Date: Wed, 7 Jul 2021 16:10:00 +0000 From: donny mumford Subject: My Summer Of Sex With Cowboy Chapter 11 By Donny Mumford MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY Chapter 11 By Donny Mumford Ronny's death was devastating, but eventually, acceptance set in for both Cowboy and me. Grief lessened its hold on us, and then we noticed the world going by without us, so we hitched a ride to see if we could catch up. Since then, my sex life has been on fire, mostly through happenstance, not from any planning for it on my part. After a slow start, I began following up on random pick-up opportunities until it got to the point where I was doing that almost every night. Then, the last couple of days I've been 'bottoming' again, it's been a revitalization of bottoming off the 'effing charts. None of it has anything to do with need as I haven't been horny since leaving the Navy. So, it's not that; it's that sex is fun and my favorite thing to do, period. According to the calendar, it's not yet officially summer, but no matter how hot the summer gets, I can't imagine my sex life getting any hotter than it is right now. I could try lying to myself that this deluge of sex I'm having is just to keep grief at bay, but that would be bullshitting myself. I fear I'm addicted to sex the way, perhaps, a certain Tiger was addicted to it except on the other team. Cowboy's naked walking out of the bathroom, sporting his unparalleled brilliant smile. I like him in his crewcut hairdo, and, as if I wasn't wicked fond of him already, I like him even more with a guy's haircut. And I swear to God, that boy's smile is so charming and bright it makes me feel good. His eyes smile along with his lips and dimples, and I've never seen a better smile on anyone in my life! Unfortunately, not everyone can smile prettily. There's a facial structural component to having a great smile. It's the jaw's bone structure and whatever else that makes it impossible for some to smile. A shame, really, but that's not one of Cowboy's problems. Nope. My smile is a pretty good one, but it pales in comparison to his. No matter, I can't help smiling back at him, as he says, "I gotta tell you, Zach, every night Lee gets me all hot and bothered making out and groping, but he can't take the next step. Not yet, so that's where you come in." I'm like, "And aren't I the lucky, happy to fuck your awesome ass any time you say. It's a privilege, actually." He says, "Yeah, sure. Anyway, I'll give you a choice of foreplay this morning. You can give my ass a hard spanking, or we can make out, or I'll suck your dick. Which one are you up for?" I'm like, "Well, I haven't had a chance to buy a ping pong paddle yet, and we're not lovers, so" and I drop my boxer shorts and hold up my dick. He goes, "Yum," and comes right over to get on his knees. Yes, I sincerely do feel lucky to have Cowboy as a traveling companion. At first, I looked at it as a responsibility after giving Ronny my word. Lately, though, I've wised up and now feel fortunate to have him with me this summer. I mean, look at him! He's a cute kid and way better-looking than that asshole Richard. I can't imagine why I ever thought otherwise. I also can't imagine why I said no to oral sex when Cowboy wanted to do it the first five or six weeks we were together. I'll blame it on me being emotionally fucked up and not thinking straight. Cowboy gets right into sucking my dick, and he is an expert cock sucker. I've recently discovered that liking oral sex makes all the difference. If you like doing something, you do it the best you can. Hell, I'd like to suck Cowboy's cock, but I won't because I don't want to mess up the routine he prefers. He likes it the way it's been going, so if it ain't broke, you know, don't fuck it up. My dick gets to sizzling in Cowboy's magical mouth, and I'm soon shuffling my feet, grunting, "Um, um, um," as sensations blossom off my ever-hardening penis. That boy has a talented tongue, and I should be taking notes so I can blow Bruce better. No way I can do that, though, as all I'm thinking about is the sizzling vibrations of pleasure coming off my pecker and concentrating on not blowing my load prematurely. "Ooh, um, ooh," I moan as I rub Cowboy's crewcut, but then all too soon, I sense the arrival of pre-cum. Then it's drooling from my cock, and I back away, pulling my boned-up penis from Cowboy's fingers and mouth. It took him only ninety seconds to turn my soft pecker into a solid boner so hard it's sticking straight up, tight against my belly. Sitting back on his heels, looking snug, Cowboy smacks his lips, then says, "I like that you're now shaving your pubic hair, Zach. Cool move that I'm going to emulate when I get around to it. That might get Lee thinking he'll try sucking my five-inch dick. Ya know, a smooth groin means no hair in the mouth while cock sucking." Huh, Cowboy sprung a boner from that quick cock sucking just like I did when sucking off Bruce. Catching my breath, I mumble, "Cowboy, you should call it a blowjob when talking about it with Lee. Cock sucking sounds harsh, and it has a negative connotation to most. Forget that bullshit about sticks and stones; words do matter, bro." Still down there, sitting back on his heels, grinning up at me, he goes, "You are so wise! And, yeah, Lee is a bit delicate, and blowjob does sound sort of innocent, like him." Snorting at that, I go, "Yeah, well, let me get a condom, bro. I've got one with tons of lubricant, so I don't hurt your delicate ass." He stands, saying, "You know damn well my ass is not delicate, and I get off on a little pain." Like Bruce, Cowboy looks young for a nineteen-year-old, both only recently having reached that advanced stage in life. They've got the same basic bodies, too, although Bruce is a little taller, but their shade of blond hair is identical and cut real short. Few things are sexier than blond crewcuts on young guys. Bruce has those big brown eyes, shiny eyes. They're as pretty as Cowboy's big bright blue ones. And, after saying that, I can hardly believe I'm into young guys now. I always thought I got off on manly rugged macho guys. That was a miscalculation on my part, but I was probably unduly influenced by being a Navy Seal. I can be honest with myself now that I didn't even fucking want to be in the Navy. Ronny wanted it big time, though, so of course, I went along with him. When I take a condom from a zippered compartment on my satchel, Cowboy goes, "Let me roll that rubber on for you, Zach. Speed things up a little." He pulls my hard boner away from my belly, then giggling; he takes his hand away, mumbling, "Bro, your penis is covered with spit." I snicker, then shudder as he strokes my boner. Looking me in the eyes, he strokes my boner until it's sticking straight out--cheeky little bastard. Cowboy rolls the condom on, and, damn, a tight condom feels good! He gives my boner a pat making it bounce slightly; as I go, "Umm." Then, with his boner also bouncing a little, Cowboy grips the bureau and pushes up his ass, muttering, "Take care of your ward, Zach." Hmm, I notice he gets his lower back involved in the process of pushing his ass out and up. I'll try doing that for Bruce this morning when he's ready to fuck me. Maybe I'll get a brownie point. Last night after being fucked so excellently by both that dip-shit Richard and my cool dom, Bruce, I was wondering if I'd still be as hot for topping. Well, okay, I can forget about that concern as I'm very aroused by Cowboy's ass, aroused by the thought of fucking him. In fact, I'm shaking a bit, very anxious to feel my boner inside that cute ass of his. Grabbing his hips, I shove my hard cock in the way Bruce did it to me. And immediately, an explosion of sensations zip along the length of my boner as inch by inch I push it past Cowboy's tightly gripping sphincter muscles, Cowboy makes an initial squawking, "Anoosh!" muffled scream, followed by a series of grunting, noisy breathy sounds as he accepts the pain, then conquers it. He never drops his ass, and, in fact, he pushes it further out and up by going up on his toes. That's something I want to do when I'm bottoming for Bruce. After Bruce mounts me, I'll push my ass up even more, thereby demonstrating to him how much I want it. Yeah, that will impress Bruce. Fulling impaling Cowboy, I hump against his buttocks, feeling the dominant sense that's inherent in topping a sex partner. Then, watching Cowboy moan in pleasure, I remember last night and how I groveled submissively loving being fucked dominantly by Bruce. It's mindboggling that I suppressed that pleasure for over four years? Both positions, top, and bottom are again sexy-hot to me! Shaking my head, clearing it of all thoughts except this sex act right now, I get into full six-inch thrusting. It becomes a sort of hypnotic watching my hard cock diving into Cowboy's tight anus as his anus is doing