Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 22

By Donny Mumford

Waking up Friday morning, my back is aching from sleeping on this 'effing too-soft couch. I sit up, listening but not hearing movement or talking. Good, no one else is up. Rubbing my face, I decide what I need to do today. One, get Bruce cleaned up. Two, explain who Bruce is to Cowboy and Lee, without mentioning the words 'pussy boys'. Three, pay the hotel bill and get the hell out of NYC. After that, we'll see...

Checking my cell phone, it's quarter to nine. Huh, well, I had about seven hours of sleep, which will have to be enough. Something else I need to do is get toiletry items for Bruce, or else he'll use mine. I slept in my clothes, so they're wrinkled, but I don't bother changing to go down to the gift shop for a toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor and shaving creme, deodorant, aftershave, and what else? He doesn't need a comb, but I get one for him anyway and then pay for everything.

Carrying the plastic bag of toiletry items back to the suite, I take a deep breath and open the door to my bedroom, expecting to experience Bruce's BO, and it is here in the room, but it isn't nearly as strong as it was last night. At some point last night, Bruce woke up, probably needing to take a piss, and washed the dried cum from around his mouth. When getting back in bed, he got under the covers, which is now where the strong BO scent is hiding. Yeah, but that's okay. Huh, you'd never know from just looking at him the trauma he endured for almost five days.

Shaking my head, I go into the bathroom and do everything I normally do in there, including a long hot shower. While doing that, I try to be realistic... what can I do about the horrible time Bruce had there in the funhouse. Sure, I'm like to go bat-shit on these people, but that wouldn't help Bruce. Then, when I come out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, Bruce is awake, laying on his side, looking at me. He says, "What happened last night? How'd I get here?"

Confused, I'm like, "You mean you don't remember anything about last night?" He goes, "Um, I guess I do now that I see you in person, but I thought it was a dream or something. It didn't seem real that you were there, then when I woke up here and knew it wasn't a dream, I still don't understand any of it."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I put my hand on his forehead to see if he's feverish. He isn't, so that's good. I'm like, "What drug were you on?" He shrugs, "I don't know, but all of us were taking pills Tyron put out in little dishes each day." I go, "Tyron?" and he's like, "He was in charge of the six of us. He's a mean motherfucker who paddled us almost every day. If he didn't have a reason to paddle one of us, he'd make one up."

Blowing out my cheeks, then exhaling slowly to keep myself from exploding, I act calm, saying, "That's horrendous. Um, is your head clear now?" He goes, "I think it is, but I feel fucked up. I'm hollow inside; I feel hollow." I go, "That sounds like the drug withdrawal symptoms I experienced, um, one time." The one time was when his druggie friend, Bret, gave me that pill, but why mention that now?

I say, "What I need to know now that you're thinking more clearly is, do you wish you were back at the funhouse, or are you glad you're not there?" He goes, "In the dream, I said I wanted to leave, and awake; I say the same thing. I was there for what, four days? That means I'd have at least fifty-six more days. Not all of them in the funhouse; most of those days, I'd be expected to, for free, do tricks with older members, whatever they wanted. I'm not tough enough to take that shit for two months. I realized I was too weak to do any of it after one day." Nodding, I murmur, "So, you're glad to be free of that?" Two big clear tears run down his cheeks as he nods his head once.

Okay, that's the right answer, so let's get to it. When I pull the covers off him, his ripe scent fills my olfactory glands, so I make an unintentional 'face,' and Bruce mutters, "I'm sorry. I know, I stink. We all stank because there weren't any showers at the funhouse. Tyron told us we stunk so bad that doing blowjobs behind the wall was all we were good for." I say, "I might need to find out where Tryon lives and give him some lessons in decency." Bruce says, "I wish you would kill him." I mutter, "Nobody is killing anybody."

Bruce is still naked, of course, so I can't help but glance at his seven-inch penis. It makes my shorter penis quiver, but I'm not expecting anything sexual from Bruce any time soon. I go, "How about a shower?" He nods, saying, "Omigod, yes! I can't wait, except would you put more of that creme on my ass cheeks first. They're still tender, and I'm afraid of hot water hitting them, um..." I go, "Oh, sure. You want a barrier, sort of."

Adding more Hemp creme to the load I put on last night probably won't make any difference, but it won't hurt anything either. Bruce rolls off his side unto his stomach, and I get the creme and apply a lot of it to his hard-to-look-at buttocks. There are wide paddle welts, and the skin is bruised and colored purple to green, different shades in between. There's no reason to mention this to Bruce, but I wasn't as big a baby about my paddled sore ass as Bruce is. Well, I suppose he was paddled more than I was, so...

Anyway, with a thick coating of Hemp cream covering every inch of his butt cheeks, Bruce goes into the bathroom to take a shower. I put out a t-shirt, boxer shorts, and cargo shorts from my clothes for him to wear. He can continue wearing the flip-flops from last night for now. Then, closing the bedroom door behind me, I'm forming in my mind what to tell Cowboy as an explanation for Bruce.

Oh, Cowboy's up now; he's sitting on the couch fiddling with the TV remote. Looking at me, he grins, saying, "Did you forget to use deodorant yesterday, bro?" I mumble, "You know better than that, Cowboy. The unpleasant odor is from my friend who slept here last night." Cowboy smirks, "And his BO was so bad you needed to sleep on this couch, huh? Nice pick-up, bro."

I snort out a chuckle, muttering, "Sarcasm noted, wise-ass," then, "No, he isn't a pick-up; not exactly. Um, I knew him from Atlantic City. We, um, had a few intimate moments ya might say." Cowboy is casually playing a video game, staring hard at the TV screen, saying, "Uh-huh, so how did he wind up here smelling like a hobo?"

