Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 48

By Donny Mumford

I was admiring how the majestic sun was breaking through the cloud cover when Bruce quietly walked up behind me and put his hands on my shoulders, startling me, "Huh?" I turn my head, and he leans down and kisses me, saying, "You, boyfriend, are the best-looking person on this beach." Taking a page from Cowboy's book of conceitedness, I go, "I don't doubt that for a second."

We grin as he opens his beach chair, plopping it down close to mine, asking, "Do you remember how I used to make you set our chairs up so closely the arms were touching?" I go, "Yep, but you were only doing your job following instructions from that perverted pussy boy training manual."

He sits, nodding, "Yeah, and the World War II German soldiers at Auschwitz were just following orders." I go, "Compared to that subhuman atrocity, the training manual is a nursery rhyme." He's like, "I was a brainwashed fool for believing in that manual." I mumble, "And then we have fraternities in prestigious American universities with their perverted ideas for initiations." He mutters, "I wouldn't know about that."

Lighting two cigarettes, I pass one to Bruce, who mumbles, "Thanks," then, "Can we talk about something else?" I go, "Yes, definitely. On an infinitely happier note, I received a text saying Cowboy and Lee will join us for dinner tonight. They got back from their European trip yesterday and are at Lee's parents right now." Bruce has a big smile, saying, "I missed their silly mooning over each other like, um..." and I go, "Like gay teenagers in puppy love?"

Shrugging, he goes, "Yeah, like that... they seem so young and innocent compared to the nineteen-year-old boys I'm familiar with. Those guys were all hard cases who acted older than their years. I was like that when recruited by the pussy boys." I say, "If it would help you to talk about your unfortunate teen years, I'm willing to listen." Shaking his head, he goes, "Nah, maybe someday I should do that, but now I try not to think about it ."

Looking at him, I say, "Anyway, you've moved on from those hard times, Bruce." He looks at me, "We're working toward something exceptional, aren't we, Zach?" I go, "Yep, and we're making awesome progress too." He mutters, "I think so too, I really do. This is by far the best time of my life." Wow, he is so 'effing different than just a week ago, and I mean in all kinds of positive ways. These past three or four days especially... he's like a different person.

Anything I say about that will sound like I'm patting myself on the back, though, so instead of commenting on his improving outlook, I ask, "Do you want to do our mile swim?" Bruce tells me he doesn't want to because his muscles are sore from the last two days of swimming a mile. Neither day did we swim close to a mile, but I let him think we did. Instead of swimming, we take a beach walk.

He talks about his dream of us buying Anne's cafe. Not saying anything pro or con about that possibility; as we walk, I'm sneaking sideward glances at him because I like his face and his sexy little dorky pompadour that he's been combing in his hair ever since I first combed it for him. Then, as if he read my mind, he flicks his fingers at the side of his head, stops talking about the cafe, and mutters, "Dammit, I need to get a haircut today." I'm like, "Where did that come from? You were talking about asking Anne what she's expecting to get for the cafe, then..." Shrugging, he goes, "Yeah, but after cutting your hair yesterday, I looked at my own hair, and it reminded me of when I lived on the street, and just now, it's tickling my ears."

Frowning, I go, "What? Your hair has barely grown over the tops of your 'effing ears. Look around... half the guys on this beach need a haircut much more than you do." He mutters, "Whatever, I like to be neat. You're right, though; it's not hideous... nothing like my wild hairdo when I was on the street. It's just that, for once in my life, I wanna get a regular haircut like a regular person. Go to a barbershop and say, 'a regular haircut, please'. Ya know?" I go, "Um, sure, I guess." He mumbles, "Yeah, we'll leave the beach today at five."

Well, that's settled; we're leaving the beach at five... haha! There's that little bossiness coming from Bruce, and I like hearing that from him too. I go, "Sure, Bruce, no problem." He sees my smirky grin but doesn't know what's caused it. He's looking at me funny, though, so I go, "What?" Shaking his head, he grins, muttering, "Oh, nothing, but you are the most cheerfully cooperative person I've ever known in my life." I reach over and do what he's always doing to me; I squeeze the back of his neck and say, "I'm happy being with you. Don't you know that by now?" He squints his eyes, muttering, "I guess, but..." Squeezing his neck again, I go, "It's as simple as that, seriously."

There's no reason to mention this to Bruce, but it's fantastic that I can be with him and not be so horny; all I'm thinking about is how badly I want to have sex with him. Dickie took care of my horniness quite effectively, so now I'm enjoying Bruce's company relaxed, comfortable, and cheerfully happy. As a normal person, in other words. The other thing is, um, this friendship/boyfriend experience is new to Bruce, and sometimes it puzzles him because he's used to devious individuals trying to take advantage of him. All I want to do is help him with a more normal lifestyle. And, damn, he's been acting more and more like a real boyfriend every day. It's, um, it's fantastic and very encouraging.

We continue walking the beach, commenting on what we see of interest, meaning guys, plus wondering what to have for the boys' homecoming dinner tonight. Bruce goes, "Why try reinventing sliced bread? We all like steaks on the grill, so I'll buy some at that butcher shop after my haircut." Nodding, I mumble, "Good idea." He's like, "And, ya know, I'm embarrassed that I need you driving me all over the place, Zach. I really appreciate it, though." I'm like, "Fuck that. I love the time I get to be with you, and I like driving my awesome car." He mutters, "You blow my mind. I didn't think anybody on this earth could be as fucking nice as you are." I shrug, "Probably there isn't anyone else... just me." We both snort out a chuckle as he mutters, "Very modest..."

As I said, we never come close to swimming a mile, but we do walk up the beach more than a mile before going up on the boardwalk to buy cold bottles of water. Yeah, the hot sun burned off the clouds, and the temperature is now close to ninety degrees. Hmm, I never cease to be amazed that a bottle of water often costs more than, say, a bottle of Coke. What's up with that?

We make it back to our beach chairs at four-thirty. I don't say anything, but I'm hoping Bruce forgets about leaving the beach at five for his unnecessary haircut. I like staying on the beach until at least six-thirty, as we've been doing this week. Sitting quietly with Bruce, I gawk at the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean, which mesmerizes me. Ya, know, it's hard to comprehend how all that water in front of me, plus all the water elsewhere on Earth, unbelievable amounts of water covering two-thirds of the planet, all came from the blackness of space by way of the early solar nebula and/or from a bombardment of comets and asteroids four billion years ago. This fucking incomprehensible Universe we're living in, huh?

Bruce says, "Well, let's go, Zach, it's almost five o'clock." Balls! I go, "Oh, um, are you sure you, ah..." He's standing, folding his chair, muttering, "Yeah, I'm sure." Well, I'm the one pushing for him to be in charge. He'd be in charge whether I'm pushing him to be or not, so...