its best to prevent that. I prevail, however, and hump my cock past the fighting anus muscles, pulling back and doing it all over again. Shortly, I feel his ass muscles giving up the battle and accept being defeated. That's when the dominant sense gives me shivers of added pleasure. >From that point on, the slapping sounds of my smooth crotch smacking against Cowboys ass is the music of sexual pleasure. It's joined by Cowboy's songs of pleasure, "Um, umm, mmmm, oooh," and my contented victorious grunts, "Ump, ump, ump," thrusting my cock up his dominated ass, knowing I can fuck him any way I want. I've got him right where I want him and him powerless to resist. Well, I can't exactly fuck him any way I want because once I get going, the sensations coming off my hard penis completely take over my brain, and I thrust faster and harder toward that runaway goal of climaxing. So, I'm kind of powerless, too, because I don't think I could stop humping my boner in his ass, even if I wanted to fuck him in a different position. Why waste time even thinking about that, though? The "Slap, slap, slap" sounds continue, the pleasure reaching astronomical heights until Cowboy bucks his hips so hard, I almost lose my grip on them, and, with a sort of squeal, he fires off his climatic orgasm. Out shoots his creamy semen in a hard fast straight line that, failing in its intended purpose of fertilizing an egg, drops ingloriously to the carpet. As he shudders, my climax has been tantalizingly at the tipping point, holds off for a few more seconds, then decides it's time to go, and BANG, a world of pleasure, streaks out from my penis swarming all over me, even making my toes curl. I'm trying to breathe as I'm shaking again, reduced to mumbling, "Umm, umm, umm." Another shiver of pleasure from the after-effects zip around and then fade out. Yeah, that's the thing about a sexual climax, sure they're the most intense experiences you have in life, but they're too short. They happen too fast and then fade too quickly. Yeah, but the thrill of climax makes you want to experience your next one as soon as possible. Natural selection over millions of years resulted in the intense pleasure of climax that Nature needed to ensure the continuation of species. That's why climaxes feel better than anything in the universe, as far as I know. Settling down quickly after our fast, intense sex, we grin at each other, then we both shrug as Cowboy mumbles, "Uh-huh, that worked for me," and then he wipes tissues on the floor with his foot, mostly smearing his cum shot, and then, in the bathroom, we're both cleaning up as I mutter, "Nice ass, bro." He snickers, saying, "Yes, and it's feeling well taken care of by you." See, we're not in love or anything, so we treat our sex in the manner it was performed, meaning good buddy sex just for the hell of it, just because we like doing it together without ties or commitment... just enjoy the mutual pleasure. He's still wiping cum off his ass, but I'm done in here. Walking out, I ask, "So, what are your plans for today?" He goes, "Right now, I'm taking a shower, and then I'm meeting Lee at the CVS when his shift is over. He wants me to help him straighten out their messy garage, and then we're hitting the beach." In our bedroom, I'm looking at the nasty jockstrap I threw on the floor ten minutes ago. Picking it up, I stare at the stains trying to figure out which ones are dried piss and which ones are dried cum drippings. What the fuck? I'm resigned to wearing it, so I pull it on. Damn, the cup is so stiff with dried piss and cum it feels like sandpaper on my cock and balls. I didn't notice that last night, but there are reasons for that. After all the sex I had with those two, I wasn't noticing much of anything. Pulling shorts on over the jockstrap, I step back to the bathroom door, asking, "Are you going to get something for breakfast?" He says, "I only have time for a take-out coffee as Lee's shift is over at ten." Wow, thank God for Lee! I don't know how I'd explain what I'm going to be doing most days and some nights with Bruce; what would I say if Cowboy didn't have Lee as his playmate. I go, "Okay, I'm taking off to run some errands and hook up with my new buddy. I'll probably see you later on the beach." He turns on the shower, mumbling, "Roger that." As I finish getting dressed, I'm smiling to myself. Cowboy saying, 'roger that,' is what Ronny said all the time and, since Cowboy's voice sounds exactly like Ronny, it was sweet hearing him say it. Yeah, Ronny's face appeared in my head. Walking outside, I pat my shirt pocket to make sure I brought my cigarettes, then remember Bruce has my pack. Damn, I could really go for a smoke! Well, I'm not going to buy a pack the very next day after being told not to, so I'll hope Bruce lets me have a cigarette when he smokes. In the car, I start it up and then put the top down. Idling here, I look at Bruce's address on my cell phone, noticing the time is only nine-fifteen. With time to kill, I drive to a Dunkin's for coffee and a plain donut. Drinking and eating at an outside picnic table, I look up directions on my phone for Bruce's apartment, again thinking how perfect a cigarette would go with this coffee. Dammit! The fact that I'm not buying a pack brings on a taste of submissiveness to Bruce, which in turn makes my dick quiver in the sandpaper cup of the jockstrap. That tinge of submissiveness brings back a memory from prep school. This tough guy, Mark Rittenhouse, use to give me a deep submissive sense when he'd roughly bend me over and fuck me bareback. Those were the days, my friend. Yeah, I'd be struggling like mad; at first, then he forces his fourteen-year-old hard cock up inside me and humps it back and forth while pushing my arm up toward my neck. After the third or fourth thrust, I'd calm down and accept he'd dominated me. It's like a cowpoke breaking in a wild horse. Mark had me where he wanted me, he broke my will to resist, and that's when I'd get that deep submissive sense. Ha, after accepting my fate, I'd be making quiet whining noises without struggling, captivated by his power over me and his thrusting young boner. Seeing my submissiveness to him, Mark would let go of my arm and roughly pull up on my hips with me giving no resistance. He'd call me a faggot, a pussy faggot, and he'd fuck me silly. When he had the time for it, after he climaxed his load of youthful cum up my ass, he'd spank me until I begged him to stop. Then he'd tell me to sit down against the lockers and keep my mouth shut. I'd docilely do what he said, waiting for him to tell me to get up and lean over again. I never gave him any trouble during the second fuck on my ass, accepting that he earned the right to it, to my ass. No, I didn't struggle at all when he fucked me the second time, submissiveness swarming all over me, and, by then, I embraced it and tried my best to please him. That was a long time ago, and there's a big difference with Bruce dominating me now. Mark was stronger and tougher than I was back then, but with Bruce, I'm the stronger, tougher one, and yet I'm still the one taking it up my ass submissively, so what's up with that? It entices me; the submissiveness did in both cases. I have a weaker submissive sense with Bruce so far, but I bet a stronger level of it is just around the corner. Bruce is just getting started. Thinking back to my reaction to Mark, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I'd enjoy playing the sub/dom game with Bruce as I do. I'm not sure how much of it I'm playing along with and how much of it is because Bruce somehow got into my head, and I had little choice except to do what he wants. It's probably a little of each. If nothing ever developed further with Bruce, it will still have been worth the time and effort because it's bringing back some cool/hot memories that I haven't thought of in years. Still, more than that, it's solidified the fact I'm back being a bottom, which doubles my sex opportunities. Hmm, the way Cowboy sucked my dick this morning makes me want to do it the same way for Bruce. I'm going to try my best to do it as well as Cowboy. Seriously, I hope that's the first thing Bruce tells me to do, suck him off. Or, better yet, I hope he tells me to get naked and lick his asshole and then suck his cock. Suck it until he blows his load down my throat. Omigod, can I believe myself? Hmm, after having that last thought, Bruce must be cleverer than I thought. He must have gotten in my head somehow for me to want to rim his ass again. I think his goofiness at times relaxes me, and then he'll get stern taking me unawares, and I end up doing what I'm told. Well, as I've said before, me being Ronny copilot for years and then four years in the Navy, I'm used to doing what I'm told. I need to be more alert, though. Be aware of what Bruce is doing. On the other hand, why bother? I