Date: Wed, 5 Oct 2016 02:18:34 +0000 (UTC)
From: redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com
Subject: IN THE CARE OF MR. CLAY

IN THE CARE OF MR. CLAY is about a 13-year-old boy who has concluded that
his kindly older neighbor is actually a dirty old man. But now the boy's
mother has left for the summer and the boy will be staying with
Mr. Clay. While there are no actual sex acts in the story, there are sexual
situations and, at the end of the story, the implication that sex is about
to happen between the two.

IN THE CARE OF MR. CLAY

By Mr. Red r=e=d=b=e=a=r=d=e=d=s=f aty+a+h+o+o dot com

PLEASE DONATE TO NIFTY AND KEEP THIS WONDERFUL SERVICE ALIVE!

Adult content. If you are not of age to read this story in your
jurisdiction, please go away now. If you are not allowed to read such
stories in your jurisdiction, go away (or better yet, find another
jurisdiction). If you cannot tell fantasy from reality, please go away and
get help.

This story contains erotic situations between an older man and a young
boy. While there is no actual sex between the two in this story, there is a
definite suggestion at the end of the story that sex is going to take
place.



- - - - -

How could my mother be so oblivious? She was a cultured, well-educated
woman, but she could be dense. There are two things the parent of a cute
little boy must do: teach him to stay away from touching a hot stove; and
keep him out of the clutches of dirty old men.

Well, at least my mom taught me not to touch a hot stove. But on that
memorable afternoon, I found myself locked in a small room in Mr. Clay's
house, wearing only my white briefs. It wasn't like it was some secret from
my mom. She knew exactly where I was and exactly what I was wearing. But
she was on her way to a train station, leaving her 13-year-old son alone
with this man who I'd already figured out was a homo and a perv.

Mr. Clay had been kind to us when we first moved to this small resort
town. My mother was a newly-divorced single mom, who wanted to be a
painter, but had just started working as a waitress. I was an elementary
school smart-ass, rebelling against my mom because I blamed her for my
father's departure. Mr. Clay was renting out the servants' quarters in his
big house. These rooms had their own entrance, and Mr. Clay had put in a
door between the rest of the house and our space, although it only locked
from his side.

I tagged along with my mom when Mr. Clay first showed us the rooms. There
were three rooms in a row on one side of a hall. The other side of the hall
had a small kitchen and a small bathroom. Mom and I would each take one
bedroom; mom took the bigger one so she could set up her paints there. The
middle room would serve as living room/dining room. Sounds pretty pathetic,
but right outside the door there was all this land: there was a swimming
pool near the back of the house, where we were situated; also Mr. Clay's
property backed up against national forest.

My mom was worried about a mischievous 10-year-old getting lost in the
woods. Mr. Clay said that if we moved in, he would give me a set of
walkie-talkies as a housewarming present. That really got my attention. I
was used to grown ups acting like I wasn't even there. Now there was a
grown up who kept looking at me, smiling and winking, and he was offering
me a really cool present.  I'll admit, Mr. Clay was always generous. My
biggest concern was whether I'd be able to use the swimming pool. My mom
cautioned me that it was Mr. Clay's pool, but he explained that he liked to
take a leisurely swim at 6 a.m., and rarely used the pool the rest of the
day. He said he'd be happy to see me in the pool.

It was summer when we moved in and I was so eager to get into the pool I
didn't care that first day that I had to wear cut-off jeans into the
water. They got real heavy when they were wet and the denim was tugging
down, making it difficult for me to walk in the water. Mr. Clay was sitting
under an umbrella watching me and my mom in the water. He told me I could
swim in my white underpants. I suppose he had noticed the waistband. My mom
said it was OK if Mr. Clay said so. I struggled out of the wet denim and
went back in the water in just my white briefs. When I look back on that
now, I realize that white fabric becomes see through when wet, so while I
was oblivious, that old man was ogling my barely-concealed dick and ass.