We drop the chairs off at the booth, and as we walk away, Bruce goes, "Where's your little buddy? The kid that's normally renting the chairs and umbrellas." I go, "He'll be back tomorrow. The old guy wouldn't say where Markie's been the last two days." He goes, "Uh-huh," then, "We need to stop at the house so I can take a quick shower, then I'll try that little barbershop in the strip mall near our apartment. The butcher shop is at the end of the mall facing Pine Street." I mutter, "Huh, I didn't know that, but I mutter, "Sure, okay." Bruce is very observant. I didn't know the butcher shop existed and the same for Pine Street.

As we're driving out of Atlantic City, for something to say, I go, "It's smart of you to avoid Mr. Patrick's barbershop. You'd end up with a haircut like Cowboy's, Lee's, and mine." He's defensive, saying, "That's the haircut you said you wanted!" I'm like, "Hey, it was a joke, sort of. I got a haircut from Lee's dad once, and once was enough." He nods, then chuckles, "Sorry I snapped at you. I need to realize you never say anything mean-spirited." I grin, "That's right, I don't t do that to you, although to others, I've been known to sneak in some mean-spirited sarcastic remarks now and then."

Bruce showers at the apartment, but I'll wait until we get back from our errands to take my shower. We don't know what time the barbershop closes, for one thing, and when Bruce decides he wants to do something, he becomes a bit fanatical about doing it. We get to the shop at a quarter of six. Written on the plate glass window: 'Open 9 am to 7 pm. Seniors $12.00' For a joke, I go, "I'm assuming it means older men, not seniors in high school." Bruce smirks at me, muttering, "Duh, good guess."

Chuckling, I go, "Um, I'll have a cigarette out here while you get your unnecessary haircut." He frowns, "It's not unnecessary." I give him a 'look,' and he goes, "Oh, you were kidding again. I get it, but why don't you buy the steaks while I'm in the barbershop?" I pat his shoulder, "Good idea," and that's what I do.

Holy shit, though, and not that I especially care, but, shockingly, prime Black Angus tenderloin steaks are $34.99 an 'effing pound. They look good, though, so I buy four twelve-ounce steaks deciding I'm going to let Lee or Cowboy grill them. There is no sense in Bruce or me fucking up more than a hundred dollars worth of steaks attempting to grill them ourselves.

I'm leaning against my BMW, smoking a cigarette, when Bruce comes out of the barbershop looking so cornily preppy it takes all my willpower not to hug and kiss him. He looks so cute! I go, "Nice haircut ya got there, good-looking." He shakes his head, trying not to grin, but he does anyway, mumbling, "I think she gave me a good haircut." As we get in the car, I'm like, "When was it that women took over the previous male-oriented barber business?" He laughs and says, "Only you would wonder about that. Who cares?" As I drive away, I go, "I would think male barbers looking for work would care."

Bruce isn't interested in pursuing that puzzling topic. He says, "We'll need to stop at a farm stand for corn on the cob and tomatoes." We do that, plus buy pole beans that the lady says are lima beans. We get potatoes and a seedless watermelon too. Bruce insists on paying for all the farm stand stuff, and, in the car, he asks, "What did the steaks cost? I want to pay for half." I tell him, "You just did. The farm stand stuff was $18, which is half what the steaks cost." He goes, "Everything is so expensive, don't you think? I never shopped like this before, so the cost of everything is an eye-opener. Mostly I ate pizza and frozen dinners, ya know?"

No, I don't know because mostly I ate out at restaurants before meeting Bruce. I mumble, "I never shopped much myself, but I do know it's a lot cheaper than eating out, which is what I used to do all the time." He goes, "Eating in restaurants or at the Navy Seal mess hall, right?" Nodding, I mutter, "And before that, at prep school and college dining halls." He says, "You poor thing," and then, "Jesus, ya know, it feels so odd for me to be excited about seeing the boys. I confess to being jealous of them while at the same time I'm happy for them." I mutter, "My exact sentiments. Well, put." Jeez, a sweet thought from Bruce. Yep, he sure has changed.

We get back to the apartment at six-thirty and put the food away; then, we have a shot of Jim Beam and a cold Budweiser. After the shot of bourbon, Bruce says, "I look forward to this shot and beer thing we do every day, Zach. It signifies to me that we had another good day, and it's looking good for the next day too." Wow, how about that comment? Taking a deep breath, I say, "You have no idea how happy you make me, Bruce. And I want you to know the immense willpower I need to exert in not hugging and kissing the shit out of you about twenty times a day." Rolling his eyes, he mumbles, "Perhaps you exaggerate, huh?" I go, "Perhaps not."

We're drinking our beers and smoking cigarettes on the balcony when Lee drives up on his motorbike with Cowboy sitting behind him, of course. Bruce goes, "That's the coolest damn motorbike, and look at the smiling faces on those two. Holy shit, all three of you are the happiest group I've ever met in my life. I'm used to guys who, if I'm lucky, they're not stabbing me in the back."

I call down, "I hope you two numbnuts brought something for our dinner tonight." They both give me the finger, with Cowboy yelling back, "You're supposed to be 'effing taking care of me, Zach! I'm a reckless, irresponsible teenager, and you're my guardian. And, no, we don't got no stinking dinners." Chuckling, they go inside the main door as Bruce and I go inside off the balcony to greet them. The boys come busting into the apartment as they always do, slamming the door behind them.

They just came from Lee's house, so, of course, they both have identical fresh, crisp short haircuts. And, oh man, their youthful faces are glowing and smiling, their bodies slim and athletic-looking. If I didn't know better, I'd think they were perfect examples of the clean-cut All-American boy, both of them. The thing is, I don't believe All-American boys are supposed to be gay. Lee's T-shirt has the inscription 'Yeah, I can drive stick' on the front. All-American boys don't have a reference on their T-shirt about boning their All-American friend either, so...

We all do tight hugs with quick kisses, then Cowboy says, "I need one of Bruce's shots and beer after that trip." Lee goes, "Cowboy isn't the sightseer type, but I made him see everything there was to see." Cowboy makes a face, adding, "And my lover boy here didn't have a fake ID, so I hardly had anything to drink except soda for a week!" Lee goes, "You drank every night at dinner." He goes, "Yeah, dad let me drink wine, but I hate wine." Lee shrugs, "You drank a lot of it just the same."

Bruce, grinning at the good-natured ball-breaking the boys are doing to each other, gets the Jim Beam out again, pouring four shots. Lee goes, "Oh, God, not again." Cowboy mutters, "Don't be a pussy; you drank it last time." I pull four beers out of the refrigerator, and we all pop the tops, pick up the shots of bourbon, then Cowboy says, "Here's to getting the band back together," and we flash down the shots. Three of us are grinning and looking at Lee to see his reaction. Tears running down his face, Lee goes, "What?" We chuckle as Cowboy pats Lee's shoulder, saying, "That's my man! Let's have another."