mean, if I'm enjoying my time with him, why change anything? Being with him is so fucking different and interesting from anything I've done in years. So was what I did with Richard, but I don't like him, and I do like Bruce. It's, um, fun and sexy as hell with Bruce, so what's the point of second-guessing the things he gets me to do? Plus, this is my first adventure into the unknown. On my own, I mean, and I want to see what it's all about. Hell, I don't have anything else to do, which may be the main reason for continuing. No, I'm continuing because I'm anxious to see what Bruce has in store for me in the long run. Thinking about that has my dick buzzing in the sandpaper jockstrap cup again. Hmm, it feels scary-good to be anxiously anticipating what Bruce will make me do. It will include a lot of sex; I'm sure of that. My dick buzzes, knowing that someone other than me will decide what I'm going to do today. Oh, I just had shivers again. I'm anxious, so I check my phone and see it's time to get going. Finishing the last of my coffee, then looking at the half-eaten donut, I just get up and leave it on the table. Getting in my car, I see two teenage girls smoking, making me want a cigarette even more. Then I get another little tingling in my balls, thinking about why I can't have one. Jeez, it's kind of sexy somehow that I'm obeying Bruce even when I'm not with him. His apartment is a mile down from Richard's locker room, only two blocks from the boardwalk. After parking on the street, I go inside the building's front door, but the next door is locked. Hmm, you need to be buzzed in by a tenant. Rechecking Bruce's address, I push the button for apartment 202 and wait. Nothing happens, so I push it again, leaning on it a little longer this time. Nothing happens again, so I push the button for 102, and a scratchy intercom voice says, "Yes?" I go, "Joe Fumings, air-condition inspector," and add some garbled non-words, and the scratchy voice goes, "What?" Fuck, this always works in the movies. I say, "New air conditioning units," and more garbled non-words and hear the intercom voice say, "I can't understand." Then, "Buzzzzz," and the door clicks open. Ha, it works in real life too. Going inside, I see the elevator but take the steps. Apartment 202 is at the other end of the corridor. Quickly walking to it, I want to be exactly there at ten o'clock. Knocking on the door, and the same thing happens... nothing. I recheck my cell phone, looking at the address Bruce texted me, and it says the same thing it said the other two times I checked it, apartment 202. Well, what the fuck? Am I being stood up? I pound on the door, and an older man with a severe combover beginning just above his right ear going to his left ear steps out of the door for apartment 204 and glares at me. I'm getting pissed, so I glare back at him until he goes back inside. It helps to be big and strong-looking; it intimidates people. Goddammit, though, I'm just about to give up when the door opens, and Bruce, wearing only girl's silky bikini-type underpants, scratches his balls, yawns, then mumbles "Come on in." He just got out of bed? It's a nice apartment, but the limited furniture is a bit worn and undoubtedly rented. Of course, it is; why would a nineteen-year-old guy own furniture? Rubbing his face, he goes, "Take off everything except the jockstrap and stand in that attention position." I say, "No hello, or anything?" He snickers, "Sorry, hello Zachery. Get undressed but leave the jockstrap on," and he goes into the small kitchen, scratching his balls again. Funny, I never noticed the tattoo of a hand giving the finger on his back shoulder. Yeah, but when have I seen his back? I saw his ass and his asshole but, other than that, I'm either facing him, or I'm bent over with his cock up my ass. It takes me fifteen seconds to undress as I'm only wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and sandals. Yeah, the jockstrap too, but he wants me to leave that on. Standing at military attention feels natural to me after years of doing it for real. I hear what sounds like a tea kettle whistling, and then it dies down, and a minute later, Bruce comes back holding a steaming mug of tea. I see the tea bag string hanging down the side. He has a neutral expression on his face as he walks slowly around me, saying, "Do not speak unless I tell you. So that you know, I'm required to send a text to Richard outlining my mentoring of you last night. I sent it, he read it, then sent a scathing text back saying I was much too easy on you." I'm thinking, 'Oh, no!' Bruce sips some tea, then says, "I resisted sending a fuck you text back to him, but he probably has a point. You're right on time this morning, though, so that's counts in your favor." He steps in front of me, two inches away, looking me in the eyes, and asks, "Have you had a cigarette since I dismissed you last night? Don't lie, or I'll know." I look right into his big brown eyes and say, "No, Bruce, I did not." Stepping back, he drinks some tea and says, "Good, I believe you," then kookie-Bruce shows up, and he says in his normal non-stern, conversational voice, "I forgot to put sugar in this." That nonsequitur caught me off guard, and I snicker. He makes a face and snickers back; then he goes into the kitchen again. He comes back slurping his tea, nodding his head, and then says, "Drop to your knees and give me a morning blowjob, and make it a good one 'cause I need something to get my blood flowing." Oh boy, this is what I was hoping he'd say. Quickly on my knees, Bruce rubs my head briskly, saying, "I don't give a shit what Richard thinks. I know how to mentor you better than he does." Then he drinks some tea and adds, "Don't tell him I said that." Putting the mug on the windowsill, he pulls his girl's bikini underwear to his knees and mutters, "Take it the rest of the way off." I do that with him lifting one foot, then the other as I stare at his really nice-looking seven-inch penis hanging down past his pinkish-white, almost round scrotum. He says, "First, though, do your smelling exercise." That is so stupid, but I put my face against his really nice package and do a noisy inhale. Same pleasant scent as last night, and I'm thinking he has naturally pleasant-smelling skin, but not just here. I'll bet if I smelled his left tit or the side of his neck, it would smell the same as the skin on his cock and balls. I do the noisy inhaling routine five times, and the same thing happens that happened last night. After getting used to the subtle scent, it fades out. I raise my hand like a six-year-old in first grade, and Bruce goes, "What?" I tell him about the fading skin scent, and he nods his head, "Oh, yeah. I forgot you told me that last night. Okay, suck my cock and lick my balls until I shoot off in your mouth." He's still talking conversationally as if what he just said is a perfectly normal thing to tell someone. I don't care, though, because I want to taste his cock again. The thing is, he mentioned licking his balls too, so I better do that first. I don't mind doing that, which makes a thought drift past my brain that there's a weird component here that I'm missing. I mean, what is making me so willing, anxious even, to do this. I hardly know him and, before the last couple of nights, I haven't sucked cock for years and never rimmed an ass in my life. So, the question begs an answer, why am I so hot to do this for Bruce? And why didn't I ask myself this question at Dunkin' when I first realized I was anxious to suck Bruce's dick and rim his asshole? It must be because he somehow got in my head last night. Yeah, but so what? I want to do it, so go with that. I'll do the ball licking the way I did it for Richard last night, only better. Craning my head as far back as I can get it, then stick my tongue stretched out so far it aches and lick right over Bruce's asshole, and then drag my tongue over the short space to where his scrotum begins, his perineum, then up and around his scrotum with enough pressure to move his balls, and then up and over to the base of his cock." Bruce mumbles, "Nice," and, getting more saliva worked up, I do it again, then again. He grunts, shuffling his feet while rubbing my head, muttering, "Now my cock." I take it in my fingers, noticing that it's already fairly firm from my ball-licking. The head goes in my mouth and, I don't know, but I can't get enough of sucking and licking it. The silly thought slips past my mind that I'm sucking my dom's cock, which means I'd better do it really good. Damn, that silly dom-word again. Hmm, though, I'm really liking licking and sucking this hard-boned-up long penis. I feel his cock grow slightly fatter and harder, while, at the same time, my cock is getting harder, trying to point up inside my jockstrap. Bruce is making grunting sounds, and with a hand on either side of my head, he holds my