The next day Mr. Clay brought me some swimsuits. My mom scolded him and
said he shouldn't spend money on me like that, but he insisted his nephew
had left them there (even though he had to remove the price tags). It
turned out the swimsuits he offered me were tiny speedos, one in white, one
in red. He went into the pool house with me to make sure I knew how to put
them on right.

Before you jump to any conclusions, let me say that he didn't try to have
sex with me in any way when I was that young. But thinking back, I realize
he sure did get an eyeful. He watched as I got naked. At that age I didn't
think anything about this man seeing my bare body. If it was my mother or
any girl, I would have freaked out, but Mr. Clay was a man, he was a man
who kept on being kind to us and was trusted by my mother. So I pushed down
my briefs as he fussed with the white pair of speedos.

He guided each leg into the correct hole and even helped pull them up on
me, patting them in place and touching me to make me turn and to check the
fit. Now that I think back on what happened, I guess he did have his hands
on me quite a bit. Since I'd been without a dad, I suppose I enjoyed the
feel of a big older man helping me and touching me up.

Then he helped me peel down the white speedos and put on the red ones. He
told me that the white one had sheer fabric and it might embarrass my
mother, so I should only wear it when he and his buddies were at the pool,
without my mother or any females present. That made total sense to my
ten-year-old mind.

I never thought twice about our interaction in the pool house, and my
mother never minded, so I figured everything was cool. When I called for
Mr. Clay to come into the water with us, he declined. He liked to go for
quiet morning swims very early before anyone else in the house was
awake. He spent most of that time in the pool floating and meditating. The
rest of the day he welcomed me bringing any of my friends over to swim, as
long as I only brought one at a time. I know we were noisy, but he said he
liked the sound of boys' laughter.

Now here I was three years later stripped to just my small white briefs,
and locked in a room in Mr. Clay's house. And my mother was behind it
all. She calls up to me: "I?m going to the train now, honey. You be a good
boy for Mr. Clay. Do as he says."

I yelled back one last time, "Mo-o-o-om! Don't do this to me. Don't leave
me here with him."

I heard the door slam shut. When I looked out the window there was my mom
getting into a taxi as Mr. Clay helped with her bags. They hugged and she
looked up at the window to wave to me. I closed the blinds in the room
without waving back.

That's when I realized that my hand was gripping my erection through the
fabric of my white briefs. I looked nervously to the door. Was Mr. Clay
going to walk in any moment and see my stiffy straining at the white
fabric? Or did I have time for a quick jackoff, to get rid of my pent-up
feelings? But if I did shoot off, where would I put it? I had already
established there was no fabric in the room with which to cover
myself. There was nothing I could use as a cum rag, except my briefs.

I flopped down on the divan and waited, grasping my cock through my cotton
underpants. I didn't shoot all that much at that age and I was thinking
maybe I could just shoot off and rub it on the inside fabric of the cotton
briefs. But I kept looking to the door wondering when it would open.

I didn't suspect the man of perving on me until just after I turned 12,
when Mr. Clay started whispering things to me. They weren't exactly sex,
but they made me feel uncomfortable and dirty. Sometimes when I would pass
him coming back home from school, or when I was just in the backyard, he
would pull me close and whisper something in my ear, always with a smile.

The first time I remember him stopping me like this, he put his hand on my
shoulder and looked me up and down. He said, "Hmmmm, I hear you've grown a
full 2 inches in the last 12 months, kid."

I grinned and nodded, proud of myself. He leaned in real close to me and
whispered, "Did you grow any inches down where it really matters?" Then, as
he moved away, he gave the front of my jeans a little pat. He didn't touch
it long enough for me to even respond. And anyone watching could have
easily missed it. But I know he purposely touched me there.

He would lean in for those quiet little whispered comments only when my mom
wasn't home and nobody else was around; well, except for Mr. Clay's special
card-playing buddies. (At least my mom thought they were card-playing
buddies. I told you she was dense.) This bunch of rabble wouldn't bother
whispering. They'd speak full voice to say things like, "Who's bigger? You
or your friend Mike?"

"He's taller but I weigh more, but only by a few pounds."