Shrugging, I go, "I don't know exactly. I mean, I was at a bar on forty-second street talking up this hot sailor when Bruce," nodding my head at the bedroom, "That's his name, Bruce Dunlop, texted me saying he knew I was somewhere in NYC and could I help him? He was mugged yesterday, spent time in the emergency ward, was interrogated by the police as he was looking at mug shots, and, I don't know what else... all kinds of shit. Then they set him loose without money on anything. It was late, so he spent the night in an alley. Whatever else, hell, I don't know 'cause I don't have the whole story yet."

Cowboy goes, "Damn!" because one of his things in the video game got killed. Shrugging, I add, "What he should have done was stay overnight in the hospital 'cause he had a concussion. He wasn't thinking straight, though. After wandering around all day on the mean streets of NYC, in a fog, he finally got someone to let him use their cell phone and texted me."

Cowboy, only half listening, curses at the game again, then drops the remote and goes, "That sounds fucked up, Zach." Shrugging again, I go, "Yeah, it does, but that's all I know. Anyway, he's here. We got kinda tight back in AC, so I'm helping him out." Cowboy sprawls out on the couch, looking sexy and cool, mumbling, "You're a good guy. I already knew that, so of course, you'd help him out."

When telling a big lie, it's best to stop as soon as possible. Too many details can complicate the lie until it's obvious you're telling a lie, even to the most dimwitted among us, and Cowboy is far from dimwitted. Changing the subject, I ask, "Is Lee still sleeping?" Cowboy grins, "Yeah, heh-heh, he almost got his dick my ass last night. It was almost awesome. Omigod, the hot making out we were into, and then he's sucking my pecker, murmuring, "I'm going to fuck you silly, Carson. Then he shoots off on my butt cheeks breathing like he was dying."

I'm dubious that's an accurate version of what happened and mumble, "So, why didn't it work out?" He grins mischievously, "Oh man, I'm not always as prepared as you are. I don't think ahead too much; I'm extemporaneous, ya know? We didn't have a condom or lube handy, and he gets too aroused, and... Hey, it's fun though. I almost had a coronary laughing."

Turning the tables on him, I smirk, saying, "That sounds fucked up, Cowboy," and he laughs out loud, then says, "Some of it's true." Lee comes out of the bathroom; his short hair still wet from the shower. He jumps on Cowboy, saying, "I heard that lie! That's not what happened, you bullshit artist," and they sort of fake-wrestle on the couch giggling and groping one another. I roll my eyes and go out on the balcony for a cigarette, thinking, "That's a good enough lie about Bruce to get us back to Atlantic City. I'll tell Bruce to be vague about details of his alleged mugging. That's if he needs to say anything at all. Cowboy and Lee are mostly interested in Cowboy and Lee.

Taking a deep drag off my cigarette the way Bruce does it, then shaking my head realizing I just did that. Okay, time for a bit of reality... what am I going to do with Bruce now? My high hopes about Bruce and me becoming boyfriends the way I used to fantasize need to be reevaluated. He's in a beaten-down state right now so none of his dominant personality is likely to be evident for a while. I have no idea how long it'll take for him to get over the four days of Dante's nine circles of hell, divine comedy style. Or, I may be overestimating the trama.

Bruce's dominant side probably developed from necessity being on his own for so much of his life basically just surviving. On the street, homeless, he needed to get everything out of every situation he could. He took his bossy, dominant demeanor as far as someone would let him then, like a chameleon, he adjusted to whatever personality was necessary. That included being as submissive as was necessary to get through the pussy boy crapola and become a mentor. And, he sees where that got him...

Surviving is a pretty good excuse for Bruce's dominant behavior once he attained his mentor status and it worked for him by happenstance because he got me as his recruit. Directionless me who feel for him and let all the crazy humiliating horse shit slide when I had no intention of ever being his boy on the street. So, I feel responsible for getting him back on his feet, but what do I do with my feelings about being in love with him?

Leaning on the balcony railing I need to think about something less complicated. Grinning, I think about the fun sexy time I had last night with hot little pussy boy George. I liked him, so I let him get away with a lot, sort of the way I let Bruce get away with a lot. Unfortunately, George will be disappointed when he tries the same tactics on a less willing client than me. That brings me right back to Bruce who is going to discover the world isn't full of easy-going people like me. Easy-going when I'm in a sexy situation with a guy I get a crush on. When I'm in other situations I might break someone's kneecap. Jesus!

Well, it's one day at a time but I don't pretend to know what's going to come out of all this. Dealing with immediate matters, I go inside and tell Cowboy and Lee to pack up and then go into the bedroom where I notice the bath gel scent is winning the battle against Bruce's lingering BO scent in the room. As I get out the larger of my satchels, I hear the shower shut off. I'm throwing clothes in the satchel when Bruce comes out of the bathroom, still drying himself. He quietly says, "Thanks for the toiletry things, Zach." I smile, asking, "Feeling any better?" He goes, "Um, shouldn't you fold those clean clothes before putting them in there."

He didn't say that with any authority, but it was a touch of his familial bossiness so, to encourage that, I mumble, "Good idea," and take the clothes out to fold them before putting them neatly back in the satchel. As I'm doing that, I ask, "How are your sore butt cheeks coming along?" He rubs his short hair with the towel, saying, "Numb, they feel numb. That Hemp creme is a miracle worker. Is there any left?" I nod, "Uh-huh, enough for one more application. Lay on your stomach."

He does that, murmuring, "I'm all fucked up and I don't know how to thank you enough for getting me out of there. I, um, I had a little cry of relief in the shower." I go, "Oh man, I'm so sorry what happened to you." He goes, "That prick Tyron paddled us for no reason. When I paddled you, or I got paddled as a recruit, that was necessary, because we needed to learn to do what we're told. I understand that, but this paddling of me and the others was done simply to break our will."