head in place and begins humping his hips, fucking my mouth. It's so dominant; I sag into a submissive state of mind, my boner getting ridiculously hard pushing against the jockstrap cup painfully. Bruce's hard boner is sliding back and forth on my tongue, so I close my lips-covered teeth, putting pressure on Bruce's moving boner until we climax together. His long stream of cum hits the back of my throat, getting my dangling uvula swinging. My load of cum fills up the jockstrap cup and then leaks out both sides and runs down the inside of my thighs. Omigod, that was a painful climax, my boner almost bent in half inside that stiff cup. Gawd! We're both breathing heavily, me pushing my now softening cum-covered cock sideways to get the head away from the wet front of the sandpaper cup. It was a weird climax, but hot too! Yes, painful, but bizarrely hot and sexy. Bruce goes, "Whew, dude, you really know how to suck cock!" I'm sitting back on my heels, feeling a bit dizzy. Then, it hits me that I just climaxed from sucking Bruce's cock, so how stupid do I feel for chuckling at Cowboy when he's done that? This is a whole new world for me. Maybe not for Bruce, though, as he casually gets his tea off the windowsill and swallows a lot of it, then he says, "Walk over to me on your hands and knees." I do that, and he goes, "Did you piss yourself?" Before I can answer, he exclaims, "No! You came in your jockstrap! Awesome! Climaxing from sucking me off. Progress! I can't wait to brag about that to Richard." I'm trying to move the jockstrap cup to contain some of my cum from drooling out, but Bruce says, "Nevermind that. I want you to stare at my groin and tell me what you see." I mumble, "I see the coolest looking penis ever and a perfect set of balls in an almost round scrotum sack." He laughs out loud and then says, "Not the obvious, look closer," and I go, "Do you mean the barely visible tiny hairs, um, pubic hairs?" He goes, "That exactly what I mean. They grow back, ya know?" I think, 'Duh, no shit,' but I don't say it. He tells me, "Get up and go in the bathroom, put toilet paper in that jock's cup, then get the MAN hair dissolving stuff that Richard made me buy months ago. That shit works." I hesitate, so he points to a door in the hall. Getting up, I go there, and holy shit, his bathroom is as neat as a pin. And clean as, um, well, it's spotless. Clean as his ass, haha. After stuffing toilet paper in the cup to absorb the wetness, I see two containers of MAN creme on a shelf. I take one and carry it back to Bruce, realizing how much I like that we're naked again. We're naked so much it gets, so I barely think about it. Bruce is lying on the couch, motioning for me to bring him the cream. I give it to him, and he takes off the lid, saying, "Spread this stuff all around my cock and balls, around my asshole, and both my lower legs. Other than that, I'm naturally hairless except for my head and underarms." Ha, he's the same as me. Bruce yawns again, then mutters, "It'll be your job to notice when you need to do this for your dom, and, of course, notice when you need to do it for yourself. That goes without saying, but I said it anyhow." Getting on my knees, on the couch, I mumble, "Yes, Bruce." He's put a towel under his ass to protect the cushions from me carelessly applying the creme. Lifting his legs high, he says, "Get my asshole first." There are barely visible light brown wimpy-looking hairs, barely above the skin near his tight-looking anus. Carefully circling it with the pad of my creme-coated finger, I say, "Done," and he drops his legs. As I'm rubbing the creme around his cock and balls, I can feel myself getting hard again. Damn, it hurts getting a hard-on in the cup. Obviously, I'm now deeply into Bruce and his hot, slim body. More than I realized until just now. Then, with both hands loaded with the MAN creme, I circle his excellent-looking legs going up and down his calves until he goes, "What the fuck ya doing? You've already got plenty of that stuff on both my legs." I say, "Yes, Bruce." Holy hell, what the fuck kind of voice did I hear coming out of my mouth. I sounded like a cunt or a timid little kid when I said, 'yes, Bruce.' Bruce says, "Get off the couch, Zachery. I'm going to shower this shit off me, and while I'm doing that, I want you standing in that corner." I blink, mumbling, "Huh?" He's pointing, "That corner over there near the front door." I look at him like I can't believe my ears, and he uses his stern voice, "Now, Zachery!" Shocked, I walk over and stand in the corner feeling strong submissiveness toward Bruce. My shoulders slump, and I feel as though I'm short and skinny. He slowly gets up off the couch, walks over to me, and says, "Nose touching the corner, recruit." I already was doing that. He mutters, "At attention too." I wasn't doing that, but I am now, and he mumbles, "I won't be very long. I'll get you after a quick shower, and we'll go to the beach for a while." My cum is wet and slimy on my soft dick in the jockstrap cup and very uncomfortable, but I keep my nose touching the corner and my mind blank. Time sort of drifts on me, but I know Bruce's shower wasn't quick, and I do not think he came right out to get me after his shower either. Then, I'm not sure how much more time has passed when I hear him talking on the phone in his bedroom. I can't make out the words, don't even try 'cause I don't eavesdrop, but it was quite a long conversation involving laughter. Finally, Bruce's hand grasp the back of my neck, pulling away from the corner as he's saying, "Sorry, that took a little longer than I expected." Then, he looks at me, pitches my nose, and says, "I told you to touch your nose at the corner, not press it there. Your nose is red and looks sore." That wasn't a question, so I nervously lick my lips but say nothing. He rubs my shoulder, mumbling, "Look, when I put you in the corner, just keep your nose touching, no pressing it in the corner to try impressing me. It's simple, Zachery, do what I say and don't improvise. Okay?" I nod, saying, "Yes, Bruce." And, oh no, I used that fucked-up voice again. The nerdy timid voice. Bruce, still gripping the back of my neck, says, "Take off your jockstrap." I do that, and he says, "Bring it up close to your sore nose and take a big whiff of the cup," and when I do that, he goes, "Good, you did what I told you even though it made no fucking sense at all. That's what we're looking for in a recruit." I'm trying desperately to get out of this funk as he asks, "Where's your bathing suit?" Holding the jockstrap, I'm trying to remember, but I'm in this funk, finally able to say, "I left it in my car because..." He smacks my bare ass, saying, "That was dumb! That's not what we're looking for," and then, "Bend over." I do that with my hands on my knees, and he says, "Stay," the way you tell your dog to stay. He goes somewhere, and I'm thinking, 'Well, what did I expect? This is just more of the same from last night, and I did leave my bath suit in the car, so that was dumb.' He's back with a smaller version of last night's butt plug, saying, "I wasn't going to put this in until after our beach time, but you've been bad. Even though you've been bad, I've lubricated the hell out of this plug, and it's smaller than the one I used on you last night. This is the smallest one that still sort of fulfills the manual's requirement for day one. According to the manual, the plug is mostly a symbolic reminder that you're a recruit, and you're to do what you're told. I don't see any reason to use a much larger plug if it's symbolic." Then he makes his quiet gasping sounds, the ones I recall from last night. The easily-aroused Bruce is twisting in the plug, getting aroused. Each turn of the plug is like screwing in a lightbulb, except the plug gets wider each time he turns it. Thankfully it's nothing like last night's plug, so I bear it without too much groaning. He says, "Okay, it's flat against your hot-looking buttocks, so you'll be able to walk almost normally, and you should be able to sit on it, sort of. You'll probably need to try a few ways of sitting to find what works best for you." I'm half thinking this is taking things too far, while my other half is thinking, 'well, it's nothing new, so what's my problem?' If I go along with him long enough, I know I can win this kid over and talk him into cutting out a lot of this nonsense, but earning his trust comes first. What's my purpose for going along with all this shit in the first place? To maybe end up, Bruce and I are two gay friends who only play at the sub/dom sex thing. I'd kind of like doing that, minus the butt plug and so forth, because it's so different from what I've been doing for years. As I'm thinking about that, Bruce tells me to put the nasty jock back on. Then, sounding like he's talking to a five-year-old, he says, "Now put on your shorts and