They looked at me bewildered, then started to laugh. "Come on kid. At your
age you've certainly compared packages with your best friend." With that
the man grasped his dick and balls in his shorts to make clear what he
meant by "packages." Then another guy shouted, "You and this buddy do have
sleepovers together, don't you?"

I blushed bright red and squirmed in the sun. I was only wearing my
swimsuit, since Mr. Clay had pulled the towel from me. I felt the eyes of
all these men raking over my smooth flesh. But I'd been taught to always be
polite to adults — especially since these adults were friends of
Mr. Clay. (My mom liked to remind me that people who could afford the
amount of rent we paid, didn't usually have swimming pools or access to
national forests.) Mike and I had looked at each other's boners and we had
watched each other jerk off, but we hadn't touched each other's dicks. But
all that was a deep dark secret. How did these creepy men know about it?

Mr. Clay grabbed me around and said, "Hey, stop it, guys. You're making the
kid blush. And he's a really good boy. So be nice to him." With that each
of the men pulled something out of their pocket and gave it to me. One
handed me four quarters, another gave me an unopened candy bar, while a
third actually gave me a 5-dollar bill. I looked to Mr. Clay, who said he
would hold all that for me, and that his friends wanted to watch me swim
and enjoy myself.

So I jumped back into the pool.

But by that time I'd already figured out that these guys were perving on
me. In a strange way it gave me a thrill to be swimming in my tight suit,
knowing these dirty old men were watching my butt and my smooth chest. But
at the same time, that's when I stopped changing clothes in front of
Mr. Clay. I even used the swimming pool less when I realized Mr. Clay
scheduled his friends' visits during my usual swimming times. But there was
always my mom wanting us to please Mr. Clay.

One night when we were eating dinner with him, he asked about a friend of
mine named Luke. Everyone knew that Luke was the cutest boy at school, and
he had a really impressive body for his age, defined chest and ridges on
his tummy. I had once invited Luke over for a swim, but I found I didn't
like the guy. He was too full of himself. Now Mr. Clay was going on and on
about this really nice boy, Luke. How he'd hope I'd have more friends like
Luke. And how much he wanted to see Luke come back for a swim.

My mom started bugging me about inviting Luke over. I told her I didn't
like Luke and she insisted that Mr. Clay was a good judge of character. So
Luke came over wearing a skin-tight yellow swimsuit that fit like a second
skin. I wanted so much to get away from Luke that I laid on a lounge chair
and said I wasn't feeling very well. That didn't seem to matter to Luke,
because he and Mr. Clay started talking together, laughing at the other end
of the pool. I just shut my eyes and before I knew it I was fully asleep.

I'm not sure how long I slept but when I opened my eyes I was alone by the
pool, no sign of Luke or of Mr. Clay, except that I noticed Luke's bicycle
where he had dropped it in the driveway. I was glad to be alone out there
and jumped into the pool to swim laps.

I'm not sure how much time passed before I saw Mr. Clay coming back out of
his house toward the pool. He was smiling and in a light-hearted mood. He
told me that Luke had left when I dozed off, and that he had gone into the
house to make himself a drink. I looked to the driveway and this time
Luke's bike was gone.

There was another day when I had to stay late at school. When I got home I
noticed Luke's bike in the driveway. Around back Mr. Clay wasn't by the
swimming pool, so I quickly changed into my swimsuit and jumped in the
water. It was probably a half hour later when I noticed movement out of the
corner of my eye — I saw Luke taking his bike and leaving. A few minutes
after that Mr. Clay came out of his house.

It might have been a coincidence, but a few days later Luke was showing off
the new gaming system he had bought. All the guys wanted to know where he
got the money and he told them he got a gift from his rich uncle. It was
only years later when I put all the pieces together and I wondered what
Luke had done for Mr. Clay, or what he had let Mr. Clay do to him that had
earned him the money for the gaming system.