As I'm scraping the last of the creme out of the container, spreading it on his plump, firm, grossly discolored buttocks, I try not to look at them. Hoping to keep him talking, I ask, "Did it work with you." He goes, "Oh, yeah. I found out I'm like a girl crying and begging for Tyron to stop. I whimpered and did whatever Tyron said. I took the drugs he put in front of me and, literally, was in a state where I didn't know if I was awake or dreaming half the time I was there." I mumble, "This shit is hard to hear, Bruce. I'm so sorry, but would you repeat this to the police?" He mutters, "Nope," and I recall what the two pussy boys in the club's parking lot told me about that.

No sense pressing him on that, so I mumble, "Um, that's all the Hemp creme there is. I hope your ass will be able to tolerate the ride to AC." He goes, "It's feeling so much better, but do we need to go to Atlantic City?" I say, "Yes, we do. Don't worry, Bruce, none of those assholes are stupid enough to come near us. They're holding their breath hoping you don't go to the cops." He murmurs, to himself I think, "How did you even find me. I can't believe I'm here. I don't know what I'm going to do now, but..."

I say, "Let's take it, as cliched as it is to say this, we'll take it one day at a time, okay?" Bruce nods his head and goes, "I guess. You probably saved my life 'cause in rare lucid moments, I thought I'd hit bottom, and all my struggling to have success at one fucking thing after another was a failure. I've failed at everything I've tried and was thinking of doing stupid things."

Man, this poor guy! Closing my satchel, I point at the clothes I laid out for Bruce, saying, "Yeah, well, that fucked up organization failed you, Bruce. You didn't fail it. But, for now, how about if you get dressed and I'll introduce you to the boys I'm traveling with." As he gets dressed, I fill him in on who Cowboy is and why I'm looking out for him.

Bruce goes, "You know, Zach, I take a little credit for the fact you're trying a leadership role with the brother of your friend." What the fuck? He's taking credit for, um... huh? He's not thinking straight and that's understandable. On the other hand, he only knows me as the imposture I was pretending I'd be his boy on the street. Now he also knows me as his rescuer but probably thinks of that as the Navy Seal part of me. He doesn't know the real me. Well, I'm only finding out who the real me is myself, so...

Bruce shakes his head, adding, "Holy shit, so you gave a for-real deathbed promise to your best bud? That's like in a movie." Then he looks around frowning and saying, "But, I mean, this isn't just a hotel room, is it? You said those other guys have their own bedroom, so this is part of a suite. You've got a suite at the fucking Waldorf Astoria? How can you afford that?"

Rubbing my nose, I mumble, "I've got some things to tell you. I haven't been honest with you about some, um, vital facts, but let's not get into all that it now. There are more immediate things to deal with. For one thing..." and I tell him the lie I told Cowboy about Bruce being mugged and concussed, blah, blah, blah, ending with, "So neither Cowboy nor his friend, Lee, have any knowledge of the pussy boy organization, and I want to keep it that way." He goes, "You'll get no argument about that from me about that. Jesus, I hope nobody ever finds out what I was made to do at that club."

Then he murmurs, mumbles, to himself, "After I gave my heart and soul to those sonofabitches, it's humiliating what they did to me." Hmm, odd that he doesn't think I was humiliated doing all that training bullshit. His rationalization about paddling tells me he still believes that off-the-wall training involving paddling was valid, but not his paddling in the club. As I said, he's not thinking straight yet. I hope to help him see the world differently in time.

The last thing I tell him before leaving the bedroom is, "Bruce; I have a plan for what you might do following this nightmare. If you chose to, you could have a brighter future than you may have ever imagined. Everything is going to turn out okay." He goes, "Really? I can't imagine how." I go, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, but there are options you don't know about. For now, you need some time to heal."

He's like, "But Zach, how, um, what can I even do without...?" I go, "One 'effing day at a time, Bruce. Now you need to meet the boys and have breakfast; then we'll get the fuck out of Dodge." Walking out of the bedroom, he goes, "Dodge?" Maybe getting a little annoyed with all his obtuseness, I go, "It's just a dumb saying, um, don't worry about it." Now I feel bad for saying that a little too forcefully.

In the living room, I'm not surprised to see Lee has his stuff ready to go, his suitcase near the living room door. I drop mine next to his, saying, "Lee meet Bruce Dunlop, Bruce this fine young man is Lee Patrick." They nod and bump fists, mumbling, "Whassup?" Bruce looks okay, it's his buttocks that took the brunt of his mistreatment, and his mouth too, of course.

Lee asks, "How do you guys know each other?" I mumble, "Oh, um, Bruce is from Atlantic City. I met him there." That's all the information Lee's apparently interested in as he turns on the TV video game. Cowboy wasn't interested enough in what I told him about Bruce to even mention it to Lee. Perfect!

Bruce appears uncomfortable, though, so I mumble, "Ya know, Lee, you guys are the same age." He looks over, "Oh, yeah?" He turns to Bruce, "Bro, wasn't it awesome finally graduating high school in the spring?" Bruce goes, "Yeah, awesome," and, to get off that topic, I'm like, "What's Cowboy doing?" Lee goes, "I'll go check on him."

He goes into the bedroom as Bruce says, "Cowboy? He's not a real cowboy, right?" I explain that situation, and then Cowboy comes out with his suitcase. He's not a neat suitcase packer, and there's a t-shirt sleeve caught on the outside when he closed the suitcase. Anyway, I introduce him to Bruce, and now we're all caught up and on our way out of here.