We all go, "No!" and chug our beers. Wiping his eyes, Lee goes, "That was horrendous," and wipes his eyes again. All-American boys, my ass.

Taking our beers to the balcony, Cowboy plops down on a deck chair and proceeds to tell us hilarious tales of their European trip, with Lee laughing the hardest. Cowboys parents, who I know very well, were as easy-going as I know them to be in letting the boys do their thing. Well, the boys, legally, are adults. As usual, I'm frequently glancing at Bruce, this time interested in his reaction to Cowboy's stories during the boys' European lark. To Bruce, the crazy experiences the boys had in Europe must be as alien to him as a trip to the moon and back would be. But, as far as I can tell, Bruce is enjoying the embellished tales that Cowboy is telling us as much as I am.

I mutter, "I'm calling bullshit on that, Cowboy," to an extra exaggerated line of BS. He swears the lies are facts, and Lee backs him up. One lies, and the other swears to it. It's fun, but we finally turn our attention to dinner. Lee says he'll be making something I'm familiar with, Lyonnaise potatoes, so Bruce and I shell the pole beans; cowboy cooks the corn on the cob, which we eat as the grill heats up. Then Cowboy grills the steaks, Lee finishes the potatoes and slices big red ripe tomatoes, and it's a hell of a dinner.

Afterward, Bruce and I cleaned up the kitchen, the dishwasher doing the major part. We cut into the watermelon on the balcony, all of us then getting messy eating the sweet red pulp. All Bruce and I had to drink tonight were two shots and two beers. Cowboy had one shot and two beers, and Lee had one shot and one beer before switching to Coke. In other words, we're all sober. It's eight-thirty when we're throwing out the watermelon rines, Cowboy saying, "Awesome dinner, you guys... thanks, it's great being back here. Now, Lee and I are going to clean up and hit the boardwalk. We've only got two weeks left before college, and, believe it or not, they aren't civilized enough in the old country to have a boardwalk, so we've been missing the rides."

Because Ronny never had any interest in amusement rides, I didn't either. I still don't, but I should have had fun with things like roller coasters at their age, like most kids their age. That's another thing I missed out on, and because of his life history, so did Bruce. I'm seeing more and more things that we, Bruce and me, have in common, for very different reasons.

After some quick buddy-hugs, the boys leave, and, all of a sudden, it's quiet in here. Bruce and I exchange shrugs, then he goes, "They make me feel old." I mutter, "Imagine how I feel." We shower together with me acting the pussy boy part by bathing Bruce. I get a hard boner and watch closely to see if Bruce gets one too. He doesn't until I'm 'bathing' his dick, at which time that seven-inch penis gets as hard as my shorter one. His eyes are closed during the ten-minute bathing, and I hear no objection about anything I'm doing. I get a strong sense he's enjoying being bathed quite a bit. I know I enjoyed doing it.

Squeaky clean, our dicks get flaccid as we change the sheets. Bruce grins, then says, "Bring a hand towel to bed with you, Zach, and maybe we won't need to change the sheets tomorrow night." He sounded oddly nervous saying that, and I wonder why. I glance over at him, but he doesn't look at me so, I go, "Sure, it's about time one of us finally remembered that." He fluffs a pillow after putting on a clean pillowcase, then, sounding strangely unlike himself again, he goes, "Christ, I think I'm hornier than you tonight." I go, "Hmm, that's doubtful but good to hear."

When both of us are in bed and under the covers, Bruce goes up on his side, looking down on me, saying, "Tonight with you, Cowboy, and Lee was so, um, I hate getting corny, but it was like family. I got choked up a couple of times and was embarrassed, but, of course, you three guys were nice not to mention it..." I frown, "I didn't notice anything, Bruce, and I don't think they did either. But, yeah, it was like family. Unfortunately, our kids are leaving the nest... haha."

We both laugh, then Bruce says, "I wonder what they thought of tonight?" I go, "I don't know. I guess they kinda take things for granted. On the other hand, Cowboy wants to come here on his college breaks. I said it would be alright but only if he'd visited his parents in New York before coming here. Um, that's assuming we, you and I, decide to stay here.

Bruce says, "Oh, God, I can't think of a reason to leave, can you?" I go, "Not right now, no." He looks serious, murmuring nervously, "I don't know how to say this properly. Um, that is, well, um, I've been giving this a lot of thought, and I think I'm in love with you, Zach." I'm like, Oh, jeez, Bruce, that's..." He holds his hand up, saying, "Seriously, I never thought I'd ever say those words to anyone, but I've never come close to feeling the way I do about you. So, I'm going to assume what I'm feeling is the allusive thing called love. What do you think about that?"

Smiling, tentatively touching his shoulder, I murmur, "It makes me extremely happy, to say the least. Yes, I like your assumption a lot, but I'm no love expert either. I know I'm in love with you, though, and, ah.." He puts his forefinger on my lips, "Shh, Zach," then leans over, and we kiss, and we keep doing it until I feel his dick, hard as a penis-shaped rock, bump against my steel boner."

Even though this monumental breakthrough is swirling around in my head, fireworks blowing up in there too, and I want to make this make out special, there are only so many ways to share your tongue and lips with another. We've had a few little make-outs before, but tonight we go on much longer, and the biggest difference tonight is I sense a hunger in Bruce. Maybe hunger is the wrong word, but it's something new that I'm sensing from him.

I'm doing really well keeping my emotions in check, trying to match Bruce's demeanor. It had to be difficult for him to say what he did finally, and if I had shown some kind of overreacting, it would put him off and cheapen the moment. Bruce isn't demonstrative about showing his emotions, so making out with real feelings as he's doing tonight is very new for him too.

Obviously, his pronouncement of love was unexpected, but maybe it shouldn't have been. I noticed how he has been more relaxed, showing little affectionate-type indications to me each day for weeks now. In hindsight, he was showing that he feels our relationship is special. Yes, there have been increasing subtle interactions building toward tonight's announcement, subtle things that I missed because I thought it would take longer, if ever, for him to feel love. Obviously, I'm totally thrilled it hasn't taken longer, and I do believe him because he wouldn't have said it if he hadn't first turned it over in his mind a hundred times.

As for our current make-out, I'm obviously highly aroused, especially because Bruce is obviously very aroused too. When making out with someone special, a person's brain releases the hormone oxytocin creating a sort of chemical high of sexual arousal, and that's what we're both experiencing... I'm pretty sure about that. And, Omigod, his hands feel wonderful as they rub my body, his lips full and sensual, his scent is sexy and clean as we both suck on lips and tongues, making low moaning noises from our throats. It's indescribably delicious.

