What was that awful noise?
Struggled from the bedding. My ’phone.
“Hnngh-o?” was the closest I could get to a hello.
“You are there. I’m so relieved.”
It was Alice, Clyde’s mother (and The Club’s advisor).
“Clyde said you were lost in the forest.”
I cleared my throat. “Uh, no. I needed some space.”
“You ran away?”
I pulled myself halfway up, so my brain would be upright enough to make sense.
“Can I call you back after I’ve made some coffee?” Me, congenial as possible.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“No. Why?” My bedroom alarm faced the carpet. Must’ve knocked the annoyance off my nightstand.
“Nine o’clock,” she deadpanned.
Lightning struck me. “What?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“Oh my god, I’m late for work! Alice, thanks for calling. Gotta go.”
Blam! I hung up on her and stumbled to the kitchen for instant black brew.
Sipping the evil stuff without sugar, I called in. Apologized. Promised to get there a.s.a.p.
With a singed tongue, I drew on appropriate attire and headed out the door.
Alice was waiting, car window down. “Need a ride?”
“Oh,” my spirits sank. I was in for it, but managed to crank out politely, “You’re a life saver.”
“Forget to shave?”
“You know I overslept,” I rubbed stubble.
She drove. “I understand you paid ‘special attention’ to Oscar while his mother and I were playing Bingo with the Methodists.”
Level voice. Oh crap. “He needed me.”
“And my son didn’t? Charley didn’t?”
I countered with a question of my own, “How did you find out?”
“I took all three boys to school at seven-thirty. Smug about something, Oscar wouldn’t tell. Charley started goosing him. By the time Clyde joined in, Oscar was shrieking high-high squeals all over the place. He gave in – and it all came out about his fucking voice lesson.”
From me she got a momentary, crestfallen, “Oh.”
My balls shrank.
A traffic light stopped her. She turned my way slowly, “He said you were, and I quote, ‘fucking awesome.’”
That cheered me. For about one second
Bitch, she saw me blush.
Had to rally. Gulp!
“I guess I was, but so was he. Real dedicated-like.” Then I felt bold enough to blurt, “He was grateful, too, so that was an inspiration.” I’m sure I sounded like the man I knew I was. “Plus, Mrs. Menendez-Finkelstein left me thirty dollars in advance.”
“You expect us to pay you for doing your duty?” Light changed. She stepped on the gas. We went through the intersection. “Didn’t we help you make all that money from Battman and His Buttboys? Without us, where would you be?”
To counter her frump, I tried, “I know, and I’m trying to tell you something, Alice, if you’ll listen.”
She pulled over and stopped next to the curb. “I’m listening.”
Wow. Didn’t seem like she liked my assertiveness. I swallowed hard.
“Charley and your Clyde are, like, selfish. And they aren’t nice about what I do for them. Why yesterday, they already wore me out twice. They were so mean to me, wanting a third go-around. I couldn’t.”
“You should hang your head in shame. You’re their mascot. The Club’s invested a lot of time in you. Building you up and all that. Feeding you seeds, protein shakes, and oysters. Have you any idea what oysters cost these days? Anyway, you’re making me tired. When you’re off this afternoon, I’m taking you to a doctor. You need a check-up.”
“Why? I’m a regular guy. I do what I can, and you’ll admit I’m better at it now than when I got dragged into The Club.”
“Listen, you silly man, D.C. Films has got investors jumping up and down for The Green Hornet and His Hive. You have to be in tip-top shape because filming starts in two weeks. Bigger budget. Better special effects. Aaaand…” – she elongated the preposition or conjunction or whatever it is – “…you won’t believe the contract.”
“Wait. What? We’re gonna make that?”
“Damn right. Here we are. Your work. Get out. I’ll be back at five to pick you up. Doctor’s appointment’s at five-thirty.”
“What kind of doctor?”
“A specialist, Dr. Houser. Just the man you need. His son Doobie, or something like that, who’s thirteen and real cute, has volunteered to participate in your exam.
“Wait. What?”
“You’re repeating yourself. You’ll be put through your paces so a proper diagnosis can be made. We have to get to the bottom of your problem. Now, off with you.”
My work at work that day wasn’t much to brag about. The boss asked if I needed more vacation time off to get myself “back up to snuff.”
I was so embarrassed.
*
Shortly after five-thirty, I was more embarrassed. First place, that office was the temperature of Greenland. I was naked. Imagine me, goose-pimpled, a grown man being felt and prodded, asked to cough with a rubber-gloved hand pushed where my ice-cold balls tried to hang down, my frozen penis examined, my prostate evaluated by a chilled finger. I can’t remember what all went on. My head was going numb.
