Attitude Adjustments

Attitude Adjustments Chapter One I have a boy. It should be perfect. But, it’s not. Ben claims I’m clinging to Rob, and twink says nothing is ever good enough for Dr. Fell, and Dave just looks sad that he’s not making me happy. And I’m pissed with myself, too. It should be right. I have a boy, a dog, a cabin, a bike, and a part-time job. Damn. I can’t even say what’s wrong. Yeah, gaining a step-mom was a shake up, and having a live-in boy of my own is downright unsettling, but those, on balance, are good things. I throw Ghia a stick. She snorts and bounds away after it. I sigh and give myself a mental shake. I’m being an idiot. I look at my watch. Dave’ll be home soon. I’m almost lonely without him. Pathetic. His job starts at dawn, but it gets him home mid-afternoon, so it works out well enough. He’s taken to his apprenticeship out at the airport as if it were designed for him, and I tolerate the fact that it has him working Saturdays. We get Wednesdays in exchange. He’s all but promised a job if he passes his FAA test at the end of his apprenticeship. He leaves study guides for his Airframe and Powerplant license all over the cabin. We’ve had some sharp words about tidiness. I help him study, but it’s not like tutoring Rob for his GED. I can’t understand most of what Dave is reading. Ghia head butts my feet. I’ve ignored her stick. “Aw, come on girl. Let’s go for a run until your Dave gets back.” She leaps around while I change out of my boots, and then we lope off together into the woods. Dave and I had awkward words earlier in the week. He wants to be just mine even if I fuck the other boys as I train them, but I feel awkward not letting the guys have him in exchange. Fair’s fair. And Dave’s a young kid. He doesn’t know what monogamy means yet, and his previous lovers have been inept. He deserves some fun. I pause while Ghia catches up from investigating an exciting scent, and I amend my objections. I’d love Dave to be just mine, and the guys would be cool with it; I’m just being a bit of a dick about Dave asking for what he wants.

Ghia snorts. “You’re right, girl. I’m not being fair. I yelled at him for not telling me stuff, and now I’m being an ass about him saying what he wants.” Hell, is it worse to talk to yourself or to a dog? “Being overheard is worse, sir.” “Shit! Dave, you’re a sneaky little bastard. How much did you hear?” Dave stays out of reach. “I’m quiet, not sneaky. Everything you said to Ghia, sir. You’re not an ass, sir, but it is hard to know when I’m allowed to say what I want.” I beckon him over. “Always allowed, boy. Just no sulking if you don’t get what you want.” Dave laughs, and comes into his welcome home hug. “Yes, sir, but sometimes what you want is the hard part.” “Of course it is. No point otherwise is there?” I squeeze him tight, but Ghia is going crazy needing Dave’s attention. I release him so he can rub her ears. Dave drapes his arm round my waist as we go back to the cabin. It’s not, he points out, PDA if it’s in the middle of private woods, so I tolerate our hips bumping as we walk. Dave doesn’t re-open the conversation about being shared and I’m glad to let it drop. We’re going to revise our contract in a few weeks so perhaps I’ll have my head sorted by then. He seems cheerful enough as he works on his truck and maintains my Fat Boy. I set up my new project on the porch so we’re companionable even though we don’t talk. He’s absorbed in tinkering with some greasy part, and I’m hand-cutting dovetail joints for the box I’m making. I’m not a cabinetmaker -- I’m a framing carpenter by trade -- but I can do fine work when required. I don’t enjoy fiddly work, but it’s important that I make this myself. Dave takes a break and brings me iced tea. He sits by my feet for awhile while he drinks a glass. He watches my hands as I work and just smiles when I catch his gaze. He doesn’t ask what I’m doing, but he kisses my knee before he goes back to his truck. It’s a good afternoon -- both of us busy and peaceful. I let him get away with just a blowjob that evening and he goes to bed early. While Dave is at work, I finish my box construction and start the lid inlay. It’s tricky work and I get pissy, but, by the time it’s finished, I’m pleased. Rob’s box is small and dark as he was. It doesn’t need to be big to hold his drawing of me and his obituary. I’ve set mom’s eternity ring into the lid. I put it on the mantle next to Chris’ drawing of Rob. Dave has put my crumpled carnation from Mrs. P and dad’s wedding there. What a smush he is. I catch myself and laugh: I’m the one making a memory box.

I notice Dave eyeing the box later, but he doesn’t say anything. I see a glimmer of hurt in Dave’s face, but damn it, he’s here and Rob isn’t, so he has no call to be jealous. I guess he calls twink because I get an earful from Ben when he and twink visit that Friday evening. I make a note to deal with Dave’s habit of spilling his troubles to twink. He’s better about not listening to Colby, but confiding in twink is hardly an improvement. Ben reminds me Dave is new to being a boy, and tells me Dave hoped I was making the box for him. Fuck. But then Ben missteps by trying to persuade me Rob wasn’t perfect. I know he wasn’t, but I don’t need to hear it. “Yes, you do,” yells Ben. “Shut up,” I snarl. I jab my thumb at the open back door. “If those two hear this--” We stare out the door at Dave trying to get twink to focus on a hotdog grilling tutorial. Twink is being obscene with the raw wieners, and Ghia is watching every move. “No, you shut up and listen if you don’t want them hearing.” We have a stare off until Ben breaks it by opening a cabinet, and grabbing two jars from the alphabetized herbs and spices. He waves them at me. “Fuck off,” I say. “Admit it John. Rob couldn’t please you about this.” He bangs the paprika, then the parsley onto the table. I get what he’s trying to do. Really. But Rob had a reason for struggling with the alphabetical order. When we started our kitchen training, he’d have all the Ps: pepper, poppy seeds, pizza blend, paprika, and parsley all muddled in together. Getting as far as Pa Pa was good going really. I mumble that out to Ben. Ben drops his voice. “Come on, man. I know Rob had a hard time reading, but there’s a fucking picture on the jar and you can see which is which through the glass. All he had to do was remember paprika came first. Right? And since he knew that’s how you preferred it, he should have done it. Face it, John -- Rob was messing with you.” “Teasing me.” “John, I saw that argument. You were pissed. It wasn’t one of your jokes.” “A joke he got wrong. He didn’t know it would really annoy me.”

“He did it again the next week,” says Ben relentlessly. I take the jars and put them away. Paprika, then parsley. I can’t help myself. “Just tell me one fucking thing about Rob that wasn’t perfect, and I’ll stop. John -- you have to get past it or Dave is going to be crushed by Rob.” I stare blindly at the kitchen cabinets. Ben’s right, but I’ve taken too long to answer. His voice is quiet and deliberate. “Get over yourself, John. We’ve all had shit. Charlie’s rehab was no fucking fun and he has a long road with his folks yet, Greg lost his mum, I lost my dad, Tommy lost his sister -- we all have grief. You need to adjust your fucking attitude!” He walks down the back porch steps making some silly remark to the boys, and I just keep staring at the door. I know Rob wasn’t perfect. He drove me bugshit sometimes. But he was perfectly mine. And what drove me crazy were the things I loved about him, too. He was such a domestic boy, and I reveled in that, but sometimes his serious examination of draperies and place settings in magazines gave me hives. Lord knows he loved his custom cars too, but I worried when he folded even paper napkins into swans and shit. I sit down at the kitchen table, and face a few things about me and Rob. I dismiss his little bad habits -- his nail biting for example -- and our bickering about music. He loved country rock, and he caught hell one day when I came home early and found him lying around listening to the Eagles instead of working on his assigned tasks. He had the radio full blast and I watched him lying on his belly in just his jeans, waggling his bare feet joyfully. He leaped up with a shriek when he realized I’d busted him. Damn, he was cute. Okay, so he goofed off to music and bit his nails. Big whoop, you can do better than that, John. I push the salt and pepper jars around on the table, and dredge up that sometimes his cheerful lack of interest in the world annoyed me. He’d learn things to please me, but he didn’t really have any sense of curiosity. He knew what he liked, and that was enough for him. Fuck, I’ve knocked the salt over. His lack of curiosity was part and parcel of his trusting nature, too. He never imagined anyone would hurt him. He remained constantly surprised by his parents’ rebuffs and silences. He ended up in that damned alley. He never fucking learned that the world was cruel. I can taste blood. I’ve bitten my lip. I scoop the spilled salt up. I check that no one can see before I toss the salt over my left shoulder. I rub the salt stuck to my finger on my cut lip, and wince. Keep going, John. Remember what made you mad with him.

He wouldn’t relate to my friends except to serve them. It was more than just bickering about shyness that led me to let him stay apart from my college friends. He’d stay downstairs if he could serve, but he wouldn’t be my public partner. Fuck. His willingness to serve -- I loved it, but it made me jealous. He’d make Ben a brown bag lunch, too, when we lived together. Sometimes I think Rob just liked serving, and it wasn’t me at all. Shit. I scrub my eyes. I won’t cry over him. I know he loved me. I know this is just debriding a wound, not picking a scab. Goddamn, my eyes sting -- I must have had some salt still on me. I splash my face at the sink. As I dry myself, I take a hard look at Dave. He’s turning food on the grill and over-studiously ignoring Ben getting a blowjob from twink. It occurs to me that Dave means it when he said he doesn’t want to be shared at all. I frown. We’ll talk again, and I’ll try to do a better job of listening to him. “Man up, John,” I say aloud, and head out. I turn a blind eye to Ghia’s hotdog, and surprise Dave by patting his butt and leaving my hand there. He shouldn’t look so happy to have his sir leave an arm across his waist, and I rebuke myself. I’m pissing on a good thing here. Ben must have finished his blowjob because twink’s chatter starts up again. I swear, if there’s not a gag or a prick in that boy’s mouth… Dave giggles. “That was still out loud, sir. You have lived alone too long, you old hermit.” Ben and twink don’t stay late -- Dave has to be up in the morning, and twink has some Saturday project he’s working on, too. Ben just grins when I ask. “Dude, he’s hatching some plan with Owen. We’ll find out.” I give Ben the stink eye, but it’s up to him what twink gets to do, and I don’t want to spoil our shaky accord before he leaves. As we see them off, Dave munches on a leftover sausage -- he’s always hungry -- and when he sees me looking he swirls his tongue around it. “Dirty boy!” “Yes,” he says proudly, and pulls all the meat into his mouth without using his hands. I laugh when he has trouble chewing it, but watch to make sure he doesn’t choke. “Very talented, boy.” “I’m learning,” he says. “I was watching Charlie a bit to see how he gets his head back.”

