Date: Fri, 16 Mar 2007 07:42:47 +1000 From: parrafan@hushmail.com Subject: Paying the Bills Paying the bills A story by parrafan Disclaimer: This is a fictional story, for the recreational use of adults only. No minors allowed. If I hear of any minors reading this, I'll be very annoyed, after I recover from my surprise. Dedication: This story is dedicated, with affection, to all the single Dads out there. ** ** Paying the Bills "Daddy, can I help the plumber?" The high-pitched, innocent voice of my son cascaded through the house. Not for the first time, either. I took a couple hours off work to let the plumber in to fix the sink, so now I'm relaxing in front of the TV. But do I get time to relax? Do I shit! It's the same every waking hour. Daddy, can I have some breakfast? Daddy, can you help me with my homework? Daddy, can we play catch? Anything to shut the little sissy up. Hard to believe his mother only spoiled him for three years before she took off with that hairy-armpitted dyke and headed to LA. Woulda thought being with me the last seven years mighta straightened him out. But I can still see his mother in him. And hear her. That whiny voice. Always askin'. Always wantin'. Looks like I'm never gonna get to see this wrestling match on the box. "Come in here, darlin'", I called. Timmy skipped into our small living room, standing in between me and the fight on TV. I put my hands on his slim waist and moved him to one side so I could see the screen. "Now what's got into you, boy?" "Daddy, the plumber man said I could help him fix the sink. But only if you say it's okay. Please say okay, Daddy? Please?" Timmy hopped from one skinny leg to the other, and batted those long eyelashes at me. I could ignore almost anything except those eyelashes. "He asked you to help him, did he?" I grilled the boy. "Yes Daddy, he did, honest. He said I was just the right size to fit under the sink and handle his tool", Timmy enthused. "He said that?" I replied, beginning to be interested. "Oh, yes, Daddy, he wants me under there. He needs me to hold it for him, he said. Can I help him, please, Daddy, please?" "Well, I s'pose, you want to so bad, it's okay with me. But it's damn hot under that sink. Hot and sweaty. Go ask the plumber if you should take off your shirt, it's so hot under there. Come tell me what he says. Off you go, sweetie". Timmy's happy grin almost distracted me from the fight. He skipped out of the room back to the kitchen, where I heard half a conversation before he scampered back into the living room, standing in front of me (again). I gently moved him to one side (again), improving my view of the set considerably, and asked him what the plumber said. "You were right, Daddy. He said it was way hot under there, and I should take off my shirt, or it will get all sweaty. And he said it was dusty under there too, so I should take off my pants. Is that okay, Daddy? Can I take them off and help the plumber with his tool?" I could see there wasn't going to be any rest for me until I gave in. Just like his mother. "Arms up", I ordered, making Timmy smile and raise his arms. I slipped the cotton t-shirt over his head, revealing his undeveloped chest. "Now the pants", I continued, taking the waistband of his shorts and pulling them outwards and down. Timmy now only wore a pair of boxers, plain white, single button fly, wide legs, and barely long enough to reach to the bottom of his skinny butt. "Now you run along and help that plumber. But mind you do like he tells you. I don't wanna be callin' him back in a week to fix that sink again", I warned him. Smiling gleefully, Timmy skipped back into the kitchen, leaving me to the fight - finally. Not five minutes went by before the little sissy was back. Breathless, with a horrified look replacing his earlier smile. Standing right in front of me again! I eased him to one side. "Daddy, oh Daddy, the plumber, he- he touched me", Timmy mewled pitifully. And sure enough, there were dusty, greasy marks all over the boy's scrawny back and chest and thighs. I chided the little runt, trying to keep up with the fight on TV. "Well, of course he touched you. Be impossible not to, such a little space under there" "But daddy, he- he put his hand inside the front of my- my boxers!' Timmy wailed. "It's pretty damn dark under that sink. I'm sure he couldn't see what he was doin'", I reassured the little fairy. "He- he pulled my shorts down - all the way" Timmy bleated. Damn, that boy was makin' it hard to concentrate on the fight! "Prob'ly just wanted to make sure they didn't get all dusty and grimy - like the rest of you. You think I go to work all day just so's I can come home and launder your clothes?" Timmy's face fell. "No, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy". The plumber's head appeared around the corner. I