stuff happened when I was twenty eight and ought to have known better."
I lay there not wanting to say much - I mean, dad was thirty seven, and here I was having sex with a guy who was about the same age as him. I didn't know what to say or think, really - I remembered some stuff I'd read on the internet when I'd been doing a history project on ancient Greece and it went on about how it was considered that older Greeks had a "duty" to train youths in the manly arts. But dad had never done anything like this with me, and yet Brad seemed to be saying that he'd happily be with his son! Actually, I couldn't even imagine dad being naked with me - I'd seen his big dick once or twice but it was by accident, and I decided that Brad's relationship with his son must have been very different. And although I liked Brad very much, when I thought of him and dad..... I was so confused, and fortunately I was saved from further troubled thoughts by drifting into sleep.
The next morning Brad and I didn't do anything, as I must have been exhausted as I slept on and on. I was brought out of a deep, deep sleep by Walter dragging the sheets off us and slapping my butt. I thought it was a nightmare at first - you know how it is when you wake very suddenly like that - until I realised it was reality and he was indeed there laughing at us, and pointing at Brad and me - or, rather, at our dicks, as we were both rock hard. I ought to have been embarrassed by another guy seeing me like that, but somehow I wasn't.
"Sorry, Steve!", he laughed. "No time to do anything about that now. If you want to catch that bus, you'd better get moving...."
"I'll skip a shower, and have one at home...", I muttered, still half asleep.
"I think not! It's pretty obvious what you and the slave have been doing.... There's dried cum all over you...."
I sat up with a start and got to my feet, kind of trying to hide my dick that was bobbing around as we all know they do when they're erect and there's sudden movement. I heard and faintly felt Brad glide out of bed behind me, and he stood so close to me that I swear I could feel the heat of his body radiating out at me. It made my dick jerk even harder.
All four of us showered - Brad attended to me, and the waiter to Walter, and if I thought about it, I suppose I was surprised at how I was losing my inhibitions. The previous week I'd been shocked at the way the waiter had ministered to Walter in the shower and hadn't wanted Brad to touch me, really. Now, as the big man ran his soapy hands all over me, knelt down so he could clean between my toes, and finally slid his hand down my ass crack, I actually relished it. I began to think that if I ever had a slave I'd use him in the showers as especially in the mornings all that soaping and stuff is really boring. And, of course, Walter and I drove the waiter and Brad into the shower in front of us, so they could stand there under the icy water, hopping around, as they tried to get it to the right temperature for us. It was comical, really, to see the slim young guy and the big chunky older one dancing around like that as we had ordered them in first.
If I'm to move on with this tale of my life, I am going to have to condense things a bit. So suffice it to say that over the next three months I really worked at being a valet at the Club, and really looked forward to being there on Saturday evenings - I didn't mind missing the parties that my class mates were giving, as I was making money, and getting really good sex without any of the effort that usually accompanied it. I didn't need to spend hours in smoky rooms, the music too loud, drinking myself into a half stupor to keep up with the other guys, and expending endless time and effort trying to persuade some bitch or other to put out for me. I didn't have the worry of "will she, won't she", I wasn't held up to ransom by bitches only letting me go so far until the next date, and I didn't have all that discomfort of a quick in-and-out as it's hard for sixteen year olds to find somewhere where they can fuck undisturbed. And unlike my classmates, I wasn't worried that I might have torn the condom or something and be anxiously waiting for "that time in the month" so I could know I was safe.
That did happen to one guy, actually: he got landed with a kid to support at sixteen, and most of us knew what was going to happen to him eventually - he had to quit school and take rubbish jobs that didn't pay a lot but which were considered unsuitable for slaves, like being a barristo in a cafe (it was considered that slaves might spit into the drinks so this low-grade job was for free whiteys). There was no way he was going to be able to support a wife (they were made to marry by their parents) and the kid, and slavery for debt was not a question of "if" but only of "when". Back in the start of the century I'd read that guys like me didn't have to worry about this stuff, as all the bitches would take contraceptive pills, but of course the "new morality" that came in with slavery insisted that we "save ourselves" for marriage, and so such things were only available to married women who wished to limit their families. They kept saying that sex was a sin, so we shouldn't be doing it, and so contraceptive pills would be doing the "devil's work" by encouraging fornication. When I fucked and my dick was numbed by some vile plastic, inhibiting the sensations, I felt like screaming at the politicians to get a life - it's natural to fuck, and people are going to do it anyway. But of course he politicians were in the pay of the church, so I had to suffer because of some crap written in the bible.
I discovered after a few weeks that I could make more money at the Club, though: I've told you that most of the valets were the sons or nephews of members, and, frankly, they were there because their families wanted them to be seen to be working. They didn't give a fuck about the job, and got me to do most of it for them. And there were offhand and casual to the guests, just thrusting the numbered valet slips at the driver, and immediately turning away to carry on with their conversations with the other guys. I wasn't in those conversations much, so I had a bit more time, and mom and dad had always told me that politeness costs nothing. So when I handed a driver a slip, I said "Have a good evening, sir". And when I brought a vehicle around, I kept control of the slave until he had stopped properly as near to the waiting passengers as possible, then opened the doors for them and said "Safe journey!".
Well politeness may cost nothing, but it certainly pays! I started to get tips - a couple of cents usually, but sometimes five or even ten cents. It mounted up over the course of the night, although it was pretty sickening sometimes to hear the comments like "He's such a nice polite boy - what a pity he's the wrong colour! If he was a nigga I'd invite him around and get him interested in Shekwanda...." - I may have that name wrong as I never understood why the niggers all wanted to use this strange shit from Africa, It was supposed to be in honour of their ancestors or some crap, but, frankly, their ancestors were slaves and who'd want to honour that? Well, they were slaves except for the ones who were selling their fellows to the slavers, that is.
Brad and I never really did a whole lot more than I've told you about. There was no way I was going to fuck him or let him fuck me, and I was not going to put his dick in my mouth: I knew that there were limits, and having him jerk me off or suck me off was OK, and I could just about square m conscience to jerk him off in return, but that was it: I wasn't gay, and I rationalised that as far as we went was just kind of normal, the sort of things that any two horny guys might do together. Well, the bits I did were - I wasn't so sure about Brad, who kept kissing me and playing with my body and stuff. Although I knew I was lying to myself a bit, I suppose: although I thought it was "normal", I never even suggested any of it to the guys at school, or told them about what I got up to with Brad! And in the showers after gym and practice I was always a bit worried - would anyone think that the finger marks on my back and the "hickeys" on my neck were not from a bitch? I had to endure a lot of comments about "Steve the stud having been at the bitches again" from my class mates, and all the time inside I knew it was different.
End Of Part Five