I brush his curls from his forehead. “Dave, don’t take this wrong, but that’s partly why we share -- we all learn from the others. And it’s fun, too. You’re too young and horny to settle for just me.” Dave shrugs. “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t want another sir touching me.” I already feel as if I’ve compromised when I made the earlier agreement that no one gets to fuck him, but then I replay what he said. “Just another sir?” Dave blushes. “That’s what matters, sir,” he manages. “If you want me to screw around some I guess I get what you mean. I could handle Charlie maybe. But it’s you who owns me, not other sirs.” I smother a grin. “So being a no strings slut with twink would be okay, but not having Ben correct an error or be pleasured by you?” Dave shuffles. “God, sir, it sounds so wrong when you put it like that.” I didn’t think he could blush more. He’s twelve kinds of lovely. He puts his palm flat on my chest and droops his head. “Sir, the discipline is us, please, that’s what I’d feel was cheating, and I guess I could give the guys a blowjob if you ordered me to, but don’t let them, uh, don’t let them hurt me, please, that has to be just you.” I kiss his mouth to stop his run on babble. “Boy, it’s a deal: the guys won’t discipline you, and you get to play with the boys.” Dave gives a stunned laugh. “What’s the catch?” I let my grin loose. “Being just mine is the catch, boy. Oh, and I might want to watch you play.” He nods slowly. “I’ll try, sir. I really do want just you. I know you fuck the others, and that’s okay. I just want to please you.” “You know what would please me?” Dave answers with his hands on my belt buckle. “Bedroom. I want your ass.” Dave calls Ghia in and settles her down, and then scrambles into the bedroom getting naked as he goes. The bedroom’s almost totally filled with a bigger bed now. There’s just a foot on either side. I’m going to have to figure out a solution to that.

“Not now!” wails Dave. “Sir! Don’t think about furniture!” I stand at the foot of the bed, and torment Dave by taking eyeball measurements of the room and muttering numbers. I know already how big the room is because I built the bed inside it, but I’m enjoying seeing Dave’s naked rump waiting. He’s still unsure about fucking, and his offering it gladly is a victory. I yelp. Dave has rolled over, grabbed me, and tumbled me down onto the bed. “You’re a tease, sir.” Dave is kissing me hard, and I let him. I’m amused by his boldness, and curious to see what kind of relationship we’ll settle in to. He’s busily undressing me while we kiss, and then running his fingertips down my ribs. I hide an un-dom-like giggle -- I’m so dead if the boys ever learn I’m ticklish -- and grab his wrists. Dave’s got that light in his eyes -- he’s ready for some fun, and I decide to take him a little further tonight. He’s still so brand spanking new to the whole scene. Some light bondage, a bit of obedience training, and, yeah, a few spankings are all we’ve done. “Trust me, boy?” “Yes, sir.” “Tell me your safe word.” “Comma splice,” mumbles Dave. “And you use it when?” “I’m too scared, too hurt, feeling ill, or going numb.” “Good. And hurt includes?” “Emotions, too,” he says sounding downright petulant. “And what happens if you don’t use it?” “I get the disappointed lecture.” I flip his cockhead with my fingernail. “No movies, music, or desserts for a week,” he amends. He likes being spanked far too much for it to be a deterrent, and what really hits home is a little kid punishment. I want to trust him to use his safe word, but I’m still not over him thinking he’d be in trouble for using it during our first fuck.

I set about getting that light back in his eyes. I grab the leather thongs I’d stashed under the pillow, and tie his thumbs together. He’s disconcerted at how free and simultaneously hampered it leaves him. He tugs experimentally, and then gives me puppy eyes. His cock is rigid, and I stroke it with the back of my fingers and then drag another leather thong across his crotch. He stays very still while I wrap the base of his shaft, and then loop down to circle and separate his balls. I tie a knot, and Dave moans. I look in his eyes -- he’s happy. I put my ER scissors in his view so he knows he can be freed in a second. He’s my boy, so I bend forward and take his prick in my mouth. Dave yelps in surprise as he knows from the boys how rare that is, but he’s begging and moaning in just a few seconds. I feel his fingers tangling in my hair. He’s settling into my motion, and cries out as if he were bereft when I move away. He’s got a lovely cock, and I’ll take him the whole way one day, but not tonight. “Oh, sir,” he says, full of reproach. I lick my lips, and smile. I cup his leather-bound balls in my hand and weigh them. “I think I want you to wait a bit longer.” He breaks role. “Jeeze, I have work in the morning.” He’s still not got that full-time thing through his head. I slap his prick hard. “Cheeky brat. I could make you wait until your day off and then really work you over.” Dave gulps. “But it’s only Friday, and I don’t wanna wait until Wednesday.” “You don’t wanna?” I repeat. I feel a genuine irritation under my tease, but he’s a good lad, and catches my tone. I see contrition and pride war it out on his face. “Sorry, sir,” he says softly. “I want to please you. I’m not used to long fucks. It’s all been a bit wham-bam with my exes.” “But you do have work in the morning.” Dave squirms. The kid has to get up at five to make a six a.m. shift. But he has a drooling prick. I tug on the end of the thong around his balls, and rub my palm callus on his cock head. He whimpers, but leans in to accept the caress. “So perhaps I should just stop.” I am only teasing. My balls are aching as much as I imagine his are. I want to get off and sleep with my boy next to me in my decadently large new bed. Dave is staying perfectly still, and just pleading with his eyes.

“Just a fuck now, and a scene on Wednesday, boy. You’ll be on the St. Andrew’s Cross for the first time.” His cock twitches in my grasps and belies his gasp of “oh no.” He’s moving to his hands and knees, but I stop him with a twitch to the thong. “Face to face, boy. Get your knees up by your ears!” I snap that out as a command, and damn, he’s in position. He can obey well when it suits him. I’ve just got to figure out what sort of sub my boy is. I’m sure he’s a natural under his minor rebellions and ‘don’t wanna’ moments. Dave is eager, and I both revel in his innocence and feel guilty about enjoying his inexperience. I remind myself he is already my boy -- we’ll convert our temporary contract to something longer term in a few weeks. And he’s not vulnerable. He has family, a happy pursuit of a career as a mechanic, and his thriving circle of friends beyond the boys. He’s got a confident core of self that won’t lead him astray. It’s safe to love him. He’s not a boy who needs rescuing. Although right now, he looks plenty defenseless with his ass cracked for me, and his bound thumbs tucked under his chin to stop himself from interfering. He lifts his hips a little as I enter him, and he moans. He’s got the hang of this stage now. Our first few times together he’d tense up and make it hard for us. He shifts a little to improve my angle, opens his eyes, and smiles at me. “You know, sir, I really do like your dick in me now.” He proves his point with a wicked little wriggle, and we’re away with the fuck. I’m glad I built the king-sized bed frame even if it uses the whole room. I did plan on making it a quickie for my poor boy, but he’s the one holding it back -- he’s brought me to the edge and held off twice. We may have started face to face, but we’ve worked through several positions and covered most of the bed by the time he lets me ride him to orgasm. He holds me close afterward, and smugly says, “In fact, I love your dick in me now, sir.” He’s still all tangled up with me as he falls asleep -- his thongs were removed during the fucking so I’ve no excuse to extract myself. I let him stay snuggled up and I lie there wondering: who’s got who? He wasn’t topping from below as such, but I’m not sure I was in charge there.

Chapter Two Dave wakes me up as usual with coffee and a kiss on my ear at five thirty. I usually get up at six so Dave’s leaving time is hardly a big adjustment. In fact, I rather like it as I can lounge in bed for half an hour sipping coffee, reading, and feeling sybaritic. “Bye, sir. I’ll be late tonight. Mom says I have to come to dinner, but she’ll give us leftovers so no cooking tomorrow when we scene!” I grunt into my coffee. His mom’s a decent cook, and is always loading her boy up with food to share with “your friend, John, Davey” as I heard myself called on the voicemail last week. The cabin’s never seen so much fucking Tupperware. “Um, sir?” “Yeah?” “Dad says he’s throwing my weights away if I don’t get them out of his garage. Can I bring them out here? I’d like to start lifting again. Um, if I may.” “Boy, you don’t have to ask about that. Of course you can work out, but I’m not sure where we’ll put them.” “You don’t use your study much anymore, sir.” He’s right. I do all the Foundation stuff on the laptop, and there’s no need to hole up in my study because, unlike twink, Dave knows when to be silent. But, still, letting go of my study feels like admitting the academic side of me is gone. “I read there, boy. And it’s full of books.” Dave has a cheeky look in his eyes. “Sir. Really. Build a new study. I’ve been hinting as hard as I can since I saw you build the garage, but you don’t seem to get it. You’re a framing carpenter for God’s sake. There’s no reason you can’t add a whole row of rooms down the east wall of the cabin. You can have a whole library! I can get the lumber -- I’ll get a signing bonus when I pass my exams and get hired -- and I have friends who do wiring and plumbing. And dad is a roofer. He’ll help-- ” “Hold up, boy. I’m not having the cabin over run by a million people.” “My friends and my dad.” “This is private space.” “You have the guys come out.”