had a pretty good idea he had been listening to our conversation. "Uh, all done, Frank, thanks to Timmy's help. Uh, it was just a perished seal and a blocked trap, no charge" "Well, that's right friendly of you Martin. And I'm glad Timmy was of some use to you. You take care now". I led Timmy off to the bathroom for a wash, and put him to bed. Damn fight was over anyway. ** ** Two days later I was on the phone to Bill. That's Martin's boss at 'Jack of all Trades'. I gotta tell ya, every time I see one of their vans, I get a good chuckle out of it, 'cause in my mind I add an extra 'F' to the second word in their company name, and imagine them drivin' around town with that on their van. Ha! Bill gathered together all the good tradesmen in town into one outfit, and they save on overheads by all working from the one office. "That Martin was a right friendly feller you sent over the other day, Bill. Did a good job, too. Now, if you got one, I'll be needin' an electrician for tomorrow. I got a short somewhere, damned if I can find it. Maybe rats or chipmunks chewed on the wirin' or somethin'..... You can? Well, that'll be just fine..... I'll expect him around four. So long." ** ** "What's the ladder for, Daddy?" Timmy asked me when he came home from school and saw it in the hallway. I'll be damned if I know what they teach kids in school nowadays. I'm sure that when I was Timmy's age I knew that ladders were for climbin' up. But I kept my cool. "It's for the electrician, darlin', he'll be here shortly". "Why do we need a 'lectrishen, Daddy?", Timmy asked, and I could almost swear I heard a hint of a lisp in his voice. Damn women teachers! They hear a boy lispin' they oughtta straighten him out right away! But no, not these days. That would be stiflin' their damn individuality. "Well, sweetie, there's something the matter with the lights in the hallway. It ain't the globes, 'cause I replaced them. I think it's the wirin', so I'm havin' it checked out". "I never seen a ladder inside a house before, Daddy. Can I climb up it? Please, daddy, please?" I carefully moved Timmy to one side so I could watch the start of the race. "Look, darlin', there's an important two-day car race on television that I need to watch right now. How about you just wait, and maybe when the electrician gets here he'll let you climb the ladder. Now go get outta your school clothes and hang them up for tomorrow, there's my good boy". He dawdled off to his room, leaving me with a bit of peace for a change. But not for long. The doorbell rang, and Timmy's squeal rang out shortly afterwards. "I'll get it, Daddy", he yelled. I heard the padding of Timmy's bare feet, then the front door opening, and Timmy yelled again "It's the 'lectrishen, Daddy, I'll show him where the ladder is" You can show him whatever you like, as long as it doesn't involve me missing this race, I thought. "Fine, honey, just don't get in his way", I called back. Fifteen minutes later, in the middle of one of the biggest pile-ups I ever saw at that raceway, Timmy rushed into the living room and planted himself right in front of the TV. He had his hands on his hips, just like his mother used to when she had a bee in her bonnet. I carefully moved him to one side so I could see the carnage. "Daddy, the 'lectrishen touched my legs!" Timmy pouted. "Did you ask him if you could climb that ladder?" I replied, keeping one eye on the race. "Y-yes" my son replied slowly. "And wouldn't it be right for him to hold your legs so you wouldn't fall off? I'd be pretty upset if he let you climb a ladder in my own house and then let you fall off" "Well, y-yes, but Daddy, his hands, they slid up my legs, right up under my shorts and onto my- my bottom", his voice had dropped to a whisper. "Maybe he thought he could get a better grip there, keep you from fallin' of. You didn't fall off, did you?" "No-o", he answered. "Well, there you go!" "But Daddy, his- his thumbs, they went right in my- uh, my crack", Timmy wailed. Damn if I was gonna see any more of this race! "Well, son, you hafta admit, your butt is pretty skinny, and I guess his thumbs hadda fit somewhere. He couldn't just cut 'em off, now, could he?" Timmy dropped his head, only slightly mollified. "But Daddy, that isn't everything! He asked me to climb through the manhole into the ceiling space. He wanted to check the 'lectrical cables. He climbed up there with me". "So?" "Well, it was really dark 'cause he turned his torch off. He said he found a dead rat, Daddy, an' he asked me if I wanted to touch it. So I said yes, and he took my hand and put it on the rat, but I thought dead things felt all cold, an' this felt real hot, Daddy" "Prob'ly just because it's so damn hot in that ceiling, son", I assured him. "But the thing I touched was all skin, no fur. Don't rats have fur, Daddy? Even