Then just about the time of my 13th birthday I noticed a few hairs on my
upper lip. My best friend Mike kidded me about it. "Hey, you'll be growing
a beard soon, bro." And of course Mr. Clay had to make a comment to me. As
I came home from school he was walking toward me on our walkway. He put an
arm around my shoulder and touched a finger to my upper lip. "Heheh, are
you growing hair any other places, little buddy? You don't have a dad to
check on your development, so you should let me check that out." And once
again one hand slipped across the front of my jeans. I pulled away and
nearly fell over. He steadied me, gave another one of his creepy laughs,
and then just walked away.

That brings us to this one particular day, the day I'll never forget,
locked in a small room, stripped to just my white briefs, and waiting for
Mr. Clay to come for me. My mother had disappeared in the taxi and Mr. Clay
had disappeared someplace down the block, but then I heard him come back
into the house again.

This situation had started just two days earlier. My mother had gotten
accepted to a special artist's retreat in New Mexico. She had been on the
waiting list and a spot had opened up at the very last minute, so she would
have to leave right away. I was happy for her, but then she became uneasy
and said she had to talk to Mr. Clay. He was the one she went to when she
needed advice.

She returned jubilant again and told me that everything was worked out. She
didn't give me details, just ran to her room and started packing. I ran out
to the pool. All I cared about was that school was out and I was on summer
vacation. I didn't even stop to think about whether I would go along with
my mother to New Mexico, or where I would stay. That was an adult concern.

It wasn't until late the next evening that my mother said, "Oh, didn't I
tell you? You'll be staying with Mr. Clay. He even offered to pay you a
salary to help in his shop out front. But I insisted on paying rent for
you, so he said it should be a fair trade — you'll have free rent and
he'll get your help in his shop."

I hadn't had a chance to speak when she rattled on, "He even found some
guys who will sublet our rooms, so I won't be responsible for the rent over
the summer."

"Wait!" I held up my hands. "Are you saying that I'm gonna be staying with
Mr. Clay for the summer? Like living in his house? Sleeping there?"

She smiled, clueless as ever, and nodded her head. She never stopped
packing until I said, "No way, mom. I don't want to stay with Mr. Clay."

She looked at me for a long moment before she said, "How selfish can you
be? This could be my best opportunity. And Mr. Clay, who's always been so
nice to us, has generously offered to take you for the summer so I can do
this — and you're so selfish you would deny your mother this chance."
She looked like she was going to cry.

I didn't want to say yes, but I couldn't say no to her at that moment. I
just stormed out of her room and slammed the door of my room.

Soon it was the morning she was going to leave. I tried to talk to her in a
reasonable way. I said, "Look, Mr. Clay just makes me feel creepy."

She just gave me a look like I was crazy. "He's old, honey. Old people can
seem peculiar to little boys your age. Also, I don't understand this. You
never found him creepy before."

I gritted my teeth and said, "Look, mom, he looks at me funny. And he
touches me funny. I think maybe he's... y'know one of those men who wants
to do stuff with little boys and..."

She got really angry then. She stood to her full height and began lecturing
me. "That's a very easy accusation for someone your age to make. And you
could cause a lot of trouble for a man who's been very kind to us, and who
continues to be generous in so many ways. I know you're only making this up
because you're mad that I'm going away, but..."

"No, mom, I'm not making it up. He says stuff to me..."

"I don't want to hear another word about this. You could destroy a man's
life and his reputation saying things like that. Fortunately, I know
Mr. Clay well enough that I know you're lying." As if she needed to add one
more thing, she snapped, "And don't ever let me hear that you told these
accusations to anyone else."

I'm not usually intimidated by my mother, but the look on her face told me
not to mess with her. Before I could close my bedroom door, Mr. Clay showed
up with Coach Pete from the rec center. Pete ran the local soccer league
and I thought he was the greatest. He was a college guy with a terrific
body and a handsome face. Maybe Coach Pete would listen to me and what I
had to say about Mr. Clay.

But Mr. Clay had his arm around Coach Pete's shoulder and told my mom that
this was the person who would be subletting our rooms for the summer. Pete
would be moving in with a buddy of his and paying the rent.

"Hey, Coach Pete," I called out. "I can stay in my usual room down here
with you guys, right?"

Instead of responding to me, Pete looked at Mr. Clay and said, "I thought
he was going to be living with you in the big house this summer."