“I do not have to justify having them visit.” Dave is looking mulish. “That’s so fucking you, sir. Your way is fine, but my way is-- ” “It’s too early for this, boy. You’ll be late for work. We’ll talk when you get home from dinner, but you have to see how complicated it could get asking non-group people out here.” “It’s my home, too, and my mom and dad would like to see where I live, and you know, just drop by their son’s place and visit and-- ” I know he’s upset because his sentences are running on again. I cut him off, “Yeah. Right. And were you planning on introducing me as your roommate?” Dave is red. I see I’ve stumbled on the truth so I push harder. “I won’t lie, boy. I’ll meet your parents if you introduce me as your partner. They can come to an invited dinner if I’m your man. No need for “sir” in front of them, but I’m not your ‘friend,’ got it? “You sure aren’t,” snaps Dave, and marches out. Crap. Great start to the day, John. That was so fucking smooth. I get up. No point lying in bed sulking. Dave’s truck taillights are just rounding the corner of the dirt track. I take my coffee into the study and glare at my shelves of books. Given I had just a milk crate of stuff when I moved in, I seem to have acquired a hell of a lot. Jack brought some books over that he rescued for me after dad threw me out, and Ben had stored a few for me, but my library seems to have bred behind my back. I can’t part with my books. I am still John Fell, Ph.D. even if I don’t teach or research anymore. If I want to keep my study, I’m going to have to accept Dave’s other suggestion. I start doing carpenter math in my head. I was only teasing Dave last night about re-doing the bedroom, but we do need more space. And he’s right -- I’m quite capable of extending the cabin. Whether I’m capable of letting him buy the lumber and having a damn barn-raising party is another matter. I prowl the outside perimeter of the cabin looking at the structure as Ghia patrols the top of the track waiting for her Dave. “It’s hours yet, girl.” She just looks at me, and continues her short forays to the curve and back as if Dave and his truck are hiding there. The east wall is perfect for an extension. Dave must have already examined it. We can have a big bedroom and a weight-room, and my study can stay put. I grin. Make that a bedroom and a playroom-gym combo. I’ll make that smartass boy sorry. I draw a life size floor plan in the dirt. I think the playroom can even be made only accessible through the bedroom. No visitor access. I can add a bathroom so we’ll have privacy and the old bathroom can be a guest bathroom. I can continue the porch around the new build and the cabin won’t look unbalanced.

Aw shit, I’ll be picking out curtains with Dave next. Still. The construction part is a good plan. And I don’t really think Dave will go all Rob on me and want draperies. I pop a bit of loose trim off the cabin as I process that thought. “Sorry, Rob. New boy gets the upper hand there.” I throw the trim aside, but Ghia brings it back to me. I work through the day on sketching the plans, do a bit of prep work on the side of the cabin, and in the afternoon I do Foundation chores. I scheme about how to get some of the doms to shape up. They’re going to get their money’s worth from my director post whether they want it or not. I make a quick list of priorities: Dave is at the top, but next is Luke, who is lost since he had to quit landscaping, and then Laurie who cheated on Simon outside the group as well as taking an unauthorized road trip. Damn, and Rinnie needs some attention as well. There’ll be some shake ups soon. I write an e-mail to Tommy to see how he’s doing, and send a picture of Rob’s finished box to Chris and Mike. I’m stalling. Dave is my number one concern. It’s not really unreasonable of his parents to want to see where he lives. Or to meet their son’s friend. He is only twenty. I can hardly say no, but I don’t really want to meet them. On the other hand, my new stepmother wants to meet Dave, and I already said yes. What a fucking hypocrite I am not wanting Dave have his family over to visit. But Mama P knows who Dave is. She knows he’s not my “roommate.” Fuck. It’s all Dave’s fault for making me go to dad’s wedding. Making me. Hell. John, you’re caught, dude. That boy has got me good. He’s managed to sweet talk me and wheedle me and get me to man up to all kinds of things. Damn. I pace around the room and stop in front of Rob’s box and his picture. Mom’s eternity ring is perfect in the box lid. Dave hasn’t moved the dried carnation even after his hurt feelings about the box being Rob’s. The chain Pol gave me to carry the rings is lying there with just mom’s engagement ring on it. Her wedding ring is still on my pinky from where I wore it to the wedding on Saturday. I know what I need to do to put things right with my boy. I get a soda and go to wait on the swing. Dave rattles up in his truck right on time, and clambers out loaded down with food. His mom says he’s still a growing boy and needs his second helpings. I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s right and that this time next year Dave will be bigger than me -- especially if he really does use all those weights that are in the truck bed. Still, he looks damn cute in his work clothes -- Dickies work shirt, jeans, and boots, and in the cold he switches to his Carhartt bibs. He trots over, puts the food down and kneels at my feet, and says, “home sir!” It’s his own ritual and he’s delighted by it -- even when we’re arguing.

“Welcome back, boy,” I say as I always do, and he stands up and flops next to me on the swing for his kiss. He eyes my soda in surprise -- I rarely drink it -- and I hand him the can to finish. I didn’t want even a hint of alcohol to impair this moment or to provide an excuse. “Dave, my stepmom wants to meet you. She called us her sons.” Dave’s reaction isn’t very appropriate: he snorts soda through his nose. “Sorry, sir, but wow! Really? Me? Your mom, I mean stepmom, says I’m, oh wow.” I sigh. “Yeah. You. Mama P has invited us to lunch next Wednesday after she gets back from her honeymoon.” Dave does his slack-jawed yokel face, and I slap his thigh. “Stop it, boy. I figured if she sees you as a son, then you should have this.” I pull mom’s ring off my pinkie and slide it onto Dave’s little finger. “Only me, boy. No one else.” Dave looks at his hand for a long minute, then pulls the ring off, and puts it back on my finger. “I don’t think we’re there yet, sir.” He stands up and the swing rocks back as he clomps across the porch. I brace my feet and grab the rope to control the motion. I’m not going to holler at him. “I need to put the food away, sir,” he says and scoops up the stack of containers from his mom. “Do that,” I say. “The sooner that fucking Tupperware is out of my sight the better.” I hear Dave sigh as he shoves the screen door aside with his hip. I give in and outright sulk for a bit. It’s hard to feel rejected when Dave is still here -- he brings me out a beer, and then goes back in to start dinner -- but I’m totally lost about what just happened. Fuck. I know I jumped too far and too fast with the ring. But he was so hurt by Rob’s box, and he’s longed for the ring. Perhaps we should have made up after this morning first. But that’s what I thought I was doing. Christ, I hate this. I do want him to be mine. I’m not sure what you’re meant to do when you want to keep a boy; I’ve spent so long making sure they all move on. I head inside to get my laptop. Although I’m trying to calm down, I still scold Ghia for being in the kitchen area, and shoo her out of the back door. I don’t speak directly to Dave, and he sets a pan down a little hard.

“What?” I snap. “You want me to yell at you for having the dog in the kitchen?” “No, sir. I just want you to be you. You’re a grumpy dom, not snippy, and I hate when you go quiet.” I’d better get my anger sorted or I’ll choke on the food. I know it’s going to be his mom’s chicken pot pie. And I like that. I snort-growl, and Dave giggles. “That’s my man!” I feel a smile tweak at me, but I stay stern. “We’ll talk after dinner, boy.” Dave just empties a container of green beans into a saucepan. “Do you want dessert, sir?” I hesitate. “Peach cobbler,” Dave says and gives a sunny smile, and bats his lashes. My resolve crumbles, and I smile back. “Yeah. Good thing the grocery bill’s dropped -- I’m gonna need to buy new jeans.” I stick my thumb in my belt, and Dave hoots. “Sir! You have, like, no body fat!” “You’ve been talking to twink again.” “He’s, like, my friend.” “Put that pan down, boy.” Dave grins wider and wider and mouths “like, make me” but he puts the pan down before he dodges ‘round the table to evade me. He’s easily caught, and I have him backed up against my old monster Frigidaire in no time. He’s giggling and all I can hear is “like” every so often. I kiss him hard to shut him up. Our kiss is harsh and his teeth crush my lower lip, and he moans as my tongue shoves under his. Neither of us shaved today, and our cheeks rasp as we shift to attacking each other’s necks and shoulders. Dave is a biter and I’ve ended up bruised after sessions with him. I nip back in selfdefense, and Dave groans. Kinky little bastard loves it. I pull his shirt off -- I’d rather rip it off, but last week I wrecked one of his Dickies work shirts (which took some doing -- those things are tough) and the boy’s been carefully laundering his remaining two every other night -- and rake my nails down his chest. He yelps happily as his nipples stiffen under my fingers.

“Tomorrow,” I whisper directly into his ear, “when I have you staked out on the cross…” Dave shudders, and I feel his hard-on grind against my thigh. “You won’t be able to stop what I do to these tender bits…” I tweak his nipple. “Or try to frot on me…” He works his crotch against my thigh furiously. “Or close those legs.” Dave moans into my mouth as I kiss him again and his hand fumbles to unzip me. I reach over and turn off the beans, and guide Dave down to his knees. I hear him mumble a final “like” and something suspiciously like “peach cobbler” as he tongues my balls and then takes my cock into his mouth. He’s still got the Frigidaire behind him so he’s not going anywhere. I lean forward, hands braced against the rounded corners, so I’m a good way into his mouth, but I let Dave control the finer details. God, I’m right to -- he’s getting better and better at giving head. Jesus, he’s a fine sight with his eyes closed and mouth full. Just before my brain cedes control, I think: keep him, John. Don’t fuck up. My balls and prick win and I shove down into his throat and spurt hard. Dave doesn’t even sputter, but his throat works, and his hands are plucking frantically at his own zipper. “Go ahead, boy,” I gasp, and then yelp as he starts nursing at the end of my cock. He won’t release me until he comes hard -- thank God he’s close to shooting. He arches back as he comes, and then doubles over. I hand him a dish towel and point at my feet. “Oops,” he says. “I, like, splooged on your boots!” “Cheeky little fucker,” I say and ruffle his hair. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to snack before dinner?” He licks his lips as he kneels back on his heels. “It’s the perfect appetizer, sir. Nice and salty and not too filling.” I help him up, and shake my head. “Boy, I thought you had dinner already at your folks.” “I could eat again,” he says and turns the beans back on. Dave hates table service, and we’ve talked it through as part of his temporary contract. I’ve sternly reminded myself that he’s not Rob. Dave serves me first, but we eat together when we’re alone, and he sits at my right hand. He’s agreed to learn company service, but, to my surprise, I’m growing to prefer having him sit beside me rather than patiently waiting on me. Besides, his belly growls if I make him wait. And he is still growing. We need to buy him a bigger pair of sneakers as well as new jeans for me. Joke as he may about my leanness, I’ve finally put on some weight.