dead ones?" "I'd say the rat musta lost its fur when it chewed our wires and electrocuted hisself. I heard that happens sometimes. Fur and hair just burns clean off" "But Daddy, it didn't feel like a rat. It felt like a...a great big...penis, Daddy!" "Now, sweetheart, what would a great big penis be doing in our ceiling? And anyway, how would you know what one felt like? You know, I think you just had a little shock from touchin' that rat, and yer imagination just damn run away with you. Now ain't that so?" Timmy's crestfallen look told me he reluctantly agreed with my interpretation. "I s'pose so, Daddy". The electrician poked his head around the corner to tell me that he had replaced fifty feet of cabling, rewired and insulated the junction box and upgraded four fuses. "Timmy helped me so there'll be no charge, Frank", he added. "Why, that's right kind of you, Sparky!", I commended him. "I hope Timmy didn't get in your way" "No, no, no, he was fine. Always good to have a helping hand, uh, a helper. Bye" I took Timmy to the bathroom for his evening wash, and noticed a few of the wall tiles around the tub were looking a bit old and decrepit, maybe about to come loose from the wall. Better get a tiler onto that. ** ** "Daddy, the tiler's here. Daddy!" Timmy's shriek resonated through the house. "Show him where the bathroom is, honey, Daddy's busy, McGwire's at bat", I yelled back. The sixth inning was just completed when Timmy burst into the living room, a horrified look on his face. "Daddy, Daddy, the tiler spilt something on me!", he bawled. I tore my gaze away from the screen to calm the little fairy down. "Hey, hey, Timmy, now, no need to be upset, just you tell your Daddy all about it, huh?" "Oh, Daddy, it was so strange. I changed out of my school clothes like you always tell me, and I showed the tiler to the bathroom. I asked him if he needed any help, and he said I could help him with the tiles. He took off the old tiles, put the glue on the walls, and then the new tiles, and he told me to press on the tiles to make them stick. So I was pressing on them, and he was behind me, he...leaned on me, kinda, and I could feel something on my back, something hot and sorta wet, pushing on me, so I said what's that?, and he said just keep pushing on the tiles, so I pushed and pushed, and he pushed against me, he pushed and pushed, and he sorta moaned, and I felt this, I don't know what, sort of hot and wet squirting on my back, I thought it was some glue for the tiles" "So, where is it now?", I asked my son, turning him around to check out his back, and missing a screaming line drive in the process, damn. "Oh, the tiler wiped it off, Daddy" "So, if he wiped it off, what's the problem?" "Well, uh, nothing, I guess, Daddy", he conceded. The tiler popped his head around the corner of the living room to say that he had finished, the job only needed a couple of new tiles, some grouting and a sealant, and there would be no charge. "Yeah, your boy Timmy was a big help, couldn't have got off, er, got those tiles off without him. But you'll have to stay outta there for 24 - 48 hours, let that glue cure. Bye" ** ** "What's the big bucket for, Daddy?", Timmy asked me the next afternoon. "It's not a bucket, sweetie, it's called a planter. Normally, you put big potplants in it", I replied. "So, what are ya gonna plant, Daddy? A plant?" "Funny you should ask, son. Since you can't use the bathroom until those tiles set, you're gonna have a bath in it". "Ha ha, very funny, Daddy. I can't fit in that!", my boy smirked. "Grab a towel and a bar of soap and follow me, sweetie". For once, Timmy didn't argue the point, but instead did what he was told. I took the planter out the back door and set it down on a newly mown section of grass about twenty feet from the house. The grass was newly mown because I called up Bill and got him to send around a gardener. If there's anything I hate more than missing some sport on TV, it's gardening. That includes lawnmowing, weeding, trimming, you name it. So Paul, a young guy in his twenties, was carefully tending my back yard at the exact time I chose to give Timmy his outdoor bath. Yeah, I got terrible timing. Sue me. "What's the hose for, Daddy?" Timmy asked innocently. Damn, I already told the little powderpuff that he was going to have a bath. Can't have a bath without water. "Slip those clothes off and put them on that chair there, son. I'm sure a clever boy like you can figure out what the hose is for". Our presence in the back yard did not go unnoticed by Paul the gardener. As soon as he saw Timmy pull his shirt over his head, he cut the engine on the lawn mower and cautiously approached, perhaps concerned that any sudden move on his part might startle us and make us take flight like wild deer. "Ah, need a...a hand?" he