My mother said, "That's right, he will be living with Mr. Clay."

At that point I was grasping for straws and I grasped for a flimsy
one. Instead of yelling again, I spoke in a calm voice and said, "OK, mom,
you want to leave me here with Mr. Clay, I'll just run away."

My mother and Mr. Clay looked at each other, both alarmed. I figured I was
on the right track. Mr. Clay said, "I'm not sure what to do. I can't put
bars on all the windows and doors."

But Coach Pete had a solution. He offered, "My oldest brother tried to run
away twice. My daddy fixed that. He took away all the boy's clothes."

"All of them?" I cried out. The very thought made my little dick tingle in
my pants.

"Well, he let him keep on his tighty whities. That is, if he was a good
boy. Funny thing, me and my other brother never ran away but daddy made us
dress the same. So all three of us boys only wore undies in the house.?

"You only wore underpants at home?" my mother repeated his last statement
and looked like she was going to giggle.

"Well, ma'am, my mother was long gone, so it was only us guys in the
house. It did mean we had to have daddy's permission anyplace we went,
because we'd have to ask him for clothes."

"No way!" I shouted feeling nervousness that made my dick thicken.

"You're modest about your body, aren't you, little buddy?" Mr. Clay asked
in a very kindly voice. I nodded my head and he went on, "You?d feel real
awkward walking around here in just your underpants even if there were only
men here."

"Yes!" I said, feeling like he understood me.

But then the older man turned to my mother and said, "You see, that's why
it's such an effective deterrent and can even be considered a punishment."
My mother nodded to him. Coach Pete added, "And it's good for overly modest
boys this age to get used to being undressed in front of other guys."

Then Coach Pete turned to me and said, "C'mon, little buddy, let's get that
shirt and pants off you."

I turned and ran down the hall into Mr. Clay?s house. Normally, neither
Mr. Clay nor my mother could catch me. But Coach Pete was there and he
grabbed me before I even made it through the next room.  He had me pinned
and he was starting to pull up my shirt. I shouted, "Not in front of my
mom. Please I don?t wanna be undressed in front of my mom."

Coach Pete held me from behind. Mr. Clay looked at my mom and said, "Say
goodbye to your boy. We're going to take him upstairs."

As the two men pushed me up the flight of steps, my mother called after us,
"I trust you, Mr. Clay. If he acts up, you have my permission to punish him
any way you like. And, son, if he wants you naked, you will get naked for
him. Do you understand me?"

I mumbled, "Yes, ma'am," but she called back that she couldn't hear me so I
shouted it back to her.

Now do you see what I mean when I say my mom was dense? How many mothers
have put their cute sons into the hands of dirty old men with such a clear
command. My mother ordered me that if Mr. Clay wants me to get naked, I
will get naked for him.

I figured the two older men would put me into the guest room or into
Mr. Clay's room, but instead they dragged me toward the end of the hall
where there was a small sitting room — except nobody ever sat
there. They pushed me in and the two of them were blocking the door.

Mr. Clay's voice was soft but very intense as he said, "There are two ways
we can do this, boy. You can take off your shoes and socks, then your shirt
and pants, and give them to us. And we'll leave you here with your
underpants on." There was a long pause and then he said, "Or my buddy Pete
here will help me strip you."

"And if you're fighting us," Pete explained dryly. "Then I can't guarantee
I'll leave your underpants on you when I strip you down."

Mr. Clay looked at the younger man, smiling, and said, "In fact, didn't you
say that if any of you boys were uncooperative, your father would punish
you by taking away your underpants so you'd have to stay bare-ass naked?
That sounds reasonable." Then the older man turned to me and licked his
lips.

So I stood in front of these two men, one of whom I knew for certain was
gay and had dirty feelings toward me, and I pulled off my t-shirt, kicked
off my sneakers and socks, then let my shorts fall to my feet. I stood in
just my boxer shorts, covering my crotch with one hand and handing off my
clothes with the other.