Then Doogie arrived (Alice had his name wrong.).
I began to thaw. My jaw dropped.
Actually, it turned out the boy’s real name was Douglas. Nicknamed Doogie after some TV kid. They looked a lot alike, I was told.
Well, cute certainly fit. His head boasted a cupid’s-bow mouth, big eyes, and golden hair that seemed to spring out from over his brow. Like Alice’s Clyde, he had a slender neck supporting an adorable noggin.
My circulation improved.
“Hi,” he said, charming me with his light handshake and easy smile. “Want to see the rest?”
I hadn’t noticed he was standing there barefoot wearing a white terrycloth robe his size.
All I could think of was, “Sure.”
“Go ahead, son,” the doctor said. “Show him your attractions.”
“And how ready I am?” The voice of an angel couldn’t sound better.
Doc Dad nodded consent.
Douglas-Doogie turned away and lowered the robe to reveal his shoulders – just beginning to show some muscles – his back – which tapered to a waist impossibly narrow – and his butt – a pair of matchless melons.
I know, I’m getting carried away. But please understand.
My most valuable asset did what I call its sproing to life. My mouth opened again and I wasn’t remembering to breathe. Until, that is, he bent over.
Then, I gasped. Nearly lost my cookies.
Something red was…in…there.
“Like my plug?” he sweetly asked.
He looked at me from between his legs and saw – upside down – what I had on offer. About to drip.
Solemnly, he said, “Dad, he’s got an inch on you.”
And, as he straightened up and whirled about, “Oh! Ooooh,” a hand reaching out but not daring to touch.
Flattered by the admiration, I regarded his father, Doc Houser, with caution. Or trepidation.
“What’s a plug – for?”
“To remind him of me. I work long hours. When Doogie’s at school or doing his homework, I can give him a buzz with this remote to let him know he’s in my thoughts.”
Douglas-Doogie said brightly, “Show him, Dad.”
It was a small black plastic do-dad with an extendable antenna.
“See? Battery-powered. I turn it on, mash this to send the signal, and can dial up the rate. Like this.”
The boy shivered, joy obvious. “That’s my frequency. It goes off, I know Dad really loves me.”
“Um, when you’re in a class,” I was curious, “is it a distraction?”
“My teacher likes it when I smile during her lessons.”
A soft knock at the door. Doc Houser cracked it. Sure enough, Alice.
“How’s it going? You getting the cooperation you need? He’d better.”
“We’re about to commence. You finish filling out the forms?”
She passed some pages to him.
He whispered to her and closed the door, turning its lock quietly. “All right, let’s begin.”
Douglas-Doogie was positioned leaning over the exam table. “We remove this carefully,” he withdrew the red plug. I now could hear its soft buzz.
Houser’s darling giggled, “Dad, you forgot to turn it off.”,
I liked the kind way the doctor asked me to lubricate myself and to show him how I penetrated boys.
Scientific-like and very mature, I squeezed off a plump caterpillar-sized wad of KY and spread it on my hands. “Gotta warm it – for me and for there.” Then I rubbed some around ‘there,’ the boy’s pulsing pucker, and around my perky pecker. Slicked us up.
“Doogie-boy,” I asked, “how do you want it. Slow, maybe?”
“It’s not up to him,” I was warned. “I need to see how you do it.”
Me? I hesitated, thinking this’s a medical matter about me. Still, I wanted to explain. Took a deep breath, I did, and said, “When I start with our Club’s members – there are three – I use this hand to rotate my cock on the area before I surprise ’em with…” – and I slid straight in until something stopped me head-on.
Douglas-Doogie bolted up, flinching, yelping, “Hot damn, Dad! Oh-oh-oh, that’s so great.”
I hugged his back to my chest and held him for dear life. His feet came off the floor. Banged his butt good, him hollering “oh” with each bang.
“Oh-oh-oh-oh!”
Eyes boggled, Doc Houser got Douglas-Doogie’s ejac right in the face.
“Put him down.”
“But I was going good.”
He ignored me. “Son, are you all right?” He wielded a hand towel over his own besprinkled face.
“Gee, Dad, you never did that to me.”
“Are-you-all-right?” It came out as kind of a growl. Same towel – he wiped around Douglas-Doogie’s nickel-wide hole.
“And all tight, too. What’s next?”
What a sunny temperament, I thought, regarding the boy’s backside (which wasn’t that tight).
The exam table had its extension raised.
“Up here now. Face forward. Prop your chin on the cushion-rest at the end. Feet off the table on either side. Okay, you,” he indicated me, “Crawl atop and let me observe what you can do.”