ventured. "Paul, just the man, here, you take the soap, I'll operate the hose', I suggested. "Shall I take them all off, Daddy? Even my...my shorts?" "Sure thing, sweetie. Wouldn't want to get them wet, would you?" Timmy frowned, but continued to undress. After removing his last garment, the shorts, he stood next to the planter, eyes down, squirming, covering his crotch with both hands. "All right, darlin', step in. It's a warm day, so the water will cool you off. I'll give you a sprinkle from the hose, then Paul will run the soap over you. Hands on head so he can do under your arms, there's a good boy". I lightly sprayed Timmy with the water. Paul held the soap under the stream of water to moisten it, then took to his task with diligence. Even though Timmy could probably have washed himself, Paul was kind enough to offer, so it would be churlish to refuse. That's what my wife would have done - not accepted any help. Me? I'm glad of any chance to spread the domestic chores around. "Er, Paul...do you think you could manage the soap and the hose both? Only it looks to me like we're a bit oversupplied with staff here, and I just want to check on the score in the Knicks game". Paul generously agreed, saying it would be his pleasure...to help. I handed the hose to him and slipped inside for a quick check of the TV. While I was in there, I thought I might help myself to a beer - it was pretty warm in the back yard after all. After ten minutes the umpire blew half-time, so I thought I'd better check to see how the outdoor shower was progressing. From the back door I could see Paul's back, which was towards me, and Timmy's hands still high in the air. The boy sounded like he was whining a little, probably complaining about the cold water. "How's it going out here? He been any trouble, Paul?", I asked, slamming the back door loudly as I exited my house. "No, Timmy's been good as gold, Frank", Paul replied hurriedly. "Paul's just been cleaning under my foreskin, Daddy. He cleaned my crack real good, then my balls, then he skinned my penis back and washed it really good. I got a boner, but he said it didn't matter, it made it easier to clean. My penis must have been really dirty, because he took a long time on it". "Well, thanks for that Paul, I knew I left Timmy in capable hands. I'll take over now, looks like he's all clean". "Uh, yes, great, I'll, uh, just finish the mowing, trim the edges, uh, prune those few shrubs down near the fence, and be on my way. It's only a couple of hours' work, no charge this time". "Why, thank you indeed, Paul. Stand still Timmy, while I wrap this towel around you". "Paul was so nice to me, wasn't he, Daddy? And I didn't even get a chance to help him with the gardening, neither". "That's okay, son, maybe you'll be able to help the next tradesman" "Ooh, Daddy, what are you gonna get fixed next?", Timmy asked eagerly. "Not sure yet, son. Bill seems to have brought together a fine bunch of men, though, be a shame to let any of their talents go to waste. I'll have to have a thorough look around the house - after the Red Sox game". I carried my towel-clad boy inside the house and into his bedroom, drying him off and helping him into his pyjamas. Maybe I could still catch the last two innings on TV. ** ** A few days passed while I contemplated my next foray into D.I.Y. Timmy attended school each day, eagerly rushing in the door each afternoon after school, hoping to find another tradesman that he could help. The poor little joker's crestfallen face when he saw none made me sad too. But Saturday had arrived, when good Daddies all over the country were taking their sons to the ballpark, or hiking in the hills, or flying kites, or sailing in boats, or any of a million other things I couldn't be bothered doing. "Have I ever taken you to a hardware store, son?" I asked Timmy as he ate the scrambled eggs on toast that I whipped up. "No, Daddy, I don't think so", he replied, sipping his juice. "What's a hardware store sell?" I rolled my eyes. Damn schools. Instead of takin' my boy on an excursion to a botanical garden, maybe they shoulda taken him somewhere useful, like an industrial estate. "Downtown there's a hardware store as big as an aircraft hangar. Got all kinds a useful stuff we might need for around the house. The sports channel's got nothin' but repeats until noon, so you'n me're goin' hardware huntin'!" "Oh boy, huntin'!" Timmy enthused, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. We pulled in to the spacious carpark and made our way to the large entrance, where a greeter was checking people's purchases and directing new customers. "Howdy, ma'am", I smiled politely at her. "Could you point us towards the kitchen appliances? My boy's a little on the scrawny side, and I figure if I made him a milkshake a day he might bulk up some" The