sandals." I almost laugh but keep a straight face as I pull up my shorts and step into my sandals. Then, assuming I'm fine again and in charge of my senses, I startle the shit out of myself by talking with that same fucked-up voice I used a minute ago, as I ask, "Should I put my t-shirt on, Bruce?" He goes, "Did I tell you to?" I shake my head, and he spreads his hand like, 'well?' I go, "Oh, I don't need to put it on." He says, "No, you don't. Now, go out to get your fucking bathing suit, Zachery." I look at him for a second, then nod my head and walk out the door. By the time I'm walking out the building's front door, I'm coming out of my stupor. What is up with that fucking voice of mine? The fresh air hits me, and I say out loud, "It's that fucking standing in the corner shit! That's what's got into my head, he makes me stand in the corner, and it's like I'm hypnotized." Then, looking around to see if anyone heard me say that out loud. I'm relieved not to see anyone around. Good, but I need to pull myself together. I try walking normally, but right away, move my legs apart and hunch down a little to walk bowlegged. It's a smaller plug but walking bowlegged is still necessary to eliminate much of the plug's friction on my prostate. I look goofy again but, whatever. Anyway, I again recognize similarities between my reaction to being humiliated and being hypnotized, although I personally have never have been hypnotized. I've seen people on TV hypnotized once. And, yeah, I thought of this same shit the other night. It's not hypnotism, but a certain level of humiliation brings a submissive sense in me that's similar to it. Bruce uses standing me in the corner to reach the necessary humiliation to bring on the submissiveness. It sounds complicated, but it's actually simple, and with me, it's been effective. I'm not certain Bruce is doing it because he knows what he's doing or if he's just following the instructions in that sadistic mentoring manual. Walking to the car, still dealing with the butt plug, I'm thinking, "All this shit can't possibly work with very many guys, so why are these tactics working with me. A better question is, why am I still putting up with it? Hmm, for one thing, as I already told myself, this is an interestingly new experience. No, it's not always pleasant, but I like the sex we're having, and as I just told myself a minute ago, if I'm patient, sooner or later, I can win this kid over. And, why the fuck did I leave my bathing suit in the car, anyway? I mean, we don't need to drive to the beach; the beach is two blocks away! See, it's dumb shit like that that brings on dumb shit such as Bruce saying, 'Stay' as if I'm his pet puppy. I brought it on myself. Walking back, mostly bowlegged again, which also helps a little with the jock's cup rubbing my balls, I'm shaking my head about the standing in the corner routine and how effective it's been so far. Now that I'm aware of its purpose, however, I won't let it get to me next time. If I'm going to win this battle of wits, I need to have a clear head. Plus, get real, I'm nine 'frigging years older than my mentor, so if I can't beat kookie-Bruce at his own game, I deserve whatever I get. It's almost not fair now that I've figured out his stand-in-the-corner humiliation trick. Then, back in the apartment building's foyer, when I ring his bell, he immediately buzzes me in. Inside the apartment, he says, "Hey, cool bathing suit." Then he asks, "Um, how do officers tell a Navy recruit to stand tall, looking straight ahead, the way you do it?" He can't possibly be this clueless, but I give him a straight answer, saying, "They just say, 'attention, but it sounds more like 'atten-hutt!" He frowns, "Oh, I saw that in a movie. Stupid-sounding, that 'hutt' thing. I'll just say the word correctly." Then he looks like he just thought of something and goes, "Hey, I just thought of something. This attention bullshit can be another of my innovations for improved mentoring. I'm going to suggest they add it to the manual." This is the clueless kookie-Bruce I enjoy the most, but I need to suppress the snicker I'd normally give to his latest innovation. Bruce has a bathing suit on that I just noticed is almost a duplicate of the one I'm holding, so that's why he said mine was cool. He says, "Well, put your bathing suit on and your t-shirt." When I go to take off the jockstrap, he says, "Nope! That jockstrap stays on you all day. I told you that yesterday. It's in the manual that recruits must wear a jockstrap. It's your misfortune Richard found this old used one. Normally the recruit provides his own." Swell. After exchanging my shorts for the bathing suit, I pull on my t-shirt and look to Bruce for instructions. He mutters, "Attention." I don't bother telling him that 'attention' shouldn't be muttered. It is said with some force, some authority behind it. No matter, I stand at attention, and he puts a leather thing around my neck. As he's buckling it at the back, he says, "This is not the dog collar that came in my mentoring kit. That one was twice as wide and had studs, like for a bulldog or rottweiler. I bought this more reasonable collar because I'm not into that S&M shit. According to the manual, you should consider the dog collar like the butt plug, meaning its purpose is to act as another reminder that you're merely a pussy boy recruit with no status whatsoever. Then there's some other mind-job double-talk I'm supposed to say that I've forgotten." As he tries getting a finger in between the dog collar and my neck, he adds, "I'll only attach the leash if you're a bad boy," then he asks, "Is your dog collar too tight?" I gulp, muttering, "Yes, Bruce, it is." He pats my ass hard enough to move the butt plug, saying, "It'll be alright. I could almost get my finger under it; just don't let the collar get stuck over your Adam's apple." Trying to swallow, I gulp again and Bruce, mumbles, "Stop the dramatics; you'll get used to your dog collar." Swallowing is a process I never needed to think about until now. Bruce takes two beach towels and a bottle of sunblock from a closet and hands them to me to carry, as he tells me, "You've had some slip-ups, but overall, it's been a fairly decent recruit first-day performance, so far, Zachery. We'll relax on the beach for a couple of hours; then I've got more mentoring to do so I can check off some day-one boxes on your training chart." Outside, walking to the beach, I'm concentrating on swallowing, as wells as walking bowlegged to relieve the butt plug pressure on my prostate, and then there's the uncomfortable jockstrap cup rubbing against my cock and balls to deal with. Plus, I'm carrying the towels and sunblock. Bruce, oblivious to all my difficulties, is happily saying, "I got lucky for once and was able to get a good start on my summer tan when I was in Florida. That was two weeks ago when Richard had me down to the Florida studios for a shoot. I made $2000 bucks that week in addition to getting that good start on my tan. Not bad, huh?" What? What'd he say? Whatever it was, saying, "Yes, Bruce," covers most responses, so that's what I say. Meanwhile, the swallowing difficulty is giving me a scary claustrophobic sense. Because of everything I'm dealing with, the two-block walk to the beach seems more like two miles. Finally getting there, we walk under the boardwalk, and we're now walking on sand, which makes everything more difficult. Bruce chooses a spot on the beach and has me spread the beach towels, as he's saying, "I always sunbathe for about thirty minutes on my back and then my stomach before putting on the sunblock lotion." Looking at Bruce as he's rattling off this minutia, I realize my life could depend on him if this fucking dog collar somehow forces my Adam's apple onto my windpipe, and I can't breathe. Shit, I don't know if that's even possible, but... Bruce says, "We'll lie on our backs for a while, then turn over for even tanning." He goes on and on as if this is the most normal thing ever. For him, it's a couple of hours on the beach, while I'm seriously distressed just trying to survive the two hours. And, yeah, it is a gorgeous day with the temperature in the low eighties and only a few clouds in the sky. The weather, however, isn't on my mind much because of my problems. I need to stretch my neck unnaturally to swallow, while the butt plug and jockstrap cup also have my attention. Gulping but trying not to make a noticeable sound because I do not want to annoy Bruce. Without making a production out of it, I try adjusting my dog collar with one hand and my jockstrap with the other. I should be hating on Bruce but, instead, I'm kind of admiring him. If I think rationally, Bruce is not the least bit concerned about my dog collar, which must mean I shouldn't be worried either. He's memorized the manual, so there must be no danger to me wearing the collar. I