We all want to get out of the city for different reasons, so we're skipping breakfast. As Cowboy and Lee are getting take-out coffees from the cafe, Bruce sticks close to me as I go to the checkout desk, pay with my AMEX card, and then get a valet kid to bring up the BMW. When we're all outside, I'm like, "If you want, we'll get something to eat on the way." They shrug, and the never-shy Cowboy, tells Bruce, "You've got the shotgun seat, dude My boyfriend and I will sit in the back probably having sex."

Oh, that's right, I forgot to tell Bruce the boys are gay. He looks at Cowboy funny-like, so I mutter, "He's not serious, Bruce, although they are a couple of gay lads." Bruce goes, "Oh," and we all get in the car. Cowboy has his arm around the back of Lee's neck, pulling Lee against him, then he asks, "Can you put the top down, Zach?" It's a beautiful day, so I do that and pull away from the hotel feeling good that the reason for coming to New York City is sitting next to me. Mission accomplished although I don't know what to do with him now.

I'm dealing with stop-and-go traffic getting out of the city as Cowboy says, "That old dude Lewis Mumford was right when he defined a city as a place where you have the most option in the least space. That's NYC for sure." Lee goes, "He also coined the phrase for humanity... 'organic humanism'. A visionary social critic, author, and other things I can't recall." Cowboy goes, "I can't either," and I go, "Please, don't try remembering anything else." Bruce is oblivious, staring out the window at nothing.

Out of the city, with the top-down, talking becomes problematic because of the road-noise factor, plus I put the radio on 105.5 FM, a rock music station, to further discourage conversation. I need to think. Not to be deterred, the boys in the back yell to talk with each other. Yell and laugh over the traffic noise and wind, while Bruce and I don't talk during the drive. He's sort of shrunk in on himself. I offered to stop after about an hour, but Bruce doesn't say anything one way or the other, and the boys want me to drive right through to Atlantic City, so that's what I do.

When I'm driving in AC, Bruce says, "I don't want to go to my apartment. What if Richard is there, or he posted one of his enforcers there? By now, he's been told what happened." I say, "No problem. We don't need to go there now. When you want to, I'll go in with you and, actually, I pray to God Richard or one of his enforcers is there. I'll be able to take my frustration out on them for the way you've been mistreated. I look forward to that!"

Bruce makes a face looking nervous, so I'm like, "Bruce, forget about that dipshit Richard being at your apartment. No one will be there." He nods without seeming convinced, mumbling, "Not now, please." I'm like, "No, of course not. There's no hurry. I hope you'll stay with the boys and me. For a while anyway." He says, "You are so 'effing kind, Zach. That would make me feel safe, um, that is, I mean better. Ya know, for a while anyway, yeah, thanks."

Parking at the hotel, we all get out with Cowboy saying, "New York City was fun, but I, for one, am glad to be back in AC. I need to work some more on my tan so my boyfriend will continue thinking I'm beautiful." Lee's getting his suitcase, mumbling, "You're beautiful enough already, Carson. I've gotta text my boss. See if he needs me to work a shift this weekend."

See, the boys have their personal agendas; they're not concerned about Bruce's story. I leave the car parked conveniently in a spot reserved for guests' registration, and we carry our stuff up to the suite. Christ, going inside is like coming home, haha. We've been here almost a month. I touch Bruce's arm, "We're in here," and he follows me into my bedroom; cowboy and Lee going into their bedroom.

Dropping my suitcase, Bruce, holding his bag of new toiletry items, mumbles, "I'm still don't know how the fuck you can afford these suites, Zach. Plus, that super-hot BMW." I'm like, "Hold off on that for now. As I said earlier, I've got a lot to tell you, but for now, let's take get settled in here." He gives me a funny look as he drops the bag of toiletries on the bed. He mutters, "I'm no freeloader, I have some money I'll give you for my share of staying here." I shake my head, "That's not necessary, Bruce. It cost the same whether you're here or not. There's no extra charge.

He looks dubious, so I say, "Look, you did your best to try taking care of me during those three weeks of bogus mentoring/training so I'll take care of you the best I can now." Almost anyone would expect Bruce to disagree that he took care of me for three weeks, but I know Bruce, and I know he thinks he most certainly was taking care of me. He confirms my assumption by saying, "To be honest, as fucked up as I feel right now, it's hard for me to think of switching roles with you, and I don't think I should. When I'm feeling better, I have a responsibility to continue mentoring you in some ways. Not about pussy boy training, obviously, but about helping you with self-improvement."

Jesus H Christ! Well, I suppose it's good for his self-image that he feels that way. Better than him being maudlin, feeling sorry for himself. He adds, "I became so invested, fanatical even about looking out for your best interest that, well, I feel I'd be disappointing you if I weren't there for you to lean on as your leader." I'm flabbergasted by that viewpoint of his, just staring at him. He misinterprets my lack of a response to that delusional conclusion, and he goes, "No, not right now. I need to get my shit together first, but I will." I nod, "Uh-huh," and he goes, "Plus, I know how you feel about me, and it's okay, and I won't take advantage of you because of your feelings for me."

That is so Bruce to mention being my leader when he gets back to feeling okay again. I had a leader in Ronny, and, more and more, I'm seeing where that's gotten me. I want a boyfriend, not a leader. He can be a bossy boyfriend if he needs to be; I'd think that was cool. Yeah, but if he wants to consider himself my leader I'll let him think that. Hell, I've played a role with him from the minute I met him, so maybe the best way to ease out of the playacting is to do it little by little until it isn't an issue with him anymore.

Plus, he doesn't need any more shocking revelations right now. He chased his pussy boy dreams into the ground, which is shock enough for him to handle. He opens his arms, murmuring, "Can I give you a hug for getting me out of that shit storm." We wrap our arms around one another, and it's a tight squeezing hug swaying side to side a little, the sides of our faces touching, and it's quite an effective hug. Well, it's the best hug I've ever gotten from anyone.