greeter smiled at my remark. "Know just how you feel, Sir - I got three boys of my own, not one of 'em's broad enough to cast a shadow. My brother, that's their uncle, he looks after them on weekends when I'm here at work. He takes 'em hikin', swimmin', fishin', y'know, all that stuff boys don't want their mother doin' with 'em. Lucky for me they really love being with their uncle. So, anyways, kitchen appliances, down to aisle 25, then a left, you can't miss 'em. Just ask for Neil". I thanked her, and the two of us strolled down the avenue of paints, powertools and pesticides until we reached aisle 25 and turned left into the biggest collection of widescreen plasma TVs you ever saw. They had about forty seven screens tuned to the Bruins/Toronto game, and some of the screens were so wide you could see both goals at the same time. Phil Kessel was makin' fools a those fag Maple Leafs, and I was in heaven. I could hear a voice over the roar of the spectators. Was it the announcer at the game? Why would the announcer be saying "Daddy" all the time? Timmy was tugging on my sleeve, trying to drag me away from the screens, those beautiful screens, "the milkshake machines are over here, Daddy, come on", but Timmy couldn't understand, no-one could, "Mister Neil is going to make me a milkshake, can he Daddy?", and sure, yeah, son, have a milkshake, hell, have a dozen, come get me when yer finished... ** ** "Tell me again about the milkshake, sweetheart?" I said to my boy as we drove home an hour later. "I already told you Daddy. Mister Neil said he could give me a sample milkshake, but he wasn't allowed to use the machines at the hardware store, 'cause then they'd be second hand and they couldn't sell 'em. But he said he had a special milkshake machine in his tummy, isn't that funny, Daddy. All he had to do was drink a glass of milk, shake his tummy around, and I could drink it out of his special straw". "Yeah, right, okay, I got that part, Timmy. Uh, where did he keep his special straw?" "That's the funny part, Daddy. He kept it hidden inside his penis! No-one would ever think of looking in there! So after he drank the milk, we went into a back room, and I kneeled on a pillow and he undid his pants and let me suck the milkshake through the special straw. The straw must be really long Daddy, 'cause I hadda do a lotta suckin' to get that milk. I sucked and sucked on his penis, trying to get that milkshake. Mister Neil said I was doin' a good job, and the milkshake was gonna come real soon. So I sucked and sucked, and Mister Neil started moanin', and his hips were jerkin', I guess that was the milkshake startin' to come through, and then he held my head so's I wouldn't spill any of it, then the milkshake started to squirt in my mouth, so I swallowed it all down. "Then I went looking for you Daddy, and I found you, but you were watching the skating men fight, and I know how much you like that, so I went back to ask Mister Neil could I have another milkshake. He was very happy to give me one, only he said we should take off all our clothes in case we spill any. Then I remembered you told me to take off my clothes in the back yard when Paul the gardener was there, so I knew it must be all right. We went back to the room, and took our clothes off - Mister Neil helped me with mine - and Mister Neil lay down on a bed and I climbed on top of him with my bottom towards his face and started sucking his special straw. He said he found some spilled milkshake on me and started licking it off - it was funny how it spilled all the way down to my crack, Daddy, but Mister Neil did a really good job, he licked it all off real good, even right on my bottom hole. I looked there after and I couldn't see any so he must have got it all. "Then you came in and Mister Neil gave you a new milkshake machine for free, just an ordinary one, not a tummy one, hah hah". "What did the milkshakes taste like, Timmy? Did you like it?" "They were kinda warm. I thought milkshakes were s'posta be cold. Mister Neil said he didn't eat any ice cream, that's why it wasn't cold. Are you going to make milkshakes with ice cream, Daddy?" "Yes, son. Always with ice-cream. You're a good boy". ** ** "What are we doing today, Daddy? Where are we going?" I rolled over in bed, not an easy trick when a ten-year-old is jumping all over you. Sunday morning, the most hated part of the week. Why? Because every channel on the TV is full of those religious nutbags, telling lies and gouging money. No sport until ten o'clock! What a miserable way to spend a Sunday. I dragged myself out of bed and gave Timmy a hug (our morning routine) and set about making some breakfast for us. Naturally, Timmy wanted a milkshake, and it was a good thing Neil gave me a machine that was simple to operate when you're half-asleep. Timmy and I had the radio for company, our usual Sunday habit. Easy listening, local news and commercials. In the middle of my cornflakes, one advertisement caught my attention, sleepy though I might have been. 