Dave eats two servings of chicken pie and adds ice cream to his portion of cobbler. He just grins at my amazed look and pours me a scotch. While he does the dishes, I get my laptop and fire up the design program Tony passed on to me. It’s not the latest version, but it did great for making blueprints for the garage, and it’ll be fine for planning the extension. I get absorbed in translating my rough sketches into the program, and Dave’s done all his chores, moved his weights from the truck bed into the garage, and taken Ghia for her run before I realize how much time has passed. Dave settles Ghia onto her porch sleeping spot, and hides a yawn. Poor kid. His job wears him out, and he can still sleep twelve hours straight like a teen. I flinch, and feel old for a second. I beckon him over to look at the screen, and don’t fuss when he drapes his arm ‘round my shoulders. He beams when he sees I’ve taken his idea for building on to the east wall seriously. He asks some sensible questions and fiddles with my budget numbers. Despite having built what Dave grandly calls the garage, this is new for me. The garage is just a basic wood frame building over poured concrete -- no power or plumbing -- with plenty of room for the truck, our joint tool collection, and my Hog. It’s sturdy and I’m pleased with how it looks, but building an addition with power and plumbing and windows, well shit, that’s what other guys worry about on the job site. “Sir,” says Dave after I’ve fretted over the critical path for far too long, “why don’t you let me and Luke be your contractors? Luke’s going nuts without his job, and we know enough to figure it out between us.” I take a sip to put off answering. Dave should know me well enough to know what he’s asking of me. Letting someone else control a project? “Delegate, sir,” says Dave tenderly. “You said that aloud, John-sir. You’ll be in control. It’s not giving up anything. You let Rob run the kitchen, right?” “Okay,” I say, and squeeze his ass. “You start off with a plan and a purchasing schedule, and we’ll see. And I do want to have Luke over and see what we can do for the boy. Come the build days though, I may want the reins back.” “Of course.” Dave pauses. “It does depend though, sir, on who’s around, doesn’t it?” I take his hint that he still wants his dad and friends to help. “Yeah. Shit, boy. I’ve never been in a position like this before -- one where having a family is possible -- I’m lost. My stepmom wants us, and your family -- hell, boy, I’ve seen what losing family has done to too many people. But I can’t lie. I won’t flaunt our relationship -- any part of it -- you know how I feel about PDA and stuff -- but I am not your roommate or friend. I can’t lie.”

Dave butts his hip against me until I slide back in the chair. He sits on my lap. “Sir. I know. But I’m not out to my family yet. You know that. I’m not ready yet. They’re still working on accepting me not staying at college or going in the army.” “Bullshit. Your mom is fit to burst with pride over you. I can hear it in her voice when she leaves messages. And your dad can’t be ashamed of an aircraft mechanic.” He chews his lip. “It’s hard, sir.” I snort. “You don’t have to tell me that, boy.” “How did you do it?” I freeze to avoid squirming. “I didn’t. I was outted.” “Oh,” says Dave. “Wanna tell me about it?” “No. It was a long time ago -- I was younger than you are now. Let’s not open any more cans up today, kid. We’re at an okay place, so let’s leave all the rest for a bit and we’ll figure out what to do about meeting your parents after we’ve had lunch with Mama P, okay? She might have some ideas.” “‘Kay. I’m ready for bed, sir. After all I have a big day tomorrow.” “You certainly do. And there won’t be any flirting your way out of a good round of discipline.” “Yes!” Dave pumps his arm as if he’d just bowled a perfect frame, slides off my lap, and romps off to bed. I follow more slowly. The prospect of Dave helpless on a St. Andrew’s cross is more than appealing, but I can’t shake my worries off as easily as my boy can his. *** Dave is in the zone. He’s been strapped to the cross for an hour and I’ve done nothing to him, except leave him there while I putter around the cabin. At his request, I’ve put some music on to help him float. We wrangled for quite awhile about Dave bringing out his sound system and CD collection, but, I have to admit, it is nice to be able to hook my I-Pod to some decent speakers. And, as Dave gleefully pointed out, we can crank the volume as much as we want out here. He’s not so cheerful about my selections, but I suppose if you wanted Rammstein and got Yo-Yo Ma playing Bach you would be disappointed. He insists Rammstein gets him in the right headspace, but concedes quickly when I point out what sort of headspace they get me into. Originally I was going to do the scene outside, but it’s raining hard, and even the front porch is getting wet. I decide I like the atmosphere -- rain, music,

a bound boy -- I go ahead and light some candles rather than turn on lights. Dave just watches, and smiles back when I teasingly drip some wax onto a saucer before setting the candle into it. I send Ghia to the back porch. It’s too small for the cross, but it is on the leeward side of the house so she’s dry and happy. I don’t want her thinking she has to protect Dave from me. Confusing pups is not one of my vices. Dave is facing the cross right now, and he’s resting his cheek against the bar. He looks sleepy and dreamy. I stand right behind him and kiss his neck. “You’re far too trusting, boy.” He wriggles just like Ghia does. “No, sir. Not too trusting of you, sir.” I stroke his ass and have him recite our safe word rules. He still sulks a bit about them, but I’m not dropping this recitation until I can trust him with his limits. He’s not sure what to expect from this, but he’s so yielding when he’s gone into role. He’s a cheeky little devil with me sometimes, but I have no doubt he’s a sub. I start rubbing his shoulders and delts with some oil and he sighs. My massage gets firmer as I head lower and by the time I’ve reached his round ass I’m pinching and kneading. Dave is trying to stick his butt out and circle his hips, but he’s too well secured. I make him wait until I’ve reached around and oiled his balls before sliding my finger back along and into his hole. I finger fuck him for a minute or so until he’s relaxed again. He’s not used to toys and he goes nuts when I twist a small butt plug in slowly. I step back so he has nothing else touching him and can focus on the sensation of his ass being full. He finally stops trying to buck, and stays still. I return to massaging him, and he whimpers. I reach around and his cock is as hard as the wood frame. Dave’s taller than twink so his prick isn’t squashed in quite the same way as poor twink’s was when we test-drove the cross this summer. I oil his shaft and head a little, and he moans. He knows he’s not getting to come for a long time. “You’re too relaxed, boy.” “Yes, sir,” he murmurs. I tap his ass with the end of the riding crop. “Are you ready for this, boy?” I’ve never used the crop on Dave before -- in fact nothing more than my hands -- but he nods, and then groans at the first blow. I’m not being unduly gentle, but I am moderating the force. I don’t mess with him and simply apply a steady cascade of blows evenly over his ass. He loves it. He’s straight into subspace -- I knew he loved being spanked, but I’ve never known a boy go so deep, so fast with a beating. This will never be a punishment for him. He’s babbling and yelling and all I can distinguish is, “thank you, thank you, sir, thank you.”

I stop and he wails, “oh no!” “That’s plenty,” I say, and his head bows. “Yes, sir,” he whispers. He looks beautiful. He’s glistening with sweat and oil and his ass is laced with welts. I press the handle of the riding crop against the end of the butt plug and wriggle it. His hamstrings jerk. “Don’t come.” He moans, and his legs vibrate with effort. I adjust my dick. I could come in my pants just watching him. I stroke his back and thighs with the end of the crop and watch him shudder, and then slowly control his breathing. “You’re a natural, boy.” “Truly?” “Truly.” Dave’s smile is beatific as I undo him, turn him around, and re-secure him. His cock is dripping and rigid. I flip his glans teasingly with the leather end of the crop, and he bites his lip. I bring the candle closer and he gulps. “Not today, boy. I think I’ll save the wax play for next week.” He looks relieved, and I note his reaction. Instead of wax, I get out the nipple clamps twink and Ben sent as a moving in gift for Dave. He’s not sure yet whether to be grateful or not. I lean in and kiss, then bite, Dave’s nipples in turn, and pop the clamps shut before he can finish whimpering. He swears, and rolls his eyes back for a second, and his prick leaps. I tug the chain between them, and Dave whines like Ghia. She gives an anxious bark from outside. “Tell her you’re okay. She needs your voice.” Dave clears his throat, and shouts, “Good girl, Ghia, I’m right here.” We wait while she snuffles, and then resettles on the porch. “She is a good dog,” I remark, and Dave glows as if I’d praised him. I play with his chain lightly and watch him quiver. His balls tremble in my palm. I run my hands down his thighs, and then kneel in front of him. Dave yelps as I kiss his cock head. “Sir!”

“Shush, boy. Just go with it. Come when you want to.” “I can’t,” he says with a note of horror in his voice. “I can’t come in your mouth.” I laugh. “Disobeying me, boy? I like doing this. I want you to submit to me blowing you.” Dave’s cock bobs for a second as if he’s going to wilt at the prospect, but then it springs up when my tongue slides along his slit. Dave’s babbling again as I settle into sucking his cock. He’s freaked out by the position he’s in, but he can’t escape from this any more than he could evade my beating him earlier. The poor boy is sobbing when he comes -- I’ve pushed him over the edge by toying with the end of the butt plug and timing shoves and sucks. I undo his ankle restraints and stand up. His face is wet with tears and I kiss his mouth hard while I remove the nipple clips. He hollers into my mouth as the pain rushes over him. I know he can taste his own come in my mouth, but I keep tormenting him with deep kisses while I reach up and undo his wrists. He’s still secured by his waist, but I loosen the strap enough to turn him ‘round, and then cinch it back. He’s wriggling and sobbing as I remove the butt plug, but he has no respite as I slide my cock in instantly. “Oh fuck! Sir!” Dave puts his hands back where they were chained and holds on tight as I slam into him. I’ve given the cross a sturdy base, but we start it walking across the room before I’m done. Dave will have finger mark bruises on his hips from where I’m holding him. He’s so damn hot as his rosy ass pumps as best it can and his damp curls cling to the back of his neck. His triceps tremble as he holds his arms out of the way. I yell as I come, and it’s a good thing Dave’s waist is strapped to the cross still as his knees buckle, and we’d have both gone over. I’m spasming, and the brat is wickedly clenching his asshole around me. I cling to him as I catch my breath, and stroke his sweating neck and back. Dave suddenly giggles. “What?” “This time next week, sir, we’ll be having lunch with your step-mom!”