Did I need an engraved invitation? Not with what I saw before me. The Doc placed a step stool for me. That was thoughtfulness on display, again. Nice man.
“We forgot something,” he said as I held my push-up position. A condom, which he proceeded to roll on my cock. A man’s hand sure felt different than…oh never mind. I didn’t. Initially.
“Wait,” he said. He took some pleasure smearing me with KY and sliding his latexed grip back and forth.
Masturbation! Hadn’t needed that since before The Club was founded. Didn’t need it now. Whatever he was about, this part wasn’t medically necessary. Even though there was still a chill in the climate.
He just wanted to feel my dick.
Dirty doctor! I wasn’t about to be his plaything. “Stop that,” I said. “I’ve got a butt to fuck, or have you forgotten?”
“Dad, pay attention. I’m set. Come on, let him do me.”
Without hindrance, I plowed in and set to work as doggedly as any farmer bent on dealing with furrows.
(I’m obviously better now than before with my descriptions. Almost like poetry, right?)
Must say, young Douglas-Doogie’s ass was phenomenal. However, we were so festive, a problem developed.
The sounds he made, the shameless shivers he couldn’t conceal, the way he uncontrollably clawed at the exam table’s black Naugahyde – seemed to unsettle his father’s objectivity.
Nonetheless and steadfastly, I devoted myself to what I’d been trained to do. Fancy flourishes had that boy humming the Hallelujah.
The doctor made notes, clocked us with a stopwatch, and frowned. As minutes were logged, the frown became a scowl.
Definitely.
Maybe he was bored, I was so repetitious. So, I tried some of the moves I developed for Oscar’s vocal lessons.
The Dougie-Doogie boy dug ’em. Started what I guess is called un-du-lating.
That table moved with us. My new trip-hammer drives reverberated a framed diploma hanging nearby.
“STOP!” stopped me. It came from the heaving boy. “I just came.”
The stop-watch clicked. I saw – could practically hear – scribbles being made hastily. The doctor breathed hard and put down his ball point.
“Should I pull out?”
“Dad, don’t let him. Ohmigod, don’t let him.”
Dad was solicitous. “Doogie, you came?” As the question was posed, Doc Houser felt under his teen’s tummy and found the yummy stuff. Brought out some to sniff and taste with the tip of his tongue. “That’s yours all right.”
“You?” he asked me.
“Me what?”
“Did you – um – fill your condom?”
I was witty, “Did you think me some Johnny-come-quickly?”
Scowled at me.
I added, “Isn’t this some sort of endurance test? I mean, why else am I here?”
“Dad, please!”
Sweet thing sounded earnest.
Doc Houser didn’t need to tell me what I ought to do. I’d just show him. Who had been a great Battman anyway? While he was pondering my cock up his son’s pert butt, I wasn’t subtle. Told that kid, “I’m coming out in order to get back in, but with you on your back. So flip around and get those legs up for me.”
My voice’s commanding tone worked. Dougie-Doogie, boyishly alert, whipped into his new position, lifted wide and aloft his willowy legs – and squirmed, ready.
His ass spread around my dick.
Melted butter would have put up more resistance.
“Ready to show your Daddy what his son can take?” That tone again.
He gave me a nod without so much as one in the doc’s direction.
All in, it occurred to give some whispered commands while remaining in my new space inside him.
“Coax me.”
He’d no thirteen-year-old idea how but tried something novel: his tongue peeked through his tightly closed lips and wiggled its tip at me.
“Oh, you’re getting the idea. Now pull at me,” I said, my tongue tickling his.
Over-relaxed muscles clenched and pulled as they could.
“Nice try. Think you can tug? You know you want me. You gotta work for your reward.”
Dad looked on agog.
Sweat beaded the boy’s uncreased brow. Effort! I appreciated that.
“Look at me, baby. Your efforts have earned Battman’s best.”
His whole body flushed with pride. He reached out to me, I think for a kiss. But, I grabbed his arms and pushed them to the table near his head. “No you don’t. You’re getting fucked.”
Seeing him helpless, I became gung-ho from the new get-go and let him have it with one-two-three-pause…one-two-three-pause. A rhythm back-and-forth that, when I used it, would drive members of The Club crazy. My inches were at the outermost on the first pause, at the innermost for the second.
One-two-three-pause.
“Whoo-ee!” he wheezed at my pauses.
The way I had him, his every expression was a provocation.
He deserved my all. Really. Genuine appreciation radiated from that boy.
I performed gradual shifts from this angle to that, from edging his rim to plunging past, from engaging his pink nipples to twisting them red, from smooching his cheeks to sucking his tongue, from his sorry life on Earth to a place in the Galaxy.