Gasping, Bruce pulls his mouth away and, out of breath, murmurs, "Get the lubricant, Zach." His saliva, mine too, I suppose, is all around my mouth, all nicely minty-flavored. I can't catch my breath, so I don't try saying anything. Reaching over, I get the lube from the top of the bedside table, always handy, and give it to Bruce. Then, I squirm around on my side, facing away as Bruce murmurs, "Good," then his finger feels shaky as he spreads the lube right on and then inside my anus. His finger spread open my tightly closed asshole, the lips giving way to the relatively small intrusion as I shudder with pleasure and anticipation. When he rubs my prostate with a slippery finger, my cock spurts out a dab of precum, then I shudder again when he pulls his finger out.

I hear Bruce take a deep breath, then say, "Let's do this with you on your back." I don't ask questions being very hot with desire after that make out. As I drop on my back, Bruce pushes off the covers and moves down on the mattress to get between my legs. I am well aware of the drill; I pull my legs back, an arm around each one, pulling back until my ass lifts off the bed a little. We can see each other coming in through the window from the moonlight, but it's not light enough to clearly see Bruce's expression. He's on his knees leaning over me, a hand on the mattress, as I feel the head of his seven-inch boner move against my left butt cheek before hitting the center of my anus. Then, his boner presses against my asshole.

Bruce murmurs, "I don't deserve you, Zach, but I want to do this so badly it's all I can think about right now. My only wish is that I knew how to do it in a more special way for you," and he goes, "Ummm," pushing the swollen head of his cock in past my sphincter muscle. Just the head and, yes, it hurts. He stops and shivers, then begins pushing his cock all the way up inside me.

My stretched anus continues to squawk with pain, but I don't care. I'm staring at Bruce, wanting to see his face more clearly. I can see that his eyes are closed as he leans over me so far that I expected he would kiss me, but he doesn't. He shivers again, and it occurs to me this is most likely one of the first times in his life he's having sex with me for the right reason... because he truly wants to.

He murmurs, his eyes still closed, "It feels better when you love the person, doesn't it?" His eyes open, and I nod my head, mumbling, "Um, yeah, uh-huh, it does for me, but I only realized that about a month ago... with you." I can see him smile as he withdraws his cock and then pushes it back in, then he does it again. I'm mesmerized, fascinated, and thrilled by all of this. And, yeah, I realize there's still lingering hurt around my asshole, the lips still a bit miffed, but that pain actually feels good.

Bruce murmurs, "Ummm, ahh," and starts steady thrusting but not hard enough to create slapping sounds against my buttocks. Long thrusts with pleasure sensations blooming in my rectum. Familiar sensations of pleasure, but they all have more meaning now that Bruce used the 'L' word. Because of that, it's a mutual pleasure, much more so than ever before.

It's perhaps silly to say this sex tonight with Bruce is my favorite of all time because it's very much like last night's sex and the night before, except it is better tonight. It's better because Bruce finally feels love for me, maybe even romantic love. That changes things and, he appears to be much more invested in giving me pleasure. Of course, that could be a projection on my part, but if it is... so what? I that way, and it makes everything more important, more meaningful. I'm thinking... he wants to provide his lover a special pleasure.

I'm interpreting his quiet moans differently now. They sound to me as though Bruce is fulfilling his desires of sharing himself with me during this sex act, and his entire body seems involved now instead of just thrusting his hips mechanically. I believe all of it, and when I reach up to put my arms around the back of his neck, there isn't any stiffening of his body as before; he drops his head lower, continuing the long thrusts at a nice steady rhythm making his quiet moans, moans that now sound very much like mine. Moans of intense pleasure with the one person you want to do this with the most.

Wave after wave of pleasure flow over me as I quietly moan, "Oh, oh, oh yeah, Bruce. Ummm." I lose track of time in this world of pleasure, but my climax doesn't. A billion years of trial and error resulted in a function called sexual climax, which is the whole point of the sex act, except, that is, in the case of us homosexual dudes. Mr. Climax doesn't care though, it's been programmed, and it does its job. It roars up and announces itself, and its promises are so irresistible, so insistent, I succumb quickly, crying out, "Eillllee," humping and blowing cum out through my iron boner with such force, sensations so intense my heart stops for half a second. In that half-a-second, my strong stream of semen goes "Splat" on Bruce's stomach. He doesn't seem to notice as his body stiffens now, and he goes, "Ahhh!" and I feel his cum hit off the wall of my bowels, or think I do. In my head, I do, which is almost the same thing.

His three follow-up thrusts are sloppy with his cum, then he collapses on top of me, his cock pulling out, smearing cum on my hairless pubic area. I hug him like I'm clinging to a buoy in the middle of the ocean. Bruce lies on me without moving, his heart pounding hard against my chest, his body remaining limp for a full minute, then he mumbles, "Better than ever." I quietly say, "Yes, but every time I have sex with you is better than ever."

He lifts his head and looks at me, grinning and saying, "If it ain't love, then what is it?" I go, "I've asked myself that same thing." He nods, "And what did you decide?" I go, "It's gotta be love, doncha think?" He snickers, "I feel so stupid, but yeah, you're probably right."

Rolling over on his back next to me, he says, "I kept trying to convince myself it's simply gratitude I'm feeling toward you, and there's plenty of that too, but it began to seem like I was feeling more than just gratitude." Looking at me, he adds, "I didn't want to patronize you by saying I love you before I felt I actually did. I knew you wanted me to love you but saying it to pacify you would be like the old me, lying and telling clients what they wanted to hear. No, you deserve better than that, but I didn't think I was a lover-type. Love seemed too weak and corny an emotion, but I kept having these feelings for you that confused me, and I decided I'd tell you and see if I felt true to myself afterward." I go, "And?" He chuckles, "And, I feel I did the honest thing. I took the chance of exposing myself by admitting my feelings to you even though it greatly weakens my position, but, again... that's my old way of thinking."

I wish I could think of something appropriate to tell him, but anything I think of sounds hokey, so I pick up the hand towel next to me and mumble, "Guess what I forgot to use?" He snickers, "No shit. You shot your load on me, and I fell on top of you, smearing the goo on you." He takes the towel and wipes my chest, then his, mumbling, "Get your ass out of bed and take a quick necessary shower with me." There ya go... that sounds like my bossy lover boy!

We take a five-minute shower bumping into one another as we quickly wash our bodies, grinning and smirking at one another without saying anything. After drying, we get in bed, and I snuggle against Bruce, his arm around me, and then I mumble, "We didn't need the towel anyway because I was smart enough to shoot my load on you." He mutters, "Very clever." I kiss him and murmur, "Thank you, Bruce." He mumbles, "I feel good, now go to sleep." Well, there are only so many romantic moments Bruce is capable of at this point, I guess. He's exhausted by it all... haha, it was great!