Chapter Three Dave spends his afternoon after our St Andrew’s cross session napping. I don’t usually smoke in the day, but I have a cigar while he sleeps. I check the budget numbers on the cabin addition again, and then stare bleakly at my savings account. It rubs me wrong to have Dave say he’ll buy the lumber. I already feel awkward that his mom sends so much food over, and that Dave brings in more than I do. Each dom contributes to my part-time Foundation salary. I’m well aware that Pete, for example, spends more at Starbucks each month, but frankly that only makes it worse. I get fees if they send out a boy to stay, but, while boys misbehaving may be predictable, boys coming for training isn’t. I sigh. This is the most money I’ve ever had on a regular basis, and it’s still not enough to cover all the bills. I thought I was all set with the cabin, a paid for bike, endless firewood, and a vegetable garden, but, never having owned stuff before, I’d not realized how shit like property taxes and bike insurance can chip away at budgets. I shove my calculator aside and scowl. Damn. I was better off in a single room with a teaching assistantship. I realize I’m muttering aloud when Dave scolds me: “Don’t be such an Eeyore, sir.” He shuffles into the kitchen, scratching and yawning, in just his boxers. Lucky for him he’s out of reach. I don’t know whether to swat him for sass or jump his bones. He pours some milk -- we’ve already had the chugging from the jug argument -- and drinks it before he continues his point. “Sir. Really. You are so good at finding problems. I know shit didn’t work out for you for a long time, but we are not broke. In fact, we are fine.” “Because you have a job,” I growl. Dave rolls his eyes. “So do you. And you have health insurance. I don’t until I finish the apprenticeship.” How the hell do I do this? Turn a good day into a pity party? Dave is already ahead of me. “Sir. Don’t get all macho about my paycheck. Just don’t. Please.” I run my hands through my hair. “Sorry, boy. Shades of my dad. Mom never had a job. I guess I have more of the old bastard in me than I care to admit.” Dave comes over and kisses my forehead. “Oh sir, we all have family stuff.” He smiles at me, well aware that our last spat was about his family. “I will come out soon. I promise. I just have to prepare them some.” I nod. “Okay, boy. Just don’t put me in any awkward spots.”

I work my arm ’round his waist and enjoy his still-sleepy warmth and bed smell for a moment. It’s dangerously close to a snuggle so I shove my hand inside his shorts and pinch his ass. He yelps, but doesn’t move away. “Sir, will you tell me more about your dad? Perhaps I can handle mine better if I hear about yours.” I snort. “Dave, your dad sounds like a good guy. Mine’s a rotten bastard. I don’t want to talk about him. Your dad’ll come ’round. Of course he doesn’t want his son to be gay. No one wants their kid to face the shit-sandwich homos get served. But that doesn’t mean he’ll stop being your dad.” Dave squirms in my arms. “He might. Yours did. Rob’s did. How can you be sure?” I sigh. I have a guilty secret. Yesterday, when Dave said his dad was a roofer, I realized I’ve worked a few job sites with his dad. What makes me sure his dad will calm down -- eventually -is that he told the other roofer who was calling me a fag to shut the fuck up. He also won $10 betting on me in the arm-wrestling contest that finally did shut the guy up. It’s also partly why I’m leery of meeting Dave’s family before he’s come out. Of course, now I’m wondering if I can pull off seeming surprised when we do meet. Fuck. I’m a bad liar. And I hate doing it. I have to tell Dave now. I take the plunge. “Dave, did your dad work the Johansen job last year?” “Yeah. Why? Oh! Shit!” Dave sits down hard, and I wince as he lands on my thighs. “Oh sir! I can’t introduce you, can I?” “Well, you can, but he’ll know you’re living with a fag out in the middle of nowhere. And if he comes to help build he’ll see we only have one bed.” “Crud. Mom won’t let visiting drop. I’m screwed.” Dave looks crushed. I give him a squeeze. “You said you were going to come out to them soon. It’ll be okay, boy. Not fun, but your dad was cool about working with me. He stood up to the asshole who tried to harass me.” “Someone tried to mess with you? What an idiot.” He takes advantage of being on my lap and squirms and gets his arms ’round my neck. He manages a brave smile. “I’m glad Dad was on your side.”

“And he’ll be on yours. He was always talking about you -- I just didn’t know it was you he was bragging on. My son Davey who can fix any engine. My son who built-- ” “Stop it,” groans Dave blushing. “Dad kills me when he gets started. You’d think no else could get a junker to run.” I grab his chin and hold his face up. “No good, boy. I’m remembering more about what he said you can do. It’s not just making junkers run. You spent your Saturdays in high school fixing up those donated hoopdie cars and helping do handicapped conversions for returning vets.” Dave is scarlet. “Yeah, but-- ” “You’re busted Davey-boy. I’ve caught you being talented and public-spirited.” I kiss his forehead. “Your dad’s right to be proud of you. And he won’t stop. Now, get off me, and start dinner.” Dave scowls, but obediently goes to select something else to re-heat from his mom’s bounty. I feel bad that our day together took a downward turn, and make sure we have a playful screw before we sleep. Dave nearly discovers that I’m ticklish, and only getting him over my knee for a spanking rescues me. *** Dave has asked permission to have Luke over on Sunday to help plan the extension contracting. Since I have some ulterior motives about Luke, I agreed, and now I’m trying to nap on the porch while he and Luke putter around the side yard with Ghia leaping in excitement at a new friend. Brin, Luke’s owner, has stayed home and is giving Rinnie some one-on-one time with a sir and some engineering tutoring. Since he was rescued, the poor kid shuffles between three temporary owners: Gregorio, Miles, and Brin. So far we’ve avoided having Rinnie stay with any of the mean boys, but Pete backed out of the host list since he’s still trying to get Owen to move in, and having a house boy just confuses the situation. I can’t complain since I made a similar case about Dave and I being too new in our relationship to have Rinnie stay at the cabin. Despite his traumas with his last owner, Rinnie is doing well with his English program and will be ready for his freshman classes in the Fall. Brin says he’s already ahead of the typical incoming kids’ math skills. Owen’s mom did indeed do pro-bono immigration work for him, and Brin and I are officially his sponsors. The boy is pale and miserable though. He’s homesick, and feels as if he’s always a guest. I move him up my priorities list. Damn. I have to deal with Laurie’s recent attention-seeking misdeeds, but Rinnie really is more urgent. I yawn, stretch, and then swear. Owen’s irksomely cute Bug is bouncing up the track. With an all too familiar passenger. Owen’s a free agent so there’s not much I can do, but I can, and do, leave a quick but pissy voicemail for Ben about letting twink show up unannounced. Owen is still

getting out of the car, but twink is dashing across the grass yelling “Hi Dr. Fell!” at the top of his lungs. Ghia barrels ’round the corner barking, and Owen squeals. I guess dogs are among the many things that make him nervous. “Heel, Ghia,” calls Dave, and she stops and lopes back to him. I look at my boy. He can give an order when he needs to, I note. “Oof,” I say in a most un-domly manner -- twink has landed a flying hug on me. Holy crap. Four boys and a beagle. I may be out-numbered. “Dr. Fell! Sir! Guess what!” “I have no idea,” I say as I disentangle myself from twink’s hug. He pouts. “You’re no fun, sir. Anyway! Me and Owen signed a lease. We have an office!” I frown. “What the hell for? Storing your spare Britney CDs?” “Sir!” wails twink. Owen is still giving Ghia anxious looks, but he gives me a shy smile. “Dr. Fell, Charlie and I are starting a business. Ben approved it. And Pete says he’ll consider it my job if I do move in after I graduate.” I’m speechless, but Dave fills the gap with congratulations and questions about what they’re doing. I sit down on the porch step and stare at the four babbling boys. Ghia gives me a sad look. She’s left out, too. Luke sits down next to me after making pleased noises for a polite time. He’s doing his best to be happy for them, but he’s really quite at sea without his landscaping business. Between having Rinnie as a frequent houseguest and no job, I don’t think his full-time submission to Brin is all he hoped. Twink is still chattering, but Dave and Owen have calmed down. “Very nice, boys,” I say, “but this couldn’t have been an e-mail? Why the trip out here?” To his credit Owen swallows hard, but twink just launches right in. “Sir! We wanted to TELL you and Dave, and, we were also, like, looking for Luke and Brin said he was out here. He was pissed at us dropping by, too. He has Rinnie all tied up, Luke, and…” “Boy,” I say quietly. “Why are you here?” Luke is biting his lip. He knows Brin and Rinnie were doing a scene while he was gone, but I don’t think he wants to hear about it.

Owen takes over. “Sir, we wanted to see if Luke would like to join our business. He has the experience we need.” “And,” says twink, “we need his initial. Right now we are the OC for Owen and Charlie and that’s silly -- people will think we are like some bimbo soap opera and if we have an L we can say we are LOC and we can have a slogan that we will put a LOCk on your business worries and…” “Shut up, Charlie,” hisses Owen. “Luke, it’s you and your experience we want, not the L. Jeeze, Charlie.” Luke is looking steamrollered. “Boys,” I say. “Perhaps you should tell Luke what you actually plan to do.” “Whatever it is,” says Luke, “I’ll have to ask Brin.” “Ben already did!” trills twink. “Your sir said yes!” Luke gets a mulish look. I don’t blame him. “Dave, go make coffee. You three need a proper meeting. Come inside, and Owen, you, not you twink, explain your idea to Luke. Luke, give them a fair hearing. You know you want something to do and it sounds as if Brin’s pre-approved this. No sulking until you’ve listened.” Twink mutters about this being good news and exciting and why is Luke being a spoilsport and Dr. Fell is always mean. Dave and Owen both tell him to shut up before I can even draw breath. Owen and twink sit on either side of Luke on the couch, and I stay at the kitchen table. If Pete, Ben, and Brin have said okay, I’m keeping out of it. It’s down to Luke whether he wants to be dragged into some crazy scheme. Dave serves me some coffee and gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Boys,” he says with a headshake as the squabbling and pleading from the couch peaks. He takes the coffee pot in to them, listens for a bit, and then comes back and sits with me. He whispers, “Sir, Owen and Charlie do have a good business plan. They’re going to be office services for small trade businesses. Bookkeeping, billing, help with paperwork, all that crap so their clients can focus on being plumbers or electricians or whatever. Since Luke had his own landscaping business, he’d be great as part of it. Plus, they need someone who can talk to customers and sound like they know what being in a trade is like, and, let’s face it, that’s not either of those two. Owen’s way too pretty and delicate and twink’s, well, he’s twink.” I grunt. It’s not a crazy idea at all. Greg speaks highly of twink’s work at his tax business, and Owen’s about to complete his paralegal program. I’ve seen twink get focused on paperwork before and he’s got a business-like brain under that floppy blond hair. Owen and Luke will be a calming influence on him, too.