Bruce lets go, "Gee, Zach, that's the best hug I've ever had in my life." I nod, "Yeah, me too." He does his little cuter-than-shit grin and adds, "I fucked up your chances of being a pussy boy, but I'll make it up to you in other ways, you'll see." I go, "Thanks, Bruce."

We're both promising to take care of one another. That's cool, and it's good enough for now. Bruce snorts out a sarcastic-sounding laugh, muttering, "After just saying I'll continue helping you, I need your help if Richard or his thugs are at the apartment or come after me." I go, "Yeah, I'll be the muscle of our outfit, and you'll be the brains." He still needs some work developing a sense of humor, he goes, "Don't make fun of me, Zach." I rub his shoulder, "It was a joke, Bruce. I joke too much. Sorry."

He goes, "Oh, that's okay," and I'm like, "Let's go get your shit from the apartment." He doesn't want to though, saying, "Please, can we do that tomorrow? I'm really tired and I know I slept ten hours last night, but I'm still tired." I nod, "Sure. Take a nap." He mumbles, "Thanks," and lies on the bed. When I'm unpacked, he's asleep.

We don't go to his apartment the next day either. Bruce is lethargic and doesn't want to do anything. I can barely get him to eat. He doesn't want to even leave the suite and I feel obligated to stay here with him. On the third day, I get him to the beach for two hours and he seems to be coming around a little, but he doesn't say much. I'm not sure what to do except give him time.

Cowboy and Lee are understanding, still believing the mugging concussion story. On the fourth day, Bruce has a crying jag in the morning, but an hour later he joins me on the balcony for a smoke, saying, "I've been a pussy, Zach. Plus, I'm letting you down. I've been a shit-poor leader for you, but I'm getting myself together. I had a good talk with myself after that embarrassing crying jag and I'm ready to go with you and get my stuff from the apartment. I don't give a shit if Richard has the place staked out or not."

During the short drive to his apartment, Bruce tells me, "I've still got about $500 from my last video work in Florida, but I'll need to get some type of menial job. I won't accept charity, so we'll need to work out how I can contribute to paying my way. Realistically, I can't afford one-fourth of the suite cost, though." I say, "Yeah, well, I can't afford it much longer either. We'll look into a cheaper arrangement." Even I realize I can't live in a four-and five-star hotel suite forever, even with a $200,000 a year trust fund. Hmm, Cowboy isn't the only one who doesn't plan ahead very well.

At Bruce's apartment, as I expected, there isn't anyone waiting for Bruce. His clothes are all in place neat as a pin, but he doesn't have a suitcase. I tell him I'll put his clothes in the duffle bag he uses as a suitcase while he informs the rental people he's moving out. His arrangement was a month-to-month lease, so that simplifies matters. He does that, then leaves a text explaining to his ex-roommate, who hasn't shared the costs for three months, that he, Bruce, has moved.

After doing that, Bruce gathers some personal items. Then he mutters, "I don't need these anymore," and takes all the pussy boy items to the dumpster. He saved a medium-sized butt plug, saying, "They'll be times when I might decide you need to wear a butt plug for a bit, Zach, but only on rare occasions when, well, never mind that now. You have the dog collar, right?" I mumble, "Nope, throw it out," And he shrugs, "Yeah, you're right." I take it and toss it in the trash bin.

He cleans out his bathroom, saying, "Some of the new toiletry things you bought me are better than the ones I have here, but I'll keep the old ones as a backup." When everything is packed, he goes over every inch of the apartment taking way more time than necessary, finally saying, just before I'm about to scream with impatience, "Okay, that's it; we have everything."

Then, as we're about to leave, I'm looking around, feeling weirdly nostalgic, recalling twenty-one days spent here with him while, I think, I was falling in love with him despite the humiliating treatment. How fucked up is that?. Bruce must be feeling some of the same thing as we look at each other. Looking into my eyes, Bruce seriously says, "You're eyes give you away, as they always do, Zachery. Let's try one last time, for old time's sake." I'm like, "Are you, um, able, er, I mean, up for this?" He goes, "Well, get undressed, and we'll see."

Fearing he won't be able to, um, perform sending him further down the rabbit how, I hesitate, "Um, you're sure, Bruce? I thought that it would be longer, um..." He goes, "I'm not leaving you hanging any longer. I know how you feel about me and I can imagine how much you've been missing sex with me."

I go, "Yeah, but it's only been four days since the club, and..." He's pulled a polo shirt I lent him off, asking, "What have you been doing for sex when I was in that fucking funhouse?" I unconsciously grope my junk, mumbling, "Um, well, I, ah, the NYC street pussy boys..." He goes, "You hired pussy boys?" Nodding, I shrug, and he's like, "That's understandable, logical even, but I'm here now." I guess I'm still looking dubious because he says, "My ass was injured, not my dick. Go ahead, get undressed."

This could be fabulous for his recovery, or disastrous. I didn't expect he'd be able to have sex this soon after sucking stranger's cocks behind a plywood wall for ten hours a day, three or four days straight.

As Bruce is taking off and folding the shorts I lent him, I get completely naked, and, as he said, for old time's sake, I stand at attention. He shakes his head, "No, don't do that, Zach. It's okay for us to be more casual with everything now that your recruit days are over. That was a nice gesture, though."

Forcing out a chuckle, I go, "Oh fuck, I feel like a dork for doing that, but habits are hard to break, ya know?" He looks pensive, murmuring, "Damn, I did a fabulous job of training you, but all for naught as we'll never know what a great team we would have been" Yeah, right!