Waiting for sleep, I'm thinking about love. Plato has this convoluted story about love that he concludes by stating love is our pursuit of wholeness. Joining with another whom we want to be one with symbolically. I've had that thought at times during sex with Bruce... I wanted to climb into him and live there so that Plato might have hit on something. He's supposed to be smart, after all.

The next morning it's business as usual. Bruce takes his unnecessary shower as I consider telling him about the room I rented and who's sleeping there right now. After discarding that stupid thought, I go back to sleep.

Driving to Atlantic City at five-thirty-five in the morning, we're sipping our take-out cups of coffee as I worry Bruce is having second thoughts about last night. Anything I can think of to say sounds self-serving, so I'm waiting for Bruce to say something. And he does, he goes, "That was a special time for me last night, boyfriend. I was, haha, really nervous." I still can't think of anything appropriate to say, and I don't need to anyway as he adds, "I'm sorry it took me this long to realize what I was feeling, Zach. You were so patient, though, and I thought how you weren't worried about losing leverage in our, um, whatever we had going for us after you rescued me from the funhouse. You decided you loved me and came right out and said it. At first, I thought you were such a sucker for doing that, but later I admired your courage for saying it."

I go, "Well, I was a fucking Navy Seal, so of course I'm courageous..." He pushes my shoulder, "Seriously." Shrugging, I say, "I was so glad to finally be in love I wanted to tell someone about it, and you were there, so I told you." He goes, "Yeah, you're still joking around." I go, "Bruce, if I tell you exactly how wonderful I feel about last night, it would embarrass you and probably me too. It's the highlight of my life so far." He seriously says, "Mine too."

It would be the wrong thing to do to ask how this development, this fantastic development changes our sex life moving forward. That would put pressure on Bruce when that's the last thing he needs. I'm maintaining the status quo until he changes it. After all, he is our leader. I don't want to press the sexual issue because he may misinterpret that as me taking advantage of him telling me he loves me.

At the boardwalk ramp where I always drop Bruce off, he clears the air about what I was just thinking, saying, "I feel better about myself than I've ever felt before, Zach. I feel clean and real and honest about us. For now, let's keep doing what we're doing, okay?" I nod, fully understanding what he's saying, and he adds, "Give me a good kiss goodbye to hold me over until three-thirty." We do a two-second sloppy kiss, and he smiles, "That was a good one." Still smiling, he pats my shoulder, "See you on the beach." I nod, mumbling, "Have a great Saturday..." and off he goes.

Wow, I shake my head. Can this get any better? Pulling away from the ramp, I'm not sure how I'm going to react with Dickie. If Bruce hadn't said to keep doing what we're doing, I don't think I'd go to the hotel, but what then? Be all horned up when I saw Bruce on the beach and nag him to go back to the apartment with me? That would fuck up everything. For now, Bruce wants it like this, so I'll see how it goes with Dickie this morning. I should be glad Dickie's available 'cause I know he can dominantly fuck me out my horniness. Well, I'm not horny now, but I would be by three-thirty.

Parking at the hotel's parking lot, I've got mixed emotions about this, so I decided to think of it as therapy. Taking the elevator to the floor my rented room is on, I get off and look down the corridor to the room at the end and see a pudgy, balding man of about forty leaving the room I thought was mine. What the fuck? I'm checking that I'm on the correct floor, and I am; I rethink... is this the floor? Well, yeah, I'm not an idiot.

The man is rubbing his ass, intentionally not looking at me as we pass in the hall, him heading for the elevator and me to the room. That fatty rubbing his ass was a dead giveaway that he was just serviced by Dickie in my room! Getting to the room, I try opening the door, but, of course, it's locked. Pounding on it, Dickie opens it immediately and starts to say, "I told you not..." but stops when he sees me. He's startled, his face flushes, then he puts on a fake smile and says, "You're early." I go, "No, I'm not. What the fuck is going on here?"

He turns his back on me and walks into the room with me following him. I'm like, "Did I say you could do your business out of this 'effing room? No, I did not. I let you sleep here, and that's all." Turning around, he goes, "If you don't stop this shit, you'll miss out on my services, so shut up before I pull the plug on you for today. I had the opportunity for a lucrative overnight date, so what's the big deal. I just paddled him and sent the fat fuck on his way. Now you're here, so take your clothes off. The paddle is still warm from his paddling."

I grab the back of his neck, muttering, "And I thought you were special," walking him to the front door, opening it and squeezing his neck with him crying out, "Ow! Ow!" I pushed him out the door a little harder than necessary, and he tripped and fell on his face. Trying to calm down and not having a lot of success with that, I snarl, "Wait here, and I'll throw your shit out." Then I storm around the room picking up stuff that belongs to him, including his toiletry kit and paddle, then toss it all in the hall. Dickie is standing there saying, "Don't think you'll ever get a date with me again!" I take a step into the hall, and he scurries ten feet toward the elevator.

My blood pressure roaring, I point at him but drop my arm and go back into the room, closing the door behind me. Okay, that was an overreaction, but the nerve of that fuckhead using my room to have an overnight date with that chubby older man. What if I wanted a two-hour nap in that bed, which I was actually planning on 'cause I liked sleeping with Dickie. Not after someone else slept in the bed, though.

Sitting in the armchair, I look around the room, and it's neat, the bed is made, no towels on the floor. Pussy boys are all very neat-conscious. If I were a minute later getting here, I wouldn't have known about the overnight date, which was Dickie's plan, obviously. Fuck, I wish I had been a minute later because now, being in this room, I'm remembering the paddling and hard fucking Dickie lays on me. After the paddling, he jams his hard fat-headed cock up my ass, and it hardly hurts at all... feels good, actually.

Dammit, I jump up and go out in the hall, but there isn't anything out there. He picked up his stuff and left. And, I'm not going to get my $250 back from Richard either. Going back in the room, I stand here realizing there isn't any reason to stay here. Shit!

Down at the reception desk, I cancel the room for Sunday and walk out without a plan for what to do now. Wandering the block to the boardwalk, I go up the ramp and then across the boardwalk to the beach-side railing, light a cigarette, and look out at the ocean. Hmm, maybe I'll try Derick. I know he's working the locker rooms counter, but he gets an hour and a half lunch break at noon. And, he does the paddling too. If I don't go through Richard, I don't need to pay the $250 massage fee.

Or, here's another possibility... I skip afternoon sex today. After all, I'm supposed to be working on eliminating the need for sex three or four times a day, right? But now I want to do it because I'm feeling horny after spending five minutes in that hotel room remembering Dickie doing sub/dom sex very well. He's a real pro, he's rather cute, he's small, and he has a short but big-headed cock, and he knows how to use it too. Christ, it was sexy-hot being dominated by that little smartass.

Turning around, I look up and down the boardwalk, but at six-thirty in the morning, there are only random delivery men and women, plus a few fanatical joggers and a family of three riding bikes. Well, Dickie has no other place to go but to the apartment, the one he shares with a couple of pussy boys, and I know where it is, so...