'Crazy Fred's Off-Roaders, Folks, You Won't Believe Your Eyes When You See The Little Beauties We Have On Special Today. Take A Test Drive Up In The Hills. No Obligation To Buy. Our Salesman Will Be Your Co-Driver. All Vehicles Fitted With Roll Cages And Safety Harnesses. You Won't Regret It. So Get On Down Here.' "Timmy, how would you like to go off-road driving today?" Timmy's face lit up. "Sounds great, Daddy. What's off-road driving? How can you drive if you're off the road? Will I get to drive? Can I drive, Daddy, please, Daddy?" For once, Timmy's incessant questions didn't faze me as I cleaned up the breakfast dishes and took Timmy to his room. "Now, if we're going off-roading, we'll need special clothes, sweetheart. Have you got any jeans?" "I got these ones Daddy, but they're really old", my son replied, reaching to the back of the bottom drawer of his bureau. "They got all holes in the knees, and the seat's nearly worn through, and they don't fit good no more. I can't even remember when I got 'em" "They look just fine. All they need is a few cuts here'n there with the scissors, and they'll be perfect off-road shorts". I snipped the legs off, held them up to Timmy's waist, then snipped a bit more off the legs. There wasn't much leg remaining, but I snipped a bit more off, just to be sure. "Can I put them on now, Daddy? They look really short now, don't they" Timmy remarked. In fact, the fork (the join between front and back that stops the garment from being a skirt) was reduced to a few threads. "Sure, Timmy. But you won't need to wear underpants with 'em. We're goin' off-roading, and that means we're goin' commando!" Timmy giggled at this. He knew what 'commando' meant, as he had done it a few times before, when the washing machine was broken and he had no fresh undies to wear to school. He stripped off his pyjamas and pulled the denim shorts on. Giggling again, he looked at himself in his mirror. "I can nearly see my bottom, Daddy", he chuckled, pirouetting this way and that to get different views of himself in the mirror. "These make my legs look long, don't they. Will I be wearing a shirt? Do off-roaders wear shirts, Daddy?" "Not just any shirt, son. Have you got any plaid ones, maybe with studs for buttons?" "I got this one Daddy, but I never wear it usually", he replied, rummaging about in the bottom drawer again and pulling out a western-style shirt. I quickly attacked it with the scissors and soon it was armless. Timmy slipped it on and admired himself in the mirror again. "I look like a cowboy, Daddy" "Then you're all set to go off-roading, son. Get some sneakers on and I'll get dressed and meet you outside". ** ** On the way to Crazy Fred's Off-Roader Lot, I tried to explain to Timmy that we needed to find the right salesman to show us our off-roader. "How will we know which is the right salesman, Daddy?" Timmy asked, a question which I had been expecting. "I think I'll know him when I see him, darling, but I need your help to find him. When a salesman comes near us, I want you to go and stand near him". "That's all?" Timmy puzzled. "That's it, sweetie. You see, we want the friendliest salesman, we don't want any unfriendly ones". "Ohh, I get it Daddy. It's always best to deal with friendly people, isn't it". "You got that right, son of mine. So if the salesman is friendly with you, I'll see it right off, then he can come with us on our test drive. Okay?" "Sure thing Daddy", Timmy agreed, happy to be of assistance. I parked the car on the street and wandered in to Crazy Fred's Lot with Timmy, meandering between rows of cars, pausing here and there. Within a minute, a salesman strode over, huge smile on his face. Timmy moved towards him, but he sidestepped the boy and made straight for me, hand outstretched to shake with me. "We're just looking, thanks", I murmured, wiping the smile off his face. The second salesman to approach us was less aggressive. He stood about ten feet away from me, taking it slow, just passing the time of day, what I figured to be the subtle approach. But when Timmy wandered over towards him he ignored my son and continued exchanging pleasantries with me. I eventually told him we were just browsing. The third guy to notice us took up a position leaning on the door of the next car in our path. When Timmy wandered over towards him, with me a few feet back, the guy put his hands on Timmy's shoulders and asked him how his day was going. "Pretty good, thank you Sir", my son replied, letting the salesman ruffle his hair and pat him on the shoulders a few times. "Fine boy you got here", he eventually addressed me. "Cute as