Luke has apparently reached the same conclusion as twink is cheering, and Owen has dimples. “Dave!” yells twink. “Will you give our business cards to your friends? You said you know tons of small business guys from trade school, and Dr. Fell sir, if you do more carpentry…” “I’ll think about it,” says Dave, sounding positively stern. “I need to see what you do first, Charlie, before I recommend you.” Twink scowls, but Luke and Owen are nodding. “Is Gregorio cool with this, twink? Are you quitting his job?” Twink nods. “Yes sir. He said it’s okay so long as I don’t poach any of his clients -- as if! -- and we do Rory’s stuff free until he starts breaking even. He’s freelancing doing wedding cakes, sir! They’re awesome!” I sigh. Still, Rory is an excellent baker and Greg nixed him working in a bakery since the hours were so crazy. It’s hard to imagine Rory being all frou-frou and putting up with bridezillas, though. I scratch Luke and Rory both off my mental list of boys to worry about. Damn. I’m left with Rinnie and Laurie as the urgent projects. Twink and Owen stay a bit longer and then go off to spread their special brand of joy to Ben and Pete. Apparently they are being bought dinner out to celebrate their lease. Luke looks stunned by events, but quietly turns back to the extension project with Dave. They show me their work plan, and I sign off on it after a few tweaks. They’ve done a good job. Luke’s a decent carpenter -- he helped me with the sleeping loft and he’s done porches as part of his landscaping business before -- and Dave has a good grasp of project management from his mechanic work. Dave’s included labor from his dad for the roof and has listed contractor discount prices for materials. He smiles at me. I squeeze his butt. “Starting to think he’ll be fine with us?” He nods. “Dad’s never abandoned a friend in trouble, even if they did dumb stuff, and he forgives Mom every time she maxes out another credit card. And he is already getting over the military thing. It’ll be okay. Especially if he gets to build something.” Luke grins. “Once my dad and Brin had a beer and started talking football and cars I was the one left out. And Mom loves Brin for getting me in from the sun. They take his side. You might be sorry Dave -- Dr. Fell and your dad might tag team you!” Dave makes a face, but recovers quickly. “No worries. I think Mama P is going to rule us all based on what sir says about her.”

Dave may well be right. I shudder, and turn my attention to Luke. He may be off my worries list now he has a job, but I still have some ulterior motives concerning him. Watching Dave work with him has only made me move my plans up -- as has Dave’s attitude to the boys this afternoon. Luke has caught my smile, and correctly understood that it means trouble. I see him switch from social to sub in a second. He’s a good boy. I point at the floor and Luke kneels down. Dave takes a moment longer to understand what’s happening, but then he starts to kneel, too. “Not you, boy.” Dave swallows hard. He’s said yes; he understands that I still train and use the boys, but now Luke is kneeling with his head bowed and hands behind his back, it’s different. “I’ll, um, start dinner, sir,” he whispers. I feel like a worm for even giving him that moment of pain, but squash it. “No, stay. Luke’s not kneeling for me. He’s kneeling for you.” Luke and Dave both gasp. “I want you and Luke to entertain me and have some fun together.” I sprawl on the swing and wait. Luke is shivering, but he knows all he has to do is wait for Dave’s order. Dave is the one in a bind. And I’m not offering any help. “Luke,” says Dave at last in a scratchy voice. “Get Dr. Fell a scotch and a cigar.” While Luke is gone, Dave gives me a panicked look. I just grin, and say, “Have some fun, boy.” Luke serves me nicely, and then faces Dave, and kneels again. He’s played with boys to please owners before. I know he’ll cooperate and help Dave as soon as Dave starts taking control. “What am I allowed to do?” ask Dave. His voice has a hint of excitement under the worry now. “Anything I’ve done to you,” I say. “You’ll know what you’re asking for then.” Dave nods, and takes a step closer to Luke. I light my cigar while Dave thoughtfully strokes the crown of Luke’s bowed head. The boy’s hair is stunning in the sunlight. Luke hates his hair and skin right now for bumping him out of his outdoor job, but he’s a true redhead. Not ginger or carrot, but a deep burnished titian. His skin is milky from months of Brin’s new rules, and his remaining freckles are a tempting scatter across his cheeks.

Dave strokes Luke’s neck and tips his face up with a finger under his chin. Luke has settled into sub role despite it being Dave in charge and he just waits. He keeps his gaze lowered. It’s just as well -- he has devastating green eyes, and I don’t want Dave wavering. “Should we take you in from the sun?” “There’s enough shade on the porch. I’m allowed a bit of sun.” “Then undress.” Luke’s pale looks lead casual observers to expect him to be lean and fragile, but he’s wellmuscled from his old job, and he’s kept busy with a workout routine since then. He doesn’t shave, and his pale cock is surrounded by coppery curls. He’s half-erect already just from kneeling and undressing for us. Dave still keeps looking at me, but I just sip and puff and wait. Dave circles ’round the kneeling boy. Luke has some fading bruises on his ass, and he’s had his nipples pierced since last summer. Dave gives one hoop an experimental tug and Luke’s prick twitches in response. Dave suddenly tangles his hand into the hair at Luke’s nape and shoves Luke forward so his forehead touches the ground. His hands are still behind his back. Dave unbuckles his belt. He gives me one last anxious look, loops the buckle end around his hand, and gives Luke’s ass a hearty swat. Luke yelps, but doesn’t move. I watch Dave take some deep breaths, then he hits Luke’s pale ass again. After a few blows, he stops. I know Luke can handle much more, but I don’t think Dave can. He nudges Luke’s ankles, then knees, apart with his sneakers, and we both admire Luke’s exposed hole and dangling balls. Luke’s breathing is deep, but steady, and his cock is signaling his contentment. A thin strand of pre-come has nearly made it to the porch floor. Dave and I prudently keep some lube stashed on the porch -- I make a note to conceal it better if we’re having family over -- but for now I encourage Dave by tossing the tube over to him. He blurts out, “I’ve never fucked anyone before,” and my prick hardens more. I unzip, and grin at my boy. He kneels down behind Luke, who gives an ass pump of acquiescence and then keeps his butt stuck up as high as it can go. I stay quiet and watch while Dave fondles Luke’s bruised ass, and toys with his balls. Luke has large, heavy balls and Dave has some fun palming them and settling them to swinging and bouncing. Luke wobbles a bit, and Dave guides his hands down so he can support himself better. He keeps Luke’s head and shoulders well down though, and I approve -- the boy’s back makes a lovely line and his rump is well offered like that.

Dave surprises me by bending forward and tonguing Luke’s crack. Judging by the noise from Luke, he’s startled, too. He gives a deep groan, and I guess my boy’s tongue is probing his hole. Luke’s prick waves wildly and he yells, “Oh Jesus!” Dave’s face is buried in his rump, and Dave is holding Luke tight by the hips so he can’t escape. Damn. My boy has some unexpected skills. I’d planned on waiting a bit longer, but my cock is out of my jeans, and I’m stroking myself. Dave’s moved back a bit and is biting Luke’s cheeks while he fumbles his jeans down. Luke’s hole is wet with saliva, but Dave knows enough to still grease his cock with lube before starting to nudge at him. “Need more,” begs Luke. “Please, I need a lot of lube.” Dave squeezes the tube frantically. Half of it spurts onto the porch, but he gets a good gob caught in his hand and he crams his thumb into Luke’s butt and works the pool of lube off his palm and up his thrusting thumb and gets Luke good and slick. Luke is starting to ride Dave’s thumb. God, they’re gorgeous. I am filled with a desire to teach Dave to fist the other boys. It would make a fine backdrop to some of the next retreat’s campfires. Crap. John. Focus. Idiot. One, no more retreats, ever. And, two, your boy is right in front of you getting ready to get his cock in an ass for the first time. I slow my own hand motion so I can focus on Dave’s face as he pushes in and feels Luke’s ass tighten around his prick. Dave shudders and stays still. His eyes are tightly closed. Luke doesn’t move. He can no doubt tell Dave’s too close, and doesn’t want to skimp on his friend’s first time. Dave starts to rock his hips, and Luke matches his motion. My boy is beautiful as he fucks Luke. His own ass muscles clench and release as he pumps, and I’m pulling at my prick with no damn technique at all as I watch the boys. They’re too hot for me to worry about controlling myself. Dave is losing it, too -- he’s given into the feeling and is just hammering at Luke. He’s getting close, and I’ve suddenly had enough of being a spectator. I’m not going to spoil his fun, but I want to be part of it. I kneel down in front of Luke. “Up on your hands, boy. You’ve two cocks to please.” Luke whimpers and obeys. He’s one of the best deep throaters of the bunch -- and that’s saying something with these boys. He knows what I want and doesn’t mess around with licks and sucks. He makes sure his teeth are covered with his lips, and takes me in right to the back. Dave has opened his eyes and is grinning goofily at me across Luke’s back. I time my thrusts into Luke’s mouth with Dave’s into his ass.