So what? I can't go crawling back to him now, not after I threw him out of the room. That's the first time I've lost my cool in a while, but, dammit, I hate being played for a sucker. I wouldn't have known about it if I arrived one 'effing minute later. Well, I've just talked myself in a circle, and I'm right back where I started fifteen minutes ago.

Flicking the cigarette butt over the railing, I walk up to the cafe and lean against the beach-side railing looking at it. I don't know why I'm looking at it as they don't open until seven. Then I glance further down the boardwalk and see the sign for the locker rooms, then see two young guys go inside, so the locker rooms are open.

Looking out at the beach, I see a few random early-risers already there on beach towels. It's chilly this early in the morning, but there are always a few oddballs doing the inexplicable in almost any situation I can think of. Hmm, Derick's on the counter in there, though. Yeah, I liked Dickie better, but Derick was good too, and he has a fat cock from head to root, and he paddles even better than Dickie. My penis is aroused, and so am I.

Richard won't be at work this early, so I take a deep breath, adjust my junk pushing my firming-up dick to the side and walk across the boardwalk. Bruce inferred very clearly we should maintain the status quo for a while, and I'm not rationalizing that. He said it quite clearly, and he's my leader, and now I'm horny. As I'm going in the front door, the two guys I saw going in are coming out. Both blond-headed but older than I initially thought they were and almost as tall as me, but I didn't get a single gay vibe from them. So what? I'm not interested in those two.

Going into the familiar locker rooms, I see Derick behind the counter, and he looks good. He's not cute, especially, but I like his tight smallish body and his recent pussy boy haircut. Hell, he has no reason to be pissed off at me. He's the one who told me to see Richard and get hooked up with a pussy boy. Right now, he's smirking at me, so I say, "Hello, Derick, wassup?" He goes, "Not much. I hate working this counter, and today will be a busy Saturday, so that sucks. What's up with you?" I shrug, "I'm up for a lunch date with you; that's what's up with me."

He's opened a roll of quarters and then puts the quarters in a cash drawer, mumbling, "So, you need a hard paddling, and what comes after, huh?" I mutter, "The way you do it, yep." He puffs out his cheeks, then blows out an exhale and says, "You're a good tipper, so I guess I could fit you in at four this afternoon. I've got a three o'clock date, but he's an old queen who just wants me to suck him off. Then I'll meet you at my apartment at four. I'll be doing you a favor. I've got a recruit to work out, and I'm supposed to start with him at four, but I'll have him stand in a corner while I have a date with you. It'll need to be a quick one, obviously."

I've been slowly shaking my head as he said all that, but he didn't see me doing that because he's counting one-dollar bills in the cash drawer. I go, "That doesn't work for me, Derick. Why not a lunch date?" It's his turn to shake his head as he goes, "Nope, that's when I put in an hour with my recruit, and I need to give him all my attention as he's a bad-ass type, and I break him down so that it goes easier when I start up with him again at four." Oh, fuck. I mumble, kind of whining, "Couldn't you make a fifteen-minute exception for me?" He goes, "Nope, I could use the couple of hundred dollars, but I'm serious about training this recruit."

Making a face, I keep myself in check and don't get snotty about it because I may need him in the future. I merely say, "I understand. Maybe another time." He goes, "I'll be off this counter duty Monday, or at least I hope I am. Check with me then. You know where I live, and I'll help you out with an extra hard fucking and paddling. I know you like it dominant, and I'm your pussy boy for that." Tapping the counter, I mumble, "Yeah, you are. Thanks, Derick. I'll be around." He opens a roll of dimes, mumbling, "I've no doubt about that. You need it, doncha?" Shrugging, I go, "Yeah, I guess I do. See ya."

Walking out, I snicker 'cause most pussy boys are arrogant and overconfident, but then, that's right in my comfort zone. They read me like a book. So, what now? Without coming up with a better idea, I get my car and give a thought to driving to Dickie's dump of an apartment, but I can't make myself stoop that low. Instead, I drive the twenty minutes back to the apartment horny as a toad.

At the apartment, I take off my clothes and get in bed to sleep on Bruce's pillow, but his scent gets me hornier than a toad, and I can't fall asleep thinking of our sort of romantic time in bed last night. I'm still in bed at eight o'clock but never fell asleep, so I get up, determined not to let Bruce down. I need to be in the same mellow frame of mind tonight, so Bruce and I can continue our sort of lovers' sex. Well, he said he loved me, and I love him, so it's not a sort of lovers' sex; it is lovers' sex. I'm not screwing that up.

Wearing a bathing suit and a polo pullover and sandals, I walk past Cowboy's door seeing it's closed. No telling how late he and Lee got in last night. I'll see them on the beach later. For now, I'm in the car driving back to Atlantic City, determined to beg forgiveness from Dickie. He wins, and he probably won't be at all surprised when I come hat in hand to beg forgiveness. It'll cost me extra too; I'm sure of that. Hmm, being humble saying I'm sorry is a very submissive thing for me to do, so maybe the sex will even be hotter than it normally is. I know the paddling will be hotter, but I guess I deserve it for overreacting.

When I'm idling in the car across from Dickie's dump of an apartment, I stare at the front door working up the nerve; no, it's not working up the nerve so much as I'm working up the humbleness to do this. That's harder...

Of fuck, an older-looking pussy boy just walked out and looked right at me. He's wearing the uniform of tan cargo shorts and a white polo shirt, with the pussy boy haircut, of course. Frowning, he goes back inside, and a minute later, he comes back out with Dickie, who gives me a dirty look, then waves his hand, yelling, "Well, you've come this far, so get out and get over here. Right now!"

Oh jeez, there's a tingling submissive sense in my brain as I turn off the engine and do that. As I walk across the street, the older pussy boy gets in a beat-up Volkswagon and drives away. To start his whoring shift, I suppose.

When I'm standing in front of five-foot-eight Dickie, who is looking cute this morning, he goes, "Let's hear it." Odd that I didn't notice he was looking cute earlier. With submissiveness spreading all over me, I say, sounding timid, but I can't help it, "I'm very sorry, Dickie. I apologize for overreacting this morning in the hotel room." He says, "For just doing my job, I get beat up by you." I didn't beat him up, but I mutter, "I know, and I am sorry for that." He shrugs, "Well, I've been treated worse. So, what do you plan to do to make it up to me?" Looking down, I mumble, "Would two hundred dollars be enough compensation for beating you up?" He holds out his hand, "Let's have it, and I'll forget about this morning."