Dropping to my knees, I gently pick up my favorite penis... Bruce's. And he doesn't smell of BO now; he smells of the French bath gel from the Waldorf bathroom. Actually, I wish he smelled like himself.

As I usually do, I suck on the head of his penis, and wow, I've missed doing this, and here I thought I'd be put off doing oral sex after seeing the dried cum around Bruce's mouth that night. Nope, not so. Bruce's penis has a normal-looking mushroom head not too big and not too small; it's just right. I lick and suck on the head until I feel firmness growing in his cock, which, in this case, took a mere fifteen seconds. I forget that Bruce has had zero normal sex since being sent to the perverted club, only the non-arousing obscene hole in the wall blowjobs.

As I'm sucking and licking the head of his dick, Bruce has a hand on either side of my head making "Ssss," sounds at the sensations coming from his penis. He exhales noisily, then resorts back to his mentor days, mumbling, "Remember your training," and he pulls my head forward until my face is squished flat against his groin, which forces three inches of his cock into my throat.

Still not sure how this will go, I don't want to disappoint Bruce. When he pulls his hips back, his cock slides very tightly out of my throat and he goes, "Good, you're doing good but when I'm sliding my cock out, remember that you're supposed to have tighter lip pressure on the shaft," and his hips hump what is now a ridiculously hard boner deep into my throat again, then he does it again, leaving it there this time and gently humps his groin against my face.

When I'm sure I'm going to pass out for lack of oxygen, Bruce pulls his cock out my throat and then slides it all the way out of my mouth on my tongue, leaving behind a long string of pre-cum. Now his boner, all seven inches, is sticking straight as an arrow out from his body, his balls looking hard and heavy. He rubs my head, murmuring, "Good that you retained most of your deep throat training. No whimpering or gagging. I'm impressed, but we need a condom from that bag of my personal items."

My cock, wicked hard too, bobs as I walk on my knees to rustle my hand in the plastic bag of miscellaneous items that Bruce is bringing with him, finally coming up with a condom packet. It's exciting, I'm excited that Bruce is about to fuck me. He's coming out of his stupor.

I say, "This is an unexpected thrill, Bruce. He goes, "It's me who's thrilled," and I roll on the condom. He says, "Doggy style." I drop my hands to the floor and push my ass up high. He slaps it, then slaps it again, and I lift off my knees, putting weight on my toes, to get my ass up higher. Bruce mutters, "Don't slack off from what I've taught you," then mutters, "Um, ignore me, I... No, I don't want to ignore him because I had a little shiver of submissiveness when he said that.

My toes are aching, but I don't care; I push my ass up even higher. Bruce is only two inches shorter than me, and my ass is now at the height of his boner so he can drive it straight in, which he does, and I yelp at the sudden pain. The pain I experience has never bothered or concerned Bruce much, and he goes right ahead, forcing all seven inches in tightly, then pulls on my hips getting my buttocks as tight against his crotch as possible. He moans, "Ooh, Jesus, this feels so good, so familiar, so perfect."

All but one of the pussy boys prostitutes were very good, but Bruce is on a higher level. He creates more arousal and sexual heat in me than any two pussy boys put together, plus there's his natural dominant way and his cluelessness of thinking there's nothing unusual about me immediately following his instructions.

This is what I've been waiting for though, seven inches of Bruce's hard boner... and a little dominance too. Feeling submissive is the main reason I immediately became so enamored about bottoming again. Bruce begins fucking me as only he can. It's fast "Slap, slap, slap," sounds as he starts by doing three or four-inch hard thrusting until he's got my rectum totally opened up for him. He mutters, "Good, just like I remember..."

Then, I start moaning at the long drives he's doing now, seven-inch drives up my rectum igniting immense reaction from nerve endings inside me. I've read that only the anus and prostate gland have nerve endings, but I beg to differ. To me, the pleasure radiates from every inch of my rectum being electrified by Bruce's perfect boner. Sure, the most pleasure comes from my prostate and the itchy irresistible sensations from my overly-stretched anus, but I feel all of his seven inches inside me as well.

I didn't expect it would be a very long pleasure ride, and it isn't. After three minutes of exquisite sexual pleasure, I let out a shrill girlie squeal humping my hips as a hard long stream of cum, burning my piss slit, roars out, sending me into a shuddering fit of pleasure. From the desperate breathy sound he made, I'm assuming Bruce fired his load into the condom almost the same instance I fired off my hot climax. We often climaxed together.

Jesus, that was an orgasm to remember with its after-effects now sizzling around my balls and cock. My shoulders shudder again, and Bruce pulls out, murmuring, "Christ, I needed that." We both became hooked on one another's other's attributes to our anal sex, his cock, and my ass. After three weeks of three fucks a day, his boner and my ass go together like peanut butter and jelly. Bruce murmurs, "Motherfucker, that was was damn good. Wow, you've got a great ass for fucking, Zach." I'm still on my hands and knees, a shiver going up my back, as I, in almost a whine, go, "Do you wanna do some more, Bruce?"

He goes, "Hell, yeah," and rams his semi-hard cock up my wide-opened ass and pounds the seven inches of his semi-hard penis back and forth. In fifteen seconds, his young cock is just as hard as it was the first time. My dick bones up again, too. He's fucking me in a frenzy, so hard I'm moving a few inches on the floor with every thrust. Bruce has his strong hands on my hips, trying to pull my ass back into his thrusting as I'm slightly sliding forward on the hardwood floor with each thrust. It's a sexy tug of war.