Mr. Clay shook his head and said, "No, no, that won't do at all." Then he
took my clothes, pulled the door shut and locked it. I heard him going
noisily down the steps calling to my mother, "We have a problem."

I didn't know what was going on. I was hopeful that maybe the problem would
keep me from staying with Mr. Clay for the summer. At the same time I had a
problem. I had a boner in my boxers. I was at an age where being in my
underwear made me bone up. For reasons I can?t explain, the thought of
being undressed with a grownup man who wanted me for sex was making my cock
really stiff.

The door pulled open not five minutes later, my hand still trying to hide
the tent in my boxers. Mr. Clay was holding a pair of my old tighty
whities. I said, "I don't wear those anymore. My mom let me switch to
boxers when I started the last school year."

"Well, lad," he said, tossing the underpants for me to catch. "Those boxers
won't do. The whole idea is to keep you from running away. Those boxers
look enough like a swimsuit that you could get quite a distance in a resort
community like this.  So drop the boxers and put on the tighty whities."

I must have been blushing furiously as I backed away from them, still
holding the white underpants. Coach Pete took a step toward me and softly
said, "Once again if I have to strip you, then you'll just stay bare-ass
naked." Then he turned to Mr. Clay and said, "Y'know, he keeps on being
uncooperative. I think we should take the underwear away for the next week,
keep him stripped nude at home."

"No, no!" I said, flustered because I didn't want them to see my boner. I
turned my back and peeled down the boxers. It was a struggle pulling up the
briefs. They were more than a year old and I had grown in that
time. Mr. Clay whispered to Coach Pete, but it was loud enough for me to
hear, "First time I'm seeing that in years. It sure has filled out nicely."
I realized then he was talking about my naked ass. While I was trying to
hide my dick, I was showing off my bare ass to the two men. I also realized
that Coach Pete must have been gay, or else the older man wouldn't have
said that.

And that's why I was locked in this small room dressed in just my tighty
whities. My mother had already left and must have already been on the
train. I looked down at the boner tenting the front of my white
underpants. I wish I had jerked off when the old man was out of the
house. Now I could hear him rattling around downstairs and I knew he could
open this door at any moment.

Still, I figured it was worth a shot. I was at an age where I could stroke
my dick just a few times and make myself cum. I knew that my dick felt
charged up enough, so I stood up, turned to face the wall, and started
rubbing my hard-on up and down through the white cotton.

>From the time I started rubbing my cock for pleasure, I liked rubbing up
and down through the fabric of briefs or t-shirts. Maybe it was the fact
that I didn't have a foreskin, but something about the soft cotton sliding
over my dick made jerking off feel really nice. Up until a few months
earlier, I had always been able to rub my dick in the pouch of the
underpants, while I was wearing the underpants. Then came a day when my
dick was too big to fit like that, so I started to pull down just the back
of the briefs to the bottom of my ass cheeks. That gave more room for me to
stroke my boner through the pouch.

So there I stood facing away from the door, jerking my cock up and down
through the fabric of the front of my tighty whities, and I had the back of
the briefs tugged down revealing my hairless ass cheeks.

And that's when the door opened. I froze for an instant. And Mr. Clay was
standing in the doorway looking at my exposed ass, taking in the entire
scene. I finally reached back and tugged my underpants back up covering my
butt cheeks. I tried to keep the front of my briefs covered with my hands,
but it was clear the old man had seen me jerking off and even seen the wet
spot where my dick head was.

He was squeezing the big tent in the front of his tan slacks. I couldn't
take my eyes away from his moving hand. His voice was soft as he said, "I
had a lot of people who wanted to move into those rooms three years
ago. But when your mother came, all I could think was how nice it would be
to have such a cute little boy living here and running around the pool in
just his swimsuit."

I gasped. Even with all my suspicions about the man, I never imagined that
he had decided to rent to my mom because he had the hots for me.

He moved slowly toward me as he continued, "I just knew that you'd grow
into the adorable young teen you are now. Your body is very nice."

I looked down to the floor and mumbled, "Th-thank you." I had always been
taught to be polite when an adult gave me a compliment.

THE END

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