Giving him four fifty-dollar bills from the back pocket of my bathing suit, he pockets the money, points at the door, and says, "Get your ass in there." I turn, and he grabs the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. My dick immediately firms up more as I stumble up the three steps and into the building. "Down to the left," he says and then tightens his surprisingly strong hand on my neck. The second apartment's door is open, and that's where he guides me. Inside, he kicks the door closed behind him, saying, "We weren't expecting company, so you'll need to excuse the mess."

Glancing around, there's threadworm furniture, and the walls need repainting; the carpet is worn, but there's no mess. He pushes me to a bedroom where, shockingly, a guy is sleeping in one of the twin beds. Letting go of my neck, Dickie says, "Meet my roommate, Gordon. Don't mind him. Get undressed," and he pulls his T-shirt off over his head, as I go, "But... um..." Dickie says, "Do what you're told!"

Making a face, I step out of my sandals, drop my bathing suit, and pull my polo shirt off. Dickie says, "Okay, let's see, um, the paddling is fifty, sucking my dick is fifty, and a hard fucking is a hundred. Give me another two hundred bucks, and we'll get started. Afterward, you better not forget a good tip. That's if you ever want another date with me." I nod, "I know, and I do, Dickie." Picking up my swimsuit, I go in the back pocket to get four more fifty-dollar bills and give them to him."

With the four fifties in his hand, he points to, I'm assuming his twin bed that's made up as neatly as our beds needed to be in the Seals, as he's saying, "Lean over there, hands on the footboard, and I'll give you a good paddling with a little something extra effort for your earlier bad behavior." He's all business, but not sounding especially pissed off, just doing his job. Money talks with pussy boys, and he'll get to keep all of the first two hundred I gave him. He doesn't need to split that money with Richard.

I lean over, holding onto the footboard of the bed, and he says, "Push it out. I shouldn't need to tell you that by now." I push my ass out and hear the "Swoosh" of the paddle swing through the air, then, "WHACK!" it connects with both my buttocks sending stinging pain throughout my body. Four whacks like always, but they didn't seem as extra hard as I expected they'd be. He asks, "Are you good with that, or do you need a couple more. You paid for it, so it's up to you." See, he's all business, satisfying his client to get a larger tip. My ass is stinging just right, though, so I mutter, "I'm good."

The guy in the other bed opens his eyes and says, "What the fuck, Dickie?" Dickie goes, "Do you wanna get your dick sucked, Gordon?" Gordon has a bigger than normal head with a stiff-looking beard. Not a beard-beard, but one he'll need to shave twice a day... that kind of overnight beard. He's probably twenty-four or twenty-five and not horrible looking, but too old and not my type at all. He goes, "No, I'm good," and he gets out of bed naked, adding, "He's a good-looking 'S' type you got there, Dickie," and he holds his hand out for Dickie to slap, which he does. Gordon slept in the nude, and he's got a good-looking long cock that swings in the breeze as he walks by us, leaving the room.

I'm still holding onto the bed's footboard, waiting to be told what to do. Dickie calls after Gordon, "You better call Richard and report in." I hear, "Yeah, yeah," and then the unmistakable sound of Gordon pissing in the toilet. Dickie yells, "Close the door, you animal." Then to me, "Get around here on your knees." Surprising myself, I go, "Oh, um, I think I would like two more paddles." He mutters, "Why didn't you say so when I asked you," and he goes to the bureau to get the paddle out again as I mumble, "I'm sorry."

It's just that Gordon ruined the submissive sense I had, and I want it back. "Swoosh, WHACK! Swoosh, WHACK," and I'm going, "Ow, oh, that's, um, ah, yeah, I'm good now, Dickie." He's putting the paddle away, mumbling, "I could charge you twenty-five bucks for the extra paddles, but instead, add it to my tip." Wow, I take a hand off the footboard to rub my ass because those extra two whacks on top of the first four were reminiscent of Bruce paddling me. I won't ask Dickie for extras from now on.

He points to the floor in front of him, mumbling, "On your knees. Let's go!" I quickly turn around and drop to my knees. I also need to lean down because Dickie's six inches shorter than me. Picking up his dick, I can tell it's already firmed up quite a bit... he gets off paddling guys. Then it hits me, and I look up, asking, "Um, excuse me, Dickie, but did you fuck that guy?" He goes, "Yes, twice, but I used a condom both times. Get to it. I don't have all day. I'm doing you a favor."

All pussy boys tell me they're doing me a favor, one that I need to put out big bucks for. Still, I'm feeling the paddling submissiveness and murmur, "Yes, Dickie." Pushing his firm, short penis with its oddly large head against his hairless pubic area, I lick all around his balls, then the inside of both legs, and under his scrotum. Oh man, my cock gets wicked hard, pointing straight up, tightly against my belly, throbbing and feeling good.

Then, in my head, I see a picture of Dickie fucking that fat older man with Dickie's balls banging against the guy's scrotum and Dickie's groin area, the area I'm licking rubbing up against the back of the guy's buttocks and legs. I'm extremely submissively aroused, though, so I blank that picture because I can't stop doing this. And, I'm glad I made up to him because Dickie's got my number and knows how I like it. Plus, I like the familiarity and knowing what to expect. Yeah, I'm hooked on Dickie now because I'll always remember my humble apology and quickly get a submissive sense when I'm with him. This entire incident this morning binds me to Dickie, and, as a trained pussy boy dealing with an 'S' type client like me, he knows that as well as I do.

He rubs my head, then gets both hands behind it and mashes my face against his crotch just like he did yesterday. His scent, not as clean and pure as it was yesterday, not after servicing the fat guy, swarms in my head just the same. It's recognizable Dickie, so it gets me even more aroused than I already was, and a spurt of precum shoots out of my hard boner, and I go, "Ahh, ooh."

He moves my head, sounding bored when he says, "Get my cock in your mouth," my face tightly squished against him. Remembering how I did it yesterday, I get my tongue under the head and inch it to my lips and then move my head a little to get it to slide on my tongue into my mouth... all of it. While sucking and licking it, I realize this is one of my deeper submissive trances, and I'm sort of dizzy, then an "Ooh" sound from my throat as more precum rolls down my boner.

Dickie fucking that guy two times this morning means he had to have cum one of the times, and therefore I get to suck and lick his cock longer than normal before he shoots a little precum in my mouth and pushes my head away, saying, "That's good, I'm good." Reluctantly, I move my head back while getting one long last suck on the swollen head. His boner pops out of my mouth, sticking straight out from Dickie's hairless crotch.

He says, "I'm out of condoms, so get the thing of lube in the bathroom." "Yes, Dickie." In a fog, I get up and stumble over my feet walking naked, my boner almost sticking straight out like Dickie's. When I leave the bedroom, I turn the wrong way ending up in the kitchen where Gordon is eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes. He points down the hall, mumbling, "The bathroom is at the end past both bedrooms." Like a zombie, I turn around and go there. On top of the toilet tank is a container of Surgilube that I bring back to Dickie, who I find stroking his booner, mumbling, "That was a good blow job, dude. Okay, I'll do you doggie style again."