should be trusting him to know what he's doing and stop being a pussy about everything. After a few minutes lying on the beach blankets, Bruce says, "Get closer to me, Zachery. Over here, right next to your dom." I slide over until our sides are touching. He says, "That's good. Look, I understand all this is new to you, and some of it probably doesn't make a lot of sense right now. According to the mentoring manual, however, in a day or two, recruits become comfortable with everything, plus they become very attached to their mentors. So don't fret; you'll soon be handling these training exercises without giving them a thought." I mumble, "Yes, Bruce, thank you." He goes, "Hell, I remember being a recruit and how on my first day I thought everything was insane. The first day is always the hardest one, Zachery. I'm aware of that, so I'm not following all the recommendations in the manual. Sure, I'm doing all the steps in the manual, but without using the harsh-sized butt plug or dog collar, things like that. In other words, I like you and want you to qualify, so I'm going easy on you." I gulp while trying to swallow, and the dog collar somehow is, of course, caught on the bottom of my Adam's apple. I try not to, but soon I'm gasping for air, and Bruce says, "Oh, for Christ's sake. What did I tell you about keeping the collar away from your Adam's apple?" He goes up on an elbow, reaching over to push the collar down my neck a half-inch, adding, " If you insist on learning the hard way, I can't help you as much as I'd like to." Jeez, he was confiding in me about his recruit experience and how he's trying to help me by lightening up on some of the harsher manual requirements. Then I screw up by not paying attention to the dog collar letting it slip up to my 'effing Adam's apple. I'm beginning to see Bruce in a new light as, um, sort of my protector. I murmur, "I'm sorry, I'll pay more attention, and I'll try to do better." He says, "Well, I hope so. You'll get through this easier if you simply admit to yourself that I know what I'm doing." Nodding my head, I again murmur, "I do, Bruce. Thank you, I appreciate it." He shrugs, "Okay, stop fighting your dog collar; you can't win that battle. Relax and enjoy this time on the beach." We lie quietly for a few minutes, and then Bruce says, "You should have reminded me to bring sunglasses." Huh? He goes, "I bought the coolest pair of Ray-Ban shades in Florida during that last shoot. By the way, Richard was so impressed with me during that shoot he promised I could mentor the next pussy boy recruit, and two weeks later, it's you." I nod my head to the degree I'm able, feeling oddly grateful I have Bruce as my dom, um, mentor. That dom name is creepy. Three minutes later, Bruce chuckles, taps my shoulder, and says, "Jesus, I know I told you this before, but, holy shit, I was wicked apprehensive when I first saw you. My first thought was, what a gorgeous stud. Then I thought, how the fuck am I supposed to break him down to build him up again as a pussy boy? And, now, not even twenty-four hours later, I've progressed you to the day three-level in some areas, and it's not just because I'm a great mentor either. It's you trying to cooperate with me. Plus, I've had an advantage by knowing some things about you." Curious, I give him my full attention, and he goes, "Yeah, Richard filled me in on you losing your best friend and how you're kinda lost. Lucky for you, Richard is educated in shit like this and recognized you're now searching for something. He says you're lost right now, and you want someone you can look up to who will lead you. Someone you like to be your leader, and it's obvious you like me, so we're the absolute most ideal team." I'm finally getting used to swallowing with the dog collar, so Bruce was right about that. As a plus, while concentrating on my dog collar problem, I haven't been as stressed about the butt plug or jockstrap. Keeping my neck stretched and lying mostly on one butt cheek, I have things reasonably under control. So, with a clearer head, I realize Bruce is being very forthcoming with details about what's going on with this, um, whatever the dumb-sounding pussy boy organization is all about. I'd bet Richard would be apoplectic if he knew Bruce was telling me all this stuff, especially considering, as Bruce just said, we haven't even known one another for twenty-four hours. Bruce is slightly leaning towards me now, saying encouraging words for me to persevere. Then complimenting me by saying how good-looking I am and what a hot body I have. Anyone seeing us would immediately know we're gay, probably think we're lovers. I don't care that people know I'm gay, I have never cared, but I'm against gays or straights who throw their sexuality in other people's faces by being overly demonstrative about being gay or straight in public. That's my only complaint, not that Bruce would care what I think about that, so I don't bother mentioning it. I'm not comfortable by any means, but things are manageable, and I appreciate Bruce, and I'm grateful he's my mentor. I'm also thinking back on the stuff he was telling me, and the Florida shoot has to be pictures of him, right? Gay-oriented pictures for an Internet site, probably one you need to pay for. Huh, I finally have some insight into what Richard's pussy boy, um, club, or whatever, is all about. I have questions, though, so I open my eyes wide as if I'd like to say something, and Bruce goes, "Oh, shit, my bad, I forgot to tell you that when we're on a break, like here at the beach, you're allowed to talk. Sorry about that." I go, "Oh, that's okay, Bruce. Um, that Florida shoot, was it only still photos of you?" He snorts out a chuckle, then says, "You're so naive. Nobody pays $2000 for three or four hours of taking still photos. No, there are some, but mostly it was videos of me getting fucked while I was sucking a guy off at the same time. You know, to post on the pussy boy site." Nodding, I go, "Uh-huh, sex videos, you mean?" He says, "Of course! What other kind would anybody pay for?" I probably have an expression on my face reflecting that I should have guessed this pussy boy crap had to be porn. Bruce misinterprets my expression and says, "Oh, no, don't you start seeing dollar signs in your head. Only the best pussy boys qualify to earn the big bucks. Don't worry, though; that's just one of the ways you can make money. You're obviously into sex, so while maybe you won't qualify for videos, you might qualify for the pussy boy penthouse where guys pay to have a date with you, either in person or online. That's months away for you, though, at the earliest! So, concentrate on me qualifying you to be a pussy boy first, then you can dream about the money you might make." Oh, fuck, yeah, I should have known! He's right; I've been naive. I mean, logically, what other reason could there be for all this pussy boy nonsense? It's all about selling gay porn. I really wanted to play this game with Bruce the entire six weeks mentoring process. But, Jesus, I don't have any interest in being in porn videos, nor do I need the money. I've got nothing against male prostitutes, assuming they're doing it willingly, not that I've ever given a single thought to paying for one. And, sure, in prep school and even college, I looked at gay sites all the time, which is one more thing I haven't done since joining the Navy Seals. Dammit, what do I do now, though? I was just getting to the point of feeling something special for Bruce, looking up to him and sensing a closeness. Even being grateful to him. Now though, hmm, well, no, I'd never do any so-called photo shoots for that prick, Richard. That's out of the realm of possibility. Yeah, but why can't I go along a little further with Bruce? I'm kinda hooked on sucking and rimming him, and I'm especially hooked on him fucking me. After not bottoming for so long, Jesus, I'm really into doing it again, and I'm into Bruce too. If I tell him I'm not interested in Richard porn, there isn't any reason he'd continue mentoring me. Fuck, then I'm left hoping random hook-ups would replace the scorching sex I'm having with Bruce. That's a wicked long, um, long-shot. No, I'm sticking with Bruce for a few more days, at least because this is all still interesting and different, two of the things I'm looking for, and, anyway, I promised Cowboy we'd stay here until he takes Lee's cherry. While I've been thinking about this, Bruce had his eyes shut sunbathing, but he sits up abruptly now, and says, "Fuck, we need to put the sunblock on, Zachery. This is another example of what you need to remind your mentor about. Don't expect me to remember everything. You should have mentioned sunglasses and now the sunblock." Oh yeah, see, it's the kookie-Bruce I'm attracted to, as well as the Bruce who's looking out for me and the one I have sex with. I mumble, "Sorry, Bruce, I'll