“We’re fucking the same boy,” says Dave in amazement. “You and me, sir, in the same -oohhh.” I smother a remark about obvious statements because Dave’s awe at the shared body between us is real, and he’s close to coming. I pet Luke’s face and whisper “Good boy” to encourage him. I see Dave mirror the movement on Luke’s ass cheek, and Dave says “Good boy, Luke, that’s it, take it…” Such an apt pupil. I shudder and shoot as soon as I see Dave’s face contort. Luke chokes a little and I back off a bit because the poor boy is being shoved onto me by Dave’s final thrust. I stroke his hair while he rides out Dave’s orgasm. Luke has involuntary tears on his cheeks from his gag reflex, but he’s smiling as he licks me clean and snuffles into my pubes and balls. Dave is panting and swearing softly to himself. “Dave.” “Yes sir?” “Be polite and finish your friend off.” I point at Luke’s desperate cock. “Don’t withdraw!” says Luke hurriedly. “Please Dave! I’m so close -- keep your prick there.” Dave reaches around and starts working Luke’s cock. “Kneel him up so I can see.” I sit back on my heels and watch Luke’s sweet face go redder and redder as Dave squeezes and teases at him. Luke frantically rides my boy’s softening prick and finally screams when I reach over and twist both nipple rings. His come nearly hits me on the chin. Luke moans in between us, and I take enough pity to enfold them both in a hug. I kiss my boy’s mouth over Luke’s shaking shoulders, and ask him how he liked his first fuck. He just grins. Luke is a little shaky so I let him use the shower while Dave makes him some tea. Brin has called to say he’s sent Rinnie on to Greg for his next visit, and that he’s ready for Luke to come home and make him dinner. “A sub’s work is never done, eh?” says Dave. “Can I drive him home, sir?” “Sure, I’ve still a scotch to finish. Bye Luke. Dave -- come right back. You have to be up at five. And tomorrow you promised to be early so you can get my suit from the cleaners. I want it for lunch with Mama P.” Dave rolls his eyes. “Yes, sir. Should I get a suit, too?”

I hesitate. Anything either of us could afford is going to make him look shabby next to the bespoke suit Ben bullied me into getting. Who am I kidding? Mama P will laugh if I come to lunch in the wedding suit. “Never mind boy -- we’ll go shopping for new jeans for us both. No sense pretending to be who we’re not.” Dave grins and clatters off down the steps after Luke, whistling for Ghia. “Come on, girl! Truck ride!” Oh God. I’ll be showing up to lunch on a Harley with my boy in the hole seat or else in a rattletrap truck and covered with dog hair. I guess that’s who we are. Definitely jeans.

Attitude Adjustments Chapter Four Dave has swept and scotch taped the truck seats several times this morning and there’s still Ghia hair. I may have to get us a vacuum since I know there’ll be no way banning Ghia from Dave’s truck will ever stick. “Give it up, boy.” He looks crestfallen. “Sorry, sir. I should have gone to the carwash on the way home yesterday.” At least he can say carwash without getting twink’s “OMG! Dr. Fell will think of Rob” look on his face. “We’ll take the bike.” He perks up fast at the idea of a ride, and he grins even more when I promise a good spanking tonight for having a dirty truck. We do a quick “leaving the cabin” run through -- keys, money, Ghia settled so she doesn’t try to chase us as she tends to if both her humans leave -- and then put on our helmets. “Are you nervous?” says Dave from under his visor. “Yup,” I say, and start the engine to avoid more revelation. Dave still gives me his “you can’t stop me from doing this” hug as he gets on the hole seat. We’re early, but Mama P is already waiting. I’ve parked the bike around the corner, so we can walk in looking as respectable as we can in our black jeans and heavy jackets. “Brace yourself,” I mutter to Dave, and then take my own advice. It’s a measure of how much I trust Dave that I feel sure he won’t tell the boys about how I whimper a little as Mama P hugs me. She’s just got such a crushing hug, and so much perfume. And, besides, Dave yelps when she hugs him. “Hi, I’m Dave,” he says when she releases him. I smother a laugh. She pats his face, and says, “I know who you are, sweetie.” Thank God, service is prompt. We’re nowhere fancy -- Mama P likes the diner near her shop -and we’ve got a corner booth.

And the pressure is off me for conversation since she has fresh meat, as it were, in Dave. He has nice company manners -- his mom did a good job on him -- and he chatters away to Mama P while I sit back and watch. We may well be screwed now we’ve acquired a joint mom, but hell, it’s kind of nice. Mama P was my mom and my aunt’s best friend -- I feel bad for her losing her two buddies -they were a lethal trio from high school on and were in each other’s weddings and all that shit. I think I remember Mama P babysitting me and Jack when we were in pre-school. I shove that memory back in a box fast. And I’m sure they had some girls-only trips to the cabin. Fuck. Yes, they did. I suppress that particular memory really fast -- I was home alone for a week with dad. I pass Dave the ketchup. He hasn’t asked for it, but the brat drowns his fries in it without fail. Mama P smiles and hands me the mayo. I feel ridiculously choked up that she remembered how I like to dip my fries. Mama P is grilling Dave about his plans and is full of praise for his apprenticeship plans and career ideas. She clucks when he says he and his dad bickered about the military. “I can’t explain to him,” says Dave, valiantly controlling a run on sentence. “I do want to serve my country, but since I’m not out at home, I can’t tell dad that ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ makes it impossible for me. I can’t go along with that. Besides,” he says looking all goofy, “I’m with John now.” I file that away. He’s never admitted to me that he wanted to be in the military -- just that he and his dad argued about him joining. Dave’s diverted Mama P by telling her about Rory’s wedding cake business. She’s all over it, and by the time I’ve eaten my Philly cheese steak she’s asked to meet Rory and is wondering if they can trade referrals. Apparently, she’d love to team up with him. She has some frou-frou idea about cake decorations and flowers coordinating. Dave and I both nod, and I wonder just how dangerous it will be having a mom meet the guys. Dave nudges his knee against mine under the table, and I nudge back. Then I make a critical error. I go to the restroom, and when I come back Dave is red in the face with laughter, and the waitress is giving our booth quizzical looks. Fuck. “Nothing,” says Dave, wheezing as he tries to lie to me. “Oh, Johnny, I’m just telling Davey all about when you were in your high school production of The Tempest. Such a lovely Ariel you made.” Oh, hell. I give Dave a stern look. “Any word of this leaks out, and I know where it came from.” Dave bites his lip. “I thought Ariel was a mermaid.” “That’s Disney, punkin,” says Mama P before my Ph.D. implodes. “Johnny played a sprite.”

“Shakespeare, not soda,” I growl before Dave can mess with me. “And I have an elf photo,” I add darkly. I’m lying, but I’m sure twink can rustle one up for me. The lie has done its current job as I’ve diverted the boys in tights shame to Dave and he is now explaining about being a Santa mall elf to Mama P. I consider getting Dave hard under the table to mess with him, but he’s being really pretty damn good meeting his mother-in-law or whatever it is Mama P sees herself as. Dave doesn’t need encouragement to order dessert and he and Mama P attack wedges of cherry pie à la mode while I sip some coffee. I’ve drifted a little again -- I have to learn not to do that around Mama P -- and now she and Dave are exclaiming that they do have connections! Oh balls. Mama P knows Dave’s mom. Stupid, fucking small towns. “You’re Cindy Rasmussen’s boy! Oh, she used to bring in photos of you all the time. Lovely Easter ones…” I snigger, and Dave actually kicks my ankle under the table. Dave’s telling Mama P all about what his mom is doing now. Before she inherited her florist shop, Mama P was a nurse, and Mrs. Rasmussen is, too. “Mom’s an administrator now,” says Dave proudly. “She did her master’s degree part time, and she’s in charge of a unit and stuff.” “Aw,” says Mama P. “I knew her when she was fresh from college. Lovely girl. I’m not surprised she’s done well.” Dave grins, and Mama P leans forward and pats his hand. “Listen honey, don’t you worry about coming out to your mom. By the time I left she was best friends with every male nurse on our floor.” She beams significantly. “It may take her a bit, but your mom is a friend of the gays.” Dave gulps. He’s still not used to being out around anyone except the guys. I think the idea that his mom might be a bit of a fag hag is spinning his head, too. “Don’t tell her, will you, Mrs. Przytycki? I’m still working up to it.” “It’s Mrs. Fell, but you call me Mama P, sweetie. It’s what I want you and Johnny to call me. And of course I won’t out you. But you should just take the plunge.” “My dad,” says Dave weakly. “I mean Mr. Fell and Mr. Ingle, they--” “Pshaw!” says Mama P. I’m steamrollered in the corner of the booth. I’m trying to protest that Dave isn’t married to me - and won’t be in this state in our lifetimes -- and am boggled that Mama P actually said “pshaw” and that Dave has the balls to bring up my dad and Rob’s dad.

Mama P gives Dave an earful about Rob’s family and her husband. We just sit and nod. I’d told mom about Rob during the year she was dying. We’d talked a lot. I guess she told Mama P quite a bit as well. Mom had a pool of friends who rotated care so that I got to grocery shop and go swim as a stress buster, but I didn’t really take in much about them. Of course, Mama P was one of them. She finishes up and grabs the check at the same time. “Now, I love your dad, Johnny, but I’m not blind to his faults. He can’t see straight about you, pardon the pun, and he’s as stubborn as you are, so we’ll just work around him. I want to know you, and I get what I want. Now, Davey-dear, your dad is a younger generation, not so stiffassed, he knows gay men; he’ll handle it. Didn’t you say he knows John already, just not who he is to you?” “Yes, ma’am,” says Dave, looking as whipped as I’ve seen him, both metaphorically and literally. “Mama,” corrects Mama P. “Well then, I think you two should visit the Rasmussens together. The longer you wait the longer you’ve lied to your parents, Davey.” She stares at us until we both nod meekly. “Good boys,” she carols. She tosses a big tip on the table, kisses both our cheeks, and heads for the register. “I expect lunch every first Wednesday, boys, and I want a report on your family.” Dave and I give each other a gloomy look as she leaves. “We need a pact,” Dave says. “Neither of us spills anything about what we learn from these lunches or tell the guys about getting owned by Mama.” “Deal,” I say. “Is your mom half as--?” “Don’t say anything, sir!” says Dave. “My mom’s more… um… subtle. But she gets what she wants, too.” Since we are already defeated, we go shopping for jeans, Dave’s new sneakers, and work shirts to replace the ones I’ve destroyed ripping them off my boy. At least Dave is an in and out grab what you need shopper, too. I’m glad to get back onto my territory and I don’t even mind Ghia head butting my knees to welcome me home. We spend some time in the backyard and I sigh. Even with two of us, it’s a lot of work. There’s already a culinary herb garden outside the kitchen area, a truck garden’s worth of vegetable plots, and a raggedy expanse of grass in the front of the cabin that was ample room for the retreat and games last summer. Mom had always wanted more flowers out here, but we were never able