Getting on my hands and knees, very excited and full of anticipation, Dickie wastes no time. I go, "Ahh!" my back curving when he humps the swollen head in past my sphincter. Whoa, that hurt, but not nearly as much as it would have without the paddling. After Dickie pushes his short boner all the way in, he leaves it there because his cell phone rings. He picks it up off the bureau and goes, "G'morning, Richard," he listens, then, "I'm servicing that particular client right now." He listens again, "Ah, no, I'm at the apartment." Then, "I told him to call you. Hold on." He yells at the top of his lungs, "Gordon, Richard wants to talk to you."

As he waits, he tells me, "I texted Richard about your rude behavior this morning. He just got up and saw my text," then he yells again, "Gordon, get in here!" Gordon comes in still chewing Frosted Flakes and takes the phone. Dickie goes, "Talk to him in the kitchen." Gordon goes, "Ya know what? I will take that blow job when you're done with him." Dickie goes, "That's between you two."

To me, he mumbles, "Sorry about that," and starts hard, fast thrusting, "Slap, slap, slap." The pain left during that ridiculous interruption, but amazingly the outrageousness of it, sunk me deeper into my wonderful submissive trance, so I say nothing.

The pleasure sensations coming from my anus and prostate are enormous as Dickie thrusts at different angles, changing speeds until it is feeling so fantastic I forget to breathe. Then my breath comes out in gasps as I sway forward and back from his thrusting. I'm moaning, "Ah, ah, ah..." and his thrusting gets harder and faster, and it seems like forever, a forever world of sexual pleasure augmented by this deep submissive dream-like trance.

"Slap, slap, slap," as I hear Dickie mumble, "I think I'm going to cum again. How 'bout that." For some reason, that gets me to blow my load. A hard stream of cum, a burning stream of cum blows out my cock, going "splat!" on the hardwood floor. It got the piss slit of my cock wide open, quivering and burning as I jerked around so hard Dickie's cock pulled out entirely, and he shoots a warm stream of creamy cum on my buttocks and halfway up my back.

I'm shaking like mad, waves of sensations flowing over me, and then I do a huge inhale and shiver at the after-effects. Dickie says, "Stay put," and leaves the room, padding down to the bathroom. I gasp in another deep breath as my shoulders shudder, and I feel the submissive blanket beginning to lift off me causing me to shudder again. What the hell was that? I mean, I'm still sensing zipping pleasure sensations as I sort of rock back and forth on my hands and knees, but breathing more naturally now. It was fantastic, but I'm not sure how it happened or what exactly caused it to move up about three notches from yesterday morning's date with Dickie.

He comes back into the room, drying his dick after washing it. He goes, "Did you get your money's worth?" I nod, "Uh-huh, and then some." He mutters, "Well, let me finish up then with your paddling. Richard wants to see Gordon and me in the lockers. First, I need a shower and something to eat." As he's telling me that he gets the paddle and goes, "Push it out," I do that, but I'm about to say he doesn't need to do the last paddling, I don't get the chance, though, "Swoosh, WHACK!" OW! Then two more and one really hard last one. My ass is on fire as he asks, "Do you want the two extra whacks?" Shaking my head, back in my submissive mode, I whine, "No, Dickie. Please, no." He mutters, "Fine by me," and the paddle goes in the bureau drawer.

He's pulling on underpants, then picking up my swimsuit and handing it to me, "Um, my tip if you don't mind." I'm still shaky, but I've got this great feeling of sexual satisfaction now. The stinging in my ass sort of feels good. It's mind over matter or something. Feeling submissive from the paddling, I murmur, "Yes, Dickie," and pull out three fifties. He takes the bills saying, ''Thanks. You wait here; Gordon wants a blowjob." I meant to give him two fifties, but he grabbed them so fast...

Still swaying a little on my hands and knees, everything feels good. Holy shit that was really weird but really something special too. Oh, man, I sigh and then snicker to myself. This was way out there! Another deep breath, then Gordon comes in and says, "It'll be fifty bucks to blow me." I go, "What?" and sit back on my heels, only now registering what Dickie said about a blowjob. I go, "Oh, I'm sorry. No, I'm good, next time, okay?" He asks, "How come you've got a pussy boy haircut, and you're hairless down there?"

I can hear what has to be Dickie in the shower, so he didn't close the door either. My head is clearing finally as I mumble, "I was a pussy boy trainee for a while, but I'm not now." He goes, "C'mon, how about a fifty-dollar blowjob," and he pulls down his jockey shorts. Omigod, that's right. I saw it earlier, and this guy has a dick as long as Bruce's. I go, "Um, ah... oh, alright," and fish out a single fifty. He holds it in his hand, saying, "I don't charge extra for deep throating, so you have fun with it."

Picking up his penis, I lap his balls, and within thirty seconds, I'm going to town lick and sucking his scrotum and nuts, his cock getting hard under my fingers as I'm holding it against his stomach. He's making grunting sounds moving his feet, and muttering, "Oh, oh, umm, yeah..." When I lick up the shaft to the head twice, he's got a fairly hard boner that I put in my mouth and suck the head to get the whole thing really hard. The head isn't much bigger than the shaft, which is good because he holds my head between his hands and fucks the hell out of my throat.

I'm gagging like mad, my eyes watering like crazy, but he only lasts maybe fifteen seconds before making a screeching sound and blowing cum in three creamy shots down my throat. As he's pulling his slopping cock out of my throat, the head sliding out on my tongue, and I suck it as it goes by. He exhales a long noisy exhale as he steps back two steps, then goes, "Did you get your money's worth?" Ha, this fuckhead wants a tip. Swallowing twice, I go, "No, it was too quick." He turns around and leaves, saying, "You're right; it was."

Swallowing again to clear the odd taste of his cum, I'm now feeling Dickie's cum drooling out of my gooey-with-lube ass. Wow, what a workout. I've got half a boner as I stand, I rub my sore butt cheeks, then use tissues to wipe Dickie's cum off my ass and back. Holding tissues on my asshole, I walk to the bathroom. Dickie's behind the shower curtain, oblivious to me as I wash up using the soft soap on the sink, then rinse and dry myself with a hand towel, one that's seen better days.

Back in the bedroom, I pull on my swimsuit and polo shirt, step into my sandals and, feeling fantastic, walk out, seeing Gordon getting another bowl of Frosted Flakes and milk. Ew!

Outside, I smile 'cause there's no way I'm going to be horny the rest of this day. Driving back to the boardwalk to get breakfast, I'm trying to figure out why that date with Dickie hit me as super sexy, hot, and submissive. It had to be a combination of a lot of weird things that happened this morning. Hmm, that would be impossible to repeat, I'd imagine.

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.

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