Bruce is grunting, and I'm moaning during the seven or eight minutes before I lift off my hands, make a garbled pleasure sound, as a three-inch shot of something, a tiny orgasm, comes out feeling like the first climax. Bruce lays on my back, forcing me down on my hands as his hips keep driving his hard cock until he squeaks, hugging around my waist, his cock as deep inside me as he can get it. Two humps against my buttocks, and with groans and sighs he adds semen to the load already in his condom. Breathing deeply, he continues lying on my back, his hot moist breath on the back of my neck.

I slowly lie down on the floor with Bruce still on me, his cock inside me. For a minute, neither of us moves, me lying on my wet orgasms. Then, with a quiet sigh, Bruce gets to his knees, and then, with a hand supporting him on my back Bruce pushes off and stands, mumbling, "Let me help you up." He gets his hands on my hips and pulls me to my knees, then I get up, smiling and saying, "That was wicked hot." He goes, "It seems we missed each other."

Nodding, I mutter, "Ya think?" I rub at the goo on my stomach. Then go to the sink and wash it off with a wet paper towel. Bruce has his pants on as he holds out the condom, mumbling, "Flush this." I hesitate, then don't want this to end on a sour note, so I take the sloppy condom from his fingers as he adds, "The real estate lady said she might have a prospective tenant for this apartment. She's going to see if they're available to look at it this afternoon, so let's get out of here."

I flush the condom, then get dressed as fast as I can, saying, "You were awesome, Bruce. How you recovered so quickly from that hideous ordeal you've been through is amazing. I mean after all that New York shit you went through, and yet you were great. That was the best fuck I've had since the last one I had with you." He steps over and we wrap our arms around each other as he's, murmuring, "I told you I wouldn't let you down."

He takes an arm from around me to use a finger, lifting my chin so he can kiss me on the mouth. My mouth opens slightly, and his tongue goes in to slide on mine as I moan. His lips make a smacking sound coming off mine, then he murmurs, "You've still got it bad for me, doncha?" I nod and get my lips on his again, but it's only a quick kiss from him this time.

He lets go of me, so I reluctantly let go too, and he says, "I'll stick by you as long as you need me to, but I can't promise to have feelings for you like you seem to have for me. I owe you, plus I really like you, but we are not lovers. I'm sorry, but we're not." I go "I know," and pick up the duffle bag, mumbling, "What's wrong with being boyfriends, though?" He goes, "Nothing. If you want to say we're boyfriends, I won't disagree with you."

So, I'm pretending he's my leader, and he's pretending I'm his boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

After putting the duffle bag in the trunk, Bruce puts the two plastic bags of toiletry stuff in there. I close the trunk, and Bruce asks, "Are you mad at me, Zach, or disappointed?" I go, "No, no, not at all. I appreciate your honesty. It's just that I do think I'm in love with you, but that's my problem, not yours." Saying that out loud just now, I know it's true... I'm in love with him, and I think I was halfway through the three weeks training period, but I've just fully admitted it to myself now. I can't begin to explain it.

He pats my shoulder, "You only think you're in love because of the mentoring process. I won't be mentoring any of that training now, though. We're not doing that. I'll only try guiding you, being a leader that you know you need and want. Hell, I wouldn't bother with it if I didn't like you so much." I guess I'm frowning because he says, "Hey, I'm flattered you think you're in love with me, really I am. I like you better than anyone I've ever known in my life. Isn't that good enough?"

He's got it in his head that I need a leader. It's from all the stuff about my life I threw up to Richard that night. Hell, I was basically hypnotized by him and told him my most personal thoughts. Richard told Bruce all of it, and now he, Bruce, thinks he's helping me in that way. If I correct his misassumption, though, maybe he wouldn't feel he has a reason to stay with me, so there's my dilemma. He already said he wouldn't accept charity, so I need him to keep thinking that leader bullshit.

As we drive back to the hotel, he bumps my arm, asking, "Are we good, Zach? Are you okay?" I force a smile, "Of course, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be with a leader and boyfriend such as you." He nods his head, agreeing with that. He doesn't lack confidence although I don't know where his confidence comes from after what he's been through. He says, "Okay, we're on the same page, so that's good. The next thing we need to do is figure out what we're going to do about moving out of that effing suite?"

I go, "Yeah, we do, but I want to discuss that with Cowboy first." Bruce goes, "Of course. We need a furnished apartment and I'm aware my apartment was a dump, but there are much better ones around the Atlantic Cape Community College. It's still Atlantic City, only a twenty-minute drive to the boardwalk and beach. We can get a month-to-month lease for one of those apartments. Some of them are furnished for students who can't commute, and the apartments are much cheaper than ones closer to the boardwalk. I looked at them before paying a higher rate for that shitbox I was living in to be close to Richard's office. And, most of the apartments are probably available as school is out. What do you think?"

Jesus, he's getting back on his feet quickly now. And he acts so 'effing mature at times. Sure, he's clueless about some things but then mature in a lot of ways too. Christ, and that's incredible considering he's only nineteen.

Driving for a minute, then I'm like, "Yes, obviously you're right about us needing an apartment, but how the fuck can you be so mature about stuff? You're nine-fucking-teen years old." He goes, "I never had a childhood, Zach. I went from being eight to an adult. I know I missed many steps in that process, but I had no choice. The missing steps are why I'm sometimes goofy, not knowing the right thing to do, and other times I act like an old boring mature fart. Believe me; I'd much rather be an immature twenty-eight-year-old than an overly mature nineteen-year-old." I go, "I'm not immature," and he mutters, "Of course, you're not." I glance at him, and he has a smirk on his face. Swell.

Because of an accident up ahead, I take a different route back to the hotel and pass a Jimmy John's Sandwich shop, saying, "Let's have lunch there, Bruce." He shrugs, "Sure, but pick up Cowboy and Lee first so we can discuss the apartment situation." See that? Damn, I like his bossy side, plus that's a good idea.