to visit often or long enough to make it practical. She talked a lot in her last year about how nice a rose garden would be. Flowers are pretty frivolous in my opinion. What the fuck, it’s my cabin. I can make the backyard macho with a brick barbecue pit, and then maybe the rose bushes won’t look too girly. And I have land to spare. I grab a notepad and sketch out a memorial rose garden for mom and something I’ve always admired in Renaissance art: a small knot garden of boxwood and fragrant herbs. Twink will tease me and ask if I’m going to sing madrigals to Dave in it, but I think they’re calm, orderly, and meditative. I may as well stick a bench in there and then I can smoke my cigar in between mom’s garden and my sixteenth-century space. I sigh and Dave takes the book from me, and squints. He’s getting good at technical drawing from his classes. He fixes a knot tangle for me with a few precise lines. “It looks difficult, sir.” I nod. “Yeah, but if I’m going to get fancy, I want to do it right, and,” I pause before saying it, “they’ll take a while to establish, and well, I thought a long term project would be nice.” Dave doesn’t smirk. “You have decades here, sir. You could grow a fucking maze if you wanted too.” I slap his ass. “We have decades. And if I plant a maze, I will fuck you in it.” Dave sniggers. “You still have to figure out how to plant all this crazy stuff.” “I’ll ask Luke for detailed help in choosing plants and laying it out. I think Brin will let him do at least the trip to the garden center with me. I know Luke was mostly lawns and decks, but... ” Dave puts his hands on his hips and glares. “Really, sir -- who do you know that knows floral stuff?” I frown. “And who cares about your mom enough to make the rose garden work?” I look at the woods. Dave dares growl. He knows I know. “And who has been to the cabin and owns a fucking florist shop?” I give up. “Yeah. God, Dave. We’re so fucked, aren’t we? I’ll ask Mama P out here for a visit after you come out to your folks. Deal?”

“Deal,” says Dave. The little bugger is determined that we have a family. It was all his nagging that made me go to dad’s wedding. I go for a run with Ghia, while Dave tinkers with his truck, and, by dinner, we’re back in our cabin headspaces. I pick at my food -- one big meal a day is all I really need -- but Dave chows down. “Careful, boy, don’t forget you’re due a spanking.” He grins. “I’ll digest fast, sir!” He putters around doing the dishes and his after dinner chores, and then settles down to read his airframe textbook. I work a bit on some Foundation plans. Rinnie and Laurie really need some attention, but I’m wondering how I can realistically train boys with Dave around. He’s agreed, but I don’t think it’s going to work. I’ll be too worried about him to focus. Perhaps I need day camp for bad boys from here on out. They can leave when Dave gets home. He’s just finished his chapter and is grinning at me. He likes being spanked far too much. Fortunately, I know his chagrin at having a pet-haired truck is a plenty real punishment. I turn in my chair and stare sternly at him. He grins even more. “Report to my study, boy!” May as well play the naughty boy-teacher thing for all it’s worth. Dave must agree -- he’s already in my study standing by my desk with his head hanging. It really is a shame you can’t beat college students these days. I pat my palm with a ruler, and stride past him. My study is pretty small, but there’s enough room for me to sit at my desk and turn my chair to regard my bad boy. Damn, he’s getting big. No wonder he needed new sneakers. I hope he doesn’t outgrow my lap. It’s my favorite way to spank him. “Tell me your misdeeds.” Dave tries not to dimple, but his recitation is down right merry. He’s thought of a few other things to add in as well as having a furry truck -- including kicking me on the ankle in the diner which I’d been willing to overlook, but, hey, if he thinks it’s worth a few strokes, I’m not arguing. He’s not so keen on swats through the jeans while standing, but I want to start with some solid ruler blows. He yelps when I give him some hefty slaps with my straightedge. He looks over his shoulder with some real reproach in his eyes.

“Ow, sir.” “It’s not a game, boy. You did fuck up.” “I know,” he says. “But, ow.” “Poor boy -- does it smart?” “Yes.” “Let me see.” Dave yanks down his pants with alacrity, and gives me a big puppy look. “Pretty,” I say and trace the red welts. I did swat him hard enough for the ruler to leave the marks through his jeans. My straightedge has a metal edge -- which is why I avoided his bare skin. Dave sighs as I run my finger back and forth. He knows more is coming. I rain some blows on each cheek with just my palm. His ass is firm, but it still ripples beautifully under the force. He’s biting his forefinger to keep from whimpering. I sit down in my chair. “Over my knee. You’ve not suffered enough yet for such a bad boy.” He turns around and while his face is downcast, his prick isn’t. I let him settle over my knees -- which takes a few moments of wriggling to get his cock in position -- and then begin a light but steady spanking. I treat each buttock evenly and start building the force. Dave’s aroused cries start shifting into pain and pre-orgasm. The little bastard is rubbing against me. I grin. I’ll spank him until he comes if that’s the way he wants to play it. I murmur some encouragement to him, and he starts humping my thighs as I smack at him. God, his ass is lovely. If it were the peach it looks like though, it’d be a slushy by now. He’s breathing hard and his ass is rising up to meet my hand -- I hardly need to move at all. “Please, please, please,” moans Dave. I unleash a salvo of sharp blows on him, and he writhes. His back arches and I feel my thigh grow hot and wet. He drops back over my lap and on principle I whack him a few more times. He slides down between my knees to evade my hand and unzips me. I let him suck me for a little while, but it’s still his ass that’s on my mind.

I stand up abruptly -- but I make sure my cock is safely out of his mouth -- and point at my desk. “Hands on the desk, boy.” Dave scrambles there and obligingly sticks his butt at me. I slide open the drawer meant for paperclips and junk and grab the lube I keep there. A lot of my height is in my legs so I can still take him from behind without either of us becoming contortionists. He turns his head and places his cheek flat on the desktop, and moans as I enter. He’s flying even though he’s already come, and he’s grabbing onto the side of desk and I start hammering away at him. We shake a few pens off the desk before we’re done, and my papers are in disarray. I flop forward and catch my breath. I could almost fall asleep in and on my boy, but that’s not going to work. I slowly withdraw, and Dave wriggles and tries to clench his ass around me as I leave. He has a transferred ink word on his face from smushing into some of my handwritten notes. I’ll let him find out when he shaves in the morning that he has discipline in reverse on his cheek. He stands slowly, and his back pops. “Oh man, I sound as old as you, sir,” he says blithely. I’d swat him except I see I’ve left a sure-to-bruise mark across the front of his thighs from ramming him against the desk. I just grumble at him all the way to the bedroom.

Attitude Adjustments Chapter Five Dave and I are subdued next morning. The implications of being managed by Mama P are sinking in deeper, and we agree to have a serious talk on Sunday about how best for me to meet the Rasmussens -- officially that is, since I’ve spoken to his mom on the phone, and, awkwardly enough, it turns out I’ve worked with his dad before Dave and I met. Once I expect the in-town owners to be awake, I track down where Rinnie is staying -- the poor lad has three different doms that he’s shuffled between and, since they all have their own boys, he’s a little lost. He still says it’s far better than being Steve’s leashed boy, and he appreciates that we helped him stay in school. Poor kid, though. When I chat with him, he says he’s thrilled to visit. I put that enthusiastic phrasing down to language issues, not some desire to see me. Dave and I are still too new together to have even a temporary live-in boy, but we can have Rinnie for the weekend, and, since Dave works Saturdays, I’ll have time to devote to the boy. I send an e-mail message to Laurie’s owner, Simon. No point trying to call him during the day -he’s a doctor -- or the evening. From what I hear from Laurie, Simon’s always out. I have to wonder if he really wants a boy. Half the trouble Simon has from his boy is from a combined lack of attention and unreasonable restrictions. If you’re not going to pay attention to your boy, it’s not fair to say no job, no school, your career is me, and then be gone all the time. Since Simon’s not out professionally, poor Laurie can’t even hang with the other rich doctors’ wives, play tennis with them, and serve on boards. I’ve been to Simon’s place when it was his turn to host boys’ night out/doms’ night in, and Laurie keeps house like a pro. It’s a big place, but impeccable. And he’s a pain slut and takes anything Simon does to him. But he’s lonely. I don’t really blame him for acting out. As I thought, it’s not until late in the evening that I get a reply from Simon. Even in e-mail, I can tell he’s kind of buzzed. He says he’s just got home from some pharma-dinner, but he’s glad to send Laurie for the weekend. He has a golf game anyway. Dave hides a pout when I say we’ll have guests, but he’s a good kid and just asks if he should grocery shop on Friday before he comes home. “Get Rinnie first. He’ll be the cook for the weekend, so let him pick stuff out.” Dave looks perkier at the news that he’s off kitchen duty for the weekend. We can both cook decent food, but neither of us particularly enjoys it. And, so long as nothing really pisses me off, Dave and Rinnie can be pretty sure my harshest attentions will be focused on Laurie. Simon drops Laurie off on Friday before Rinnie and Dave are home. He confers briefly with me. When Simon’s focused on being a dom, he’s an okay guy, but he spends too much time in his doctor box. I liked him well enough at the retreat -- even if he did bring Nick with him. I shift uncomfortably at that memory.

He does seem fond of Laurie -- Simon had his boy’s tongue pierced at the retreat even though he said Laurie hadn’t earned a commitment mark. He’s right, but I’m not sure Laurie should commit to him based on the ownership he receives. Laurie’s simply given me a pale smile -- he’s learned his lesson well from last time. Simon drives off without saying goodbye, and I catch a flicker on Laurie’s face. “Am I in trouble, sir?” “Not yet boy. You’re just here for some training.” He nods. “Did Simon ask for anything special? I can--” I cut him off. “I suggested the visit. I’ve been thinking about you, boy. How you said you’re just one of Simon’s things. I want to hear from you what you need.” Laurie looks pole axed. I’m not sure if he’s hurt Simon didn’t send him, or alarmed that I requested his visit. I hand him a notebook and pencil. “What shall I write?” “Tell me what you want from being a sub. And what you’re getting now. And about that road trip you took. That might merit a beating.” I look at him long enough for him to be aware that I know he went out of state without permission and had a fling. He nods, and settles on the swing. He stares into the woods for a while