Sublimity beyond the power of language to describe.
He didn’t pop. He blew up! Watery sperm flew like Uzi bullets.
From a throat so young, I’d never heard such sounds in my life.
Neither had his dad. “What have you done to my son?” he yelled.
My best superhero voice answered calmly as I looked down with a benign expression of my own at what remained of the Dougie-Doogie Doc Houser had known, “I have fucked him properly.”
With panache, I drew out, watched Doc Houser admire my still-stiff, latexed cock, slipped off the offensive object, dropped it contemptuously (empty of essence) to the floor, sought my clothes and, before Alice (who was banging on the door, screaming, “Let me in! Let me in!”) could be admitted, dashed out the back and, in the gloam, took off for home.
As I ran, I considered how fluently I’d begun using language. Tires screeched a block away, Alice on the hunt. I dodged around, eventually sneaking beyond all detection into my dark house.
Safe at last, I thought.
In my living room’s easy chair, I eased my respiration, put up my feet, mellowed out, and thought how good I’d been. Entire minutes clicked by on my glow-in-the-dark clock dial, boosting confidence.
A funny sound caught my attention – a bicycle stand being kicked into place.
What was that about?
Soft tapping at the front door. A soft tapping that was delivered in spurts. Tap-tap-tap. Tappity-tap-tap.
Had to peek. There was just enough light from the street corner’s lamp post to make out the form of, let’s say, a thirteen-year-old boy, his hair in disarray.
I cracked the door an inch to whisper, “Who is it?”
A whisper came back, “It’s me.”
It was – Douglas-Doogie!
“What do you want?”
“Your dick.”
“What about your father?”
“When I snuck off, he was writing and mumbling about perpetual motion.”
“Slip in, then.”
“Why’s it dark in here?”
“You don’t have whisper now.”
“WHY’S IT SO DARK IN HERE?”
“Not that loud.” Hugged the boy tight. “You feel good even with your clothes on.”
Feelings aside, his question bugged me. I admitted, “I’m hiding from that awful Alice.”
“I’ll protect you,” he said, normal-level. “What’s so awful about her?”
He groped around my you-know while I thought how to answer “Her son and his two friends – they’re younger than you – and they are cruel.”
“Why? You’re so lovable,” he curled all over me.
Impossible not to kiss after that. I was all over him.
“Can we have some light? At least, a little?”
“Follow me. There’s a candle in my bedroom.”
“I can’t see you.”
“Then drop your drawers…”
“They’re bike shorts.”
“Well, peel ’em off and I’ll lead you by your cute pecker.”
“Ooh.”
The way was found. I only bumped into the coat rack.
“This is for power outages,” I said, proudly striking a match to my bedside candle in its quaint brass holder. Automatically, I stripped.
“You look even better in this kinda light than under Dad’s flourescents.”
Naked, he looked real good to me, too. “Now, adorable one, what about my dick?” I asked, cupping his tennis-ball scrotum and reaching further with one finger. The family plug. I yanked and dropped it.
No reaction. Nothing.
He’d become shy.
Tenderly, I turned him around and felt between his melon-like mounds for that certain, now-open wet spot.
I found it; he found his voice. “Ooh. It’s not fair. You got all of my stuff out but you didn’t leave any in me. Dad always does. Says it’s a good infusion for a boy. But I think yours will be better. Please, please, please – can you deliver for me?”
“Sweetheart,” I kissed his shoulder and ran my finger into his toasty warmth, “I would’ve but your father made me wear that rubber. My juices are not to be wasted in some artificial destination. They belong where they belong.”
“In me?” his voice rose, beguiling me.
“You’ll be a pleasure.”
Within mere minutes, he moved from kittenish, alley-cattish, tigerish, to – what? Mmm, something classically great – Delphic – uplifting his butt like an altar in temple architecture, a sanctum in which my cock could worship. I sent heavenward thoughts of heartfelt invocation to boy-butt power as if on Olympus. Called forth blessings from the Titans. Then delivered a flood of biblical proportions in which my cock bobbed like a buoy.
The boy, dear deserving Dougie-Doobie, moaned and sighed and heaved and groaned – and remembered to say thank you as he hopped on his bike to pedal home. Filled full and anxious to keep every drop, plug placed.
As he vanished into the dark, he was whistling, I could have danced all night.
I closed the door, exhausted, happy. Headed for the shower completely content – when a clatter arose at my back door.
The brats were there – with new, night-vision binoculars!
The neighbors likely could hear them hollering, “Who was that? Open this door! You’re cheating on us!”
Damn! I needed a plan quick.
I didn’t have one.
*