The guys aren't in the suite, though. I mumble, "They're already on the beach. Should we get them, or...?" Bruce says, "No, let's take a couple of subs and sodas to them and talk about everything on the beach." Nodding, I say, "We're around the block from the hotel so let's get our bathing suits on."

At Jimmy John's, wearing swimsuits and t-shirts, I order six subs, different ones because I'm not sure what they might want for lunch, and we have all the subs cut in half. Bruce gets four bottles of cold Cokes from the cooler. Then holy shit, you'd think we brought a banquet from the excited reaction Cowboy and Lee show when they see what we brought them for lunch. They didn't rent extra chairs, though, so I go to the stand to get chairs for Bruce and me.

The grumpy kid squints, then remembers me and says, "You again." I smile at him and say, "It's so great to see you're still spreading cheer while renting these awesome beach chairs and umbrellas. He goes, "What do you want to rent this time?"

The boys didn't rent an umbrella, so I take two chairs and an umbrella back, followed by grumpy, whose job it is to secure the umbrella in the sand. He does that, and this time I only give him a five-dollar tip instead of the usual twenty. He looks at it like it's a dog turd, then looks at me, and I go, "Thank you so much." Grumpy doesn't thank me, and I didn't expect he would. If he wouldn't thank me for a twenty, he sure as hell isn't going to for a five. I'm on a budget now.

Cowboy, his mouth full of an Italian sub, mumbles, "Bruce has a great idea about the apartment, Zach. We'll go broke living in luxury the rest of the summer. We need to rough it." Setting up a chair for Bruce, I'm like, "You don't mind that it's a twenty-minute drive to the beach?" Lee says, "I've got my motorbike and I'll get Carson each morning. It'll be fun."

So, great! We finish off all six subs, then Bruce goes up and gets everyone a cherry slushy from a vendor on the street. The boys take their slushy and go off for a walk on the beach, Cowboy's arm around the back of Lee's waist so Lee puts his arm around the back of Cowboy's waist. They're not shy; I'll say that for them. Cowboy outed Lee and helped Lee quickly become comfortable with being openly gay except with his parents. They're still working their way up to anal sex, though.

Jeez, before Cowboy and Lee became boyfriends, I was screwing Cowboy once or twice a day. One morning in NYC I asked him how the hell he's handling not feeling a cock up his ass? I know he loves it. He told me it's not even been a month and, anyway, he's saving himself for Lee. I didn't know whether to laugh or not at that ludicrous comment. Then Cowboy laughed and said, "No, seriously, I'm getting by with a lot of oral sex. Lee's getting really good at that."

As sexually satisfied as Bruce had me before the troubles, I was still willing to offer my services to Cowboy. And, hell, I wanted to do it to give my dick a treat. Cowboy told me I'd be the first person he'd come to if Lee doesn't come across pretty soon.

Bruce interrupts my thoughts, saying, "Move your chair under the umbrella with me, Zach; you're getting a sunburn on your nose." I do that, mumbling, "I should have brought sunblock," and he goes, "Don't forget to bring it tomorrow." Bruce still likes things to be a certain way, but that's okay for now. He's coming out of his funk.

We're quiet for a while, then he says, "When you were getting the chairs for us, Cowboy asked me how I was feeling after the mugging. I told him I was doing better thanks to your help and he was like... you don't look like you've been mugged." Frowning, I'm like, "Oh, fuck. What'd you say?" He shrugs, "I told him I was knocked out. The guy hit me in the head with a blackjack and then robbed me." I go, "Sounds believable." Bruce mumbles, "It's the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment." I was watching his lips moving as he was talking and it gave me a stiffy.

He can feel me staring at him and he reached over to rubs my head, saying, "Damn, this is nice. Thanks, Zach." I grin at him, "My pleasure, boss." In some ways, it's painful being this close to him without physical contact. When I was doing the bogus pussy boy training, we were in physical contact a lot, and I miss that. Still, it's great to have him with me. He says, "You're staring at me again," and I'm like, "No, I'm not," but of course, I was.

The boys come back, saying, "We're going in for a swim. C'mon, we'll ride some waves." I start to get up, but Bruce puts his hand on my arm, saying to Cowboy, "We'll join you in a little bit." They give us a little wave and head for the ocean as I sit down with my balls buzzing, feeling a little submissiveness slide deliciously over me. Bruce is so fucking cool. He even sits cool, and with his shades on, he's the calmest, coolest guy on the beach.

I reach over, putting my arm across his shoulders, getting a shiver from touching him, asking, "Do you think we can do, um, ya know, do it again when we get back to the hotel?" He looks at me with a little smile, murmuring, "Sure, Zach." Then he looks out at the ocean again, and I ask, "What are you thinking about?" He goes, "About what kind of job I can get. I thought I had it all set doing videos and whatnot for the pussy boys in Florida and then getting assigned you as my first recruit. And all at my relatively young age, and now I got nothing."

Well, he's got me. I say, "I was thinking of, um, you and me maybe setting up a little business together. I've got money to get it started." He chuckles and says, "Oh, maybe a lemonade stand, huh?" Not wanting to talk about my trust fund and about pretending I wanted to be a pussy boy right now, I say, "No, of course not. Get friggin' serious. We can talk about it later. Um, but let's go back to the hotel now. Whaddaya say, Bruce?" He looks at me and says, "What the hell, Zach? I fucked you less than two hours ago, twice, actually. Be patient." I go, "I'm patient, Jesus!" He goes, "C'mon, let's join the guys in the ocean," and that's, of course, what we do.

To be continued... donnnymumford@outlook.com.

Hey, people, please consider making a small tax-deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty to help them cover the costs of maintaining this excellent free story site. Thank you!