try to do better." We take turns spreading sunblock on each other, snickering like we're buddies because both of us get minor boners during the sunblock process, mine trying to burst out of the jockstrap cup. Lying back down, Bruce tells me about one of the guys who fucked him on the video he was in during his last Florida shoot. He finishes by saying, "And, he wasn't my type at all. Christ, he admitted he was forty-four, plus they had me start dressed as if I was twelve going to my first year of high school, and Sal, the old guy who fucked me, was the gym teacher," and blab, blab, blab. It sounded like a horror story to me, but Bruce was laughing about it, laughing at himself basically. He tells me all this as if I'm a colleague or his buddy, and like it's the most normal thing in the world to be in a video having sex with a man old enough to be his father. None of it sounds as if Bruce was being forced to do anything, so I guess it's alright as far as that goes. I have no idea if $2000 is adequate compensation or not. Bruce seemed happy with it, and he knows a helluva lot more about it than me, so I guess he didn't get ripped off. I gather he goes to the Florida studio about once a month to be in a video from what he says. I guess I can understand that the porn site continually needs fresh content, and I know certain horny gays would drool over naked, youthful-looking Bruce getting fucked by older men. I wouldn't, but I do drool a little over Bruce fucking me. We go for a swim, me stretching my neck weirdly, my legs spread unnaturally as I'm dealing with both the jockstrap and butt plug. Bruce doesn't seem to notice or, if he does, he thinks it's to be expected. Later he buys us cheeseburgers and sodas for lunch; then we go back to the apartment to shower together. It lasts a half-hour and is as sexy a shower as when Cowboy and I shower together. I especially enjoyed the shower because Bruce let me shower without the jockstrap, and he took off my dog collar too. It was like, I hardly minded the butt plug without needing to deal with the other two things. So, yeah, this is turning into a pretty damn good day. After we dried each other, though, he put the dog collar back on just as tight as before, and I gulped just like I did the first time. Then, as I'm stepping into that nasty, dirty jockstrap without needing to be told to do it, I'm thinking maybe Bruce will be impressed that I did that on my own. With that in mind, I ask, "Could you make my dog collar one notch looser, please?" Bruce pats my bare ass, saying, "No, this is the tightness you need to get used to. And, If I hear you complaining about it again, I'll spank you and put you in the corner for an hour." Just that quickly, I experience very noticeable submissiveness to him. It's so strange how it flows over me, and, using my creepy timid voice, I say, "Yes, dom," and then actually shiver in my submissiveness toward him. He saw my shiver and grins. Then he tells me how he's been through this, so he recognized I just got wicked submissive to him. Nodding his head approvingly, he mutters, "This is good progress that I can text Richard about." With my same creepy voice, I say, "Yes, dom." Omigod, though, I can't describe how fast that submissiveness happened or how my cock quivered and felt good pushing against the jockstrap's cup. Damn, that was almost exciting. Exciting or not, I find myself in a sort of stupor again, bent over with my hands on my knees, not remembering being told to do this. Bruce is twisting my butt plug out. Then, he stops to reach around to pull the jockstrap cup down, hooking it under my nuts. The uncomfortable pressure on my nuts as the elastic straps of the cup pull up painfully against my balls bring me partially out of my stupor, and I grunt, "Ow." When the butt plug comes out, without saying a word, Bruce fucks me, but not with his cock. He uses three different dildos, the last one is the biggest, and it makes me cum in three short shots, "Splat, splat, splat," all of the splats landing on the floor two feet away, with me going, "Ah, ahh, ahhh!" Then, on my knees again, I suck Bruce off for maybe ten minutes. I do sloppy rimming and ball licking and cock sucking. For my trouble, I spring another boner and get a mouthful of his cum. Huh, Bruce's cum doesn't taste like anything this time. It's been sort of sweet-tasting in the past. Then, hearing horny Bruce taking really deep breaths, I look up, and he rubs my head, then says breathlessly, "Put your cup back the way it belongs, get my cigarettes off the kitchen counter, and meet me on the balcony." As I do that, he puts his shorts on but no shirt, then yells to me in the kitchen, "Your jockstrap is all you'll be wearing." Oh, fuck! Bringing his cigarettes plus a lighter, which he didn't mention, I adjust my jockstrap and go out on the balcony. Actually, they're my cigarettes and my lighter, but I knew what he meant. Bruce is lying on a rickety-looking outdoor chaise lounge. He holds out his hand, and I give him the cigarettes and lighter. He says, "Thanks," then, "I want you to lie on this piece of shit, whatever it is, with me." He holds his arm out, so when I lie next to him, the back of my neck rests on his arm. He squeezes me against him, saying, "This is required, believe it or not. Yep, it's in the manual that this will help you eventually be completely comfortable touching all parts of my body, not just the sexy parts. The manual claims that recruits like you will become more quickly attached to their mentors from cuddling as if the mentor actually cares about you. Although I've heard mentors talk as if their recruits are nothing but meat to put the street, I do care about you. Anyway, you'll soon want to be as close to me, body-to-body as I'll allow." When he opens the Marlboro box, I see there are only three left. Jeez, he smoked twelve cigarettes last night after he dismissed me. He lights a cigarette but doesn't let me have one, saying, "I've only got two left." Now and then, he'll hold the cigarette to my lips and let me have a drag. Realizing this is all I'm going to get, I'm taking strong drags the way Bruce does, the ash glowing bright red. Finished the first cigarette, he lights the second off the butt of the first, then hands me the first butt. I try taking a final drag off it, burning my lip slightly on the scolding hot filter. We smoke the second one as we did the first, me getting one drag to Bruces's four, neither of us saying anything. When we're done, he hands me that butt too, and I hold then in my fist as he uses the arm under my neck to partially pull me up onto his side, which reminds me of how Cowboy sleeps with me. Bruce says, "You may not realize it, but you are more advanced than most recruits. I see you're already very much into me, which helps a lot. It takes most recruits, I'm told, up to two weeks before they're as compliant as I've gotten you in less than twenty-four hours. So, we're both doing excellent." I say, '"Thank you, Bruce," not sure what I'm thanking him for, but I was relieved to hear my normal voice when I said that. He says, "Put your head on my shoulder. Be limp, docile. If you don't already, you'll soon admire me and become extremely fond of me and thrilled when I pay attention to you. That's important because you'll more easily handle what I tell you to do when you're in that frame of mind. So, starting now, pretend to admire me and get used to doing that because that's the way you're going to feel for real in a day or two. Also, you should take every opportunity to get close to me, and hope I'll cuddle with you. These are some of the points emphasized in the manual. I tell you that so you won't think I made this shit up on my own. It's all in the manual." I mumble, "Okay, Bruce?" He goes, "Also, I'm obligated to tell you that the manual was written by Richard, supposedly, but some guys I've talked with think his step-father wrote most of it from his office is in New York City. Other of my fellow pussy boyfriends think Richard's outfit is affiliated with his stepdad's business. The rumor is Richard got money from his Japanese grandfather to buy the lockers so he could use it as his recruiting base." It's unbelievable Bruce is telling me all this. Meanwhile, I'm trying to be docile for him but still lying sort of stiffly. Bruce stops talking and reaches down to spanks my ass a few times, then he says, "Will you please do what you're told." So I force myself to relax, finally lying the side of my head on his shoulder, which gets the submissive thing rolling in on me, and two minutes later, my body is relaxing more, and then more still until I feel like I have no bones in my body. I fit into Bruce's body like a glove. He murmurs, "Perfect. You're a fast learner, Zach." That is the first time any of them called me just plain, Zach. Mmm, this isn't bad at all. Bruce has a good body, and, as