a bug's ear, too". "He sure is. Listen, we heard your commercial on the radio this morning about a test drive? We're all set to go. We'd like to try one of those two-seater off-roaders you got?" I winked at Timmy while I spoke to the laid-back sales guy. The guy looked at both of us as though trying to figure how to fit two adults and a child into a two-seater, but what he said was "Sure thing. Er, Steve's the name. I'll bring our demo around and pick you both up". Three minutes later Steve was back with what looked little more than a dune buggy. I introduced Timmy and myself, and Steve threw me the keys. "This is the model that's on special. Are you taking the wheel, Frank?" "You bet. Is it okay if Timmy rides on your lap? He doesn't weigh much". "Sure thing, Frank. That okay with you, little buddy?" the salesguy asked Timmy. My son giggled at his new nickname, then climbed onto Steve's lap, wriggling around to get comfortable. Steve was already buckled up, so he put his arms around Timmy's waist. I turned left out of the Lot and headed for the hills, not a great distance away. We were onto an unsealed road within ten minutes, the off-roader starting to bounce around on the uneven surface. "Comfortable, sweetie?" I asked my son. "Mister Steve's belt buckle is kinda hurting my bottom, Daddy" Steve immediately reacted. "Sorry about that, little buddy. Look, I'll take it off. How's that?" "It's a bit better, Mister Steve. Now it's just your rough pants I can feel on my- my..." I interrupted my son to mention to Steve, man to man, y'know, that driving over rough tracks always gives me a boner. "Time to rearrange the furniture in the basement", I added, undoing my jeans' top button and unzipping. "Aah, that's much better". I turned to Steve. "You wanna get comfortable, Steve, that's fine, we're all guys". He smiled a reply at me and reached one hand under Timmy's butt to get at his trousers button and zipper. I noticed a series of corrugations in the road up ahead so I pointed the vehicle towards them. "Hang on!" I yelled. Steve did so, one hand under Timmy's shirt, right up to my son's chest it seemed, and the other high on Timmy's thigh, almost disappearing under Timmy's jean shorts. I guessed that the few threads that held the fork of Timmy's shorts together must have finally given way due to the violent jerking of the car. Next thing I heard was a groan from Steve, then I saw Timmy's eyes flew wide open, his mouth making a little wordless circle, like a fish. Eventually he found the power of speech. "Ooh, Daddy, ooh, I can feel, ooh-" "Not now, son, Daddy's got to concentrate on the road. Let's see how she handles on these ruts". I aimed the off-roader at a particularly rain-damaged section of the track, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Timmy was bouncing up and down in Steve's lap in time with the vigorous jostling of the car on the rugged surface of the 'road'. Timmy's facial expressions were a map to his emotions, they always have been. As I roared up the track, he kept that 'fish out of water' look of surprise on his face for a few minutes. Then his eyes rolled back and he licked his lips, a look of fervour. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the sensations coursing through his skinny body. Finally a smile broadened his lips. A smile of satisfaction. I pulled the vehicle to a stop. "Heck of a ride", I remarked. Steve was a little out of it, slowly caressing Timmy under his shirt, his other hand invisible but still moving under the denim of Timmy's shorts. "Well, I guess we've had our test drive, Timmy. Want to go back...the same way?" Timmy sounded a little subdued, for once. "Yes please, Daddy". I swung the off-roader around and sent it back down the craggy track. Strangely, Timmy started bouncing around even before I hit the first bump. Made a bit more noise, too. Lots of 'oohs' and 'aahs'. But Steve held him very tightly, so I wasn't worried about him being dislodged from the vehicle due to the bumpy ride. Arriving aback at Crazy Fred's Lot, I spent a minute carefully inspecting the ground on the driver's side, to discreetly allow time for clothing to be adjusted. I tossed the keys back to Steve, who climbed out and cleared his throat. "I can do a terrific deal on this one for you, Frank", he began. Timmy stood on the seat and threw himself into Steve's arms, wrapping his legs around the salesguy's waist. It was then that I realised that yes, the threads holding the front and back of Timmy's shorts together had indeed come adrift, as I could now see all of his skinny butt, or at least the part of it that wasn't covered by Steve's hand. "Ah, what the heck", Steve conceded, smiling ruefully. "We give away about one of these a month for charity auctions and bribing local politicians. You might as well have one as