I already knew, he smells good. Talking softly, Bruce says, "I had to memorize Richard's scholastic background. All the mentors have to memorize it. I suppose it's to impress recruits with how smart Richard is. Anyway, here goes: Richard majored in psychology and has degrees in the psychology of human sexuality, as well as, biological psychology which is also known as physiological psychology, which studies human relation compared to that of other animals, and perception involving the physical mechanics of sensations and neural and mental processes." His voice is soothing now, but I don't know, or care, what the fuck he's talking about. When he stops talking because he's being so nice, I feel I should respond somehow, so I murmur, "What's all that mean, Bruce?" He goes, "Hell, if I know. I don't have a clue. As I said, I had to memorize all that, and I probably got some of it wrong. But, now be quiet. Take a nap." I should be concerned about being out on this balcony wearing only this hideous jockstrap lying half on Bruce, but I'm not because no one can see us. We're in the shade with a warm ocean breeze drifting over us. It's very pleasant, which has helped me to get this limply relaxed. No apartment's occupants can see anyone else's balcony, not unless they hang by their toes off their own balcony. Lying like this with Bruce, it occurs to me that when I'm with him, I wind up doing what Cowboy does with me. That, for some reason, appeals to me, and I nestle in closer with Bruce, who quietly says, "Settle down. We're supposed to be taking a short nap together so you can bond with me. Um, that's according to first-day mentoring instructions, anyhow." Well, I'm as comfortable as I've been all day. Lying like this without the butt plug is a great relief, and as my dom said I would, I'm kind of used to my dog collar now. It's new leather, and it smells good. Bruce and my dog collar both smell good. So, I doze off, but I don't know for how long. When I wake up, I see Bruce rubbing his eyes, so I think he dozed off too. It's sticky between our bodies, so I'm assuming we dozed off for quite a while, and I hope we can stay like this a while longer, but no. Bruce sounds cranky, saying, "It's past the time I should have dismissed you. Get up!" Reluctantly, I peel myself off him and stand to wait for Bruce to tell me what to do now. He's cranky, but he looks good and, overall, I had a good time with him today. He can be very mature for his age; then he can be too stern and hard for his age, then too clueless and kookie. He can also be nice, which I'll bet Richard wouldn't like at all if he knew about it. All in all, I like Bruce, so I'm going to finish out the week before telling him this isn't for me. The other thing is, as I realized earlier, I promised Cowboy we'd stay until he takes Lee's cherry. With that in mind, I'm hoping, even after I tell Lee this isn't for me, he'll want to continue fucking me and letting me suck his dick and rim him. I mean, why wouldn't he want me to do that, ya know? He hustles me inside and gets me on my knees to rim his ass one last time before I go. Then, I try to drag out, sucking a hard boner on him, but he pulls it out as soon as it's hard enough to fuck me with and then fucks my brains out. It's maybe the best fuck he's ever given my ass, and my orgasm shoots out as I'm squealing like a girl... it felt that good. I'm sure the cuddling and feeling very close to him helped, but his big cock and hips are mostly responsible for my amazing orgasm. What a great fuck that was! When he can catch his breath, he tells me to take my dog collar off, and when I hand it to him and start to say how much I liked today's mentoring, he holds up his hand, saying, "No talking," and, as soon as I get dressed, he smacks my ass, opens the door, and says, "Ten o'clock sharp tomorrow." Gee, I expected, um, I don't know what, but saying nothing seemed rudely abrupt. Plus, he never introduced me to the guy who has marijuana coming out of his ass. Still, I'm feeling incredibly satisfied sexually! And pretty good every other way too. I drive to the hotel and take a shower. Finished the shower, I vacillate if I should put the jockstrap back on or not and decide I will put it on. I don't want to let him down. Also, I want to tell Bruce truthfully I wore it from the time I left him right through the day and night until seeing him again. Feeling stupidly proud of myself for being true to Bruce's jockstrap rule, I walk onto the beach checking my cell phone, seeing it's only four o'clock. On the beach, I immediately see Cowboy and Lee, plus an empty beach chair for me. Aw, that's sweet of them! Other than feeling sexually satisfied like a motherfucker, I don't know why I'm feeling so high, but I am. I mean, Bruce put me through some hard shit, but the nap with him on the chaise lounge was a genius move because it smoothed everything over and left me feeling really good about my first full day being mentored. It would have been even better if Bruce wasn't cranky at the end there, but I think he's dealing with the stress of making his first mentoring project work successfully. That makes me feel bad for him, though, because there is zero chance it's going to be successful. I'm not going to be a male prostitute. Trudging through the sand to Cowboy, Lee, and my chair, I'm thinking again that I hope Bruce and I can be fuck buddies after I opt out of the pussy boy shit. I think he's a cool dude, kookie sometimes. Yeah, I've said that fifty times, but, kookie or not, I'm getting more and more attached to that kid. Walking up behind Cowboy and Lee, their chairs' arms touching, I feel grateful for my awesome good fortune: spending my time with three nineteen-year-old gay boys, one better looking than the next. Well, okay, that's a bit of a stretch as both Lee and Bruce are sort of goofy-cute while; obviously, Cowboy is truly gorgeous. Still, they're all nineteen with their wicked youthful skin. Ironically, Lee and I have something in common. We're both projects. He's Cowboy's project, and I'm Bruce's. The boys are arguing about something and don't realize I'm right behind them. I surprise them by wrapping my arms around both their necks and give them both a quick sloppy kiss on the sides of their heads, then ask, "What have you two numb-nuts been doing all day?" Instead of answering that, Lee goes, "Zack, Carson is trying to convince me the Universe is a machine that keeps learning. He claims that in new research, cosmetologists say the history of the universe is actually a self-teaching autodidactic algorithm." I go, "That's um..." Cowboy says, "Don't listen to him, Zach! Lee isn't into thinking outside the box. The universe does that to thrive in different environments; for example, why do we have one monolithic body law of physics, rather than, say, a bunch of specialized kinds of finches? That's the old question that dates back to at least 1893 when a philosopher first posited 'natural selection,' but maybe it's for the laws of the universe too." Sitting down gingerly, subtly adjusting my jockstrap cup, I mumble, "Huh. Yeah, I guess, but not really. Have you guys been in the water yet today?" The brainiacs ignore my question and keep arguing. Their youthfulness is so attractive. Why haven't I noticed that about younger guys until recently? I've been missing so much by concentrating on guys my age and older. What a misguided individual I've been. Left out of their bizarre discussion, I interrupt to tell them I'm going to walk down the beach to get us something cold to drink. Not far from our spot, there's a stand where I buy ice-cold sodas for the boys and a quart of bottled water for me. The boys lighten up to drink their sodas, and we talk about, um, normal shit for a while. They agree to have dinner in the hotel tonight with me, and then I go for a three-mile run, then a long swim. Invigorated, I take it further and work out in the fitness room. The jockstrap made everything much more difficult. And, hell, I couldn't have done any of it wearing a butt plug, so I'm grateful Bruce doesn't make me wear that all the time. Anyway, I really needed that workout. Wow, my ass is dragging now, though, but I feel great that I did it all, and I'm still feeling high going back to our suite for another shower. I take the jock off to wash out the cup. It'll probably be wet for hours but, it's cleaner at least. Whew, I need a beer. Wearing only the wet jock and boxer shorts, I drink two Rolling Rock pony bottles of beer on our big balcony while wanting a cigarette, and yet, I don't buy a pack because Bruce is in my head, and I can hardly wait to see him tomorrow. To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com. Please consider making a tax-deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty to help cover the expenses of maintaining this fantastic free story site. Thank you!