anyone else". He threw me back the keys and unloaded Timmy into the passenger seat. I had to make two trips, but I got Timmy and our new off-roader back in time to watch a demolition derby on cable. ** ** Timmy was unusually subdued for the next few days - I kinda missed his incessant questions, his blocking my view of the TV, his capering around the various repairmen who visited from time to time. I resolved to find out what was causing his mood, and maybe help the little guy out. I had an idea about what it was, and what to do about it, but I needed him to say it. Friday afternoon, he came home from school, dropped his school bag in his room, and came into the living room to sit on my lap for his regular afternoon cuddle. I showed a bit of interest in him today, as it was still another thirty minutes until the Phillies game started. I pulled his legs up and gave him a big strong cuddle. "What's my little man's problem? You wanna tell Daddy all about it?" Timmy sighed. "It's nothing, really, Daddy. I kinda miss Steve. You know, the salesguy from the place where you got the little car. And the other guys. Even though I guess I kinda complained a bit-" "You? Complain? Never!" I chided him. Timmy smiled shyly. "Even though I maybe complained sometimes, I liked helping them. I liked when they...you know..." "When they took part in our lives. Brightened up our existence that little bit. Cheered us up" I added. Timmy's smile broadened. "You know! You got it exactly right, Daddy!" "Give your old man some credit, boy. I been giving the matter some serious thought, and Ithink I got just the cure for your blues. There's a few guys I know that like a game of cards now and then, but they need a regular place to play. I suggested they might like to come here. I told them they couldn't smoke, because there's a beautiful young boy in the house and I wouldn't want his health harmed. But the beautiful young boy might sometimes bring out some crackers and dip, or a round of drinks, or maybe potato chips, you know, the kinda stuff guys eat when their wives aren't around". "Who's the beautiful young boy, Daddy? Have I met him?" Timmy asked innocently. "Sure you have. You saw him this morning" I assured him. "When? Where?" he asked, sounding much more like the old Timmy. "Up in your room. Come on, we'll go see him now". I led my completely baffled son to his bedroom, and sat on his bed in front of him. "You haven't taken off your school clothes yet, son. You know the drill". "Sorry, Daddy", he responded, pulling his shirt over his head and hanging it up, then removing his short pants, shoes and socks. I drew something small, white and frilly from my pocket and sat it on the bed next to me. Timmy's curiosity was instantly piqued. "What's that, Daddy?" "Well, I kinda hoped that you might like to help me run the card games, starting tonight. The House takes five percent of every pot, and the beers aren't free either. This is a 'helper uniform'. Slip your undies off and try it on, Timmy". Not shy in front of me, my boy dropped his boxer shorts to the floor and stepped out of them. I held the lacy white maid's apron up to his tummy, and tied its frilly white straps around his narrow waist. It wasn't much bigger than a fig leaf, with nothing in back, and certainly suited the little pansy better than any clothes I've ever seen him in. "Have a look in the mirror, son. That's where the beautiful boy is", I suggested, leading him over to his full length wardrobe door with mirror panel. As soon as he saw his reflection, Timmy's jaw dropped. He swivelled this way and that, admiring his bare bottom in the mirror, flouncing the miniscule apron up in front, exposing his penis coquettishly. "I look...I look..." he stammered, lost for words. "You look beautiful, son. I told you there was a beautiful boy in here, didn't I? I think you are going to make a lot of friends at our card nights, Timmy" "Ooh, Daddy, stop saying things like that, you're making me get a boner!" he giggled girlishly. "Save it for tonight, son. I even got you a special money box, in case any of the card guys wants to give you a tip, you know, for friendly service". "Can I...bring them up here? To my room?" "All I want is you enjoy yourself, Timmy. If one of the card players wants to see your room, and asks you nicely, and you agree, why, it would be real friendly to bring him on up and show him around. And if he gives you a tip in your money box, well, that will help me pay the bills. You just enjoy yourself, son. I love to see you happy". Timmy's big smile convinced me he approved of my plan. "I love you Daddy. You're so...good to me, and you understand me and everything. And you wait, I'll be the best helper boy ever". "I know you will, son", I replied, hugging him closely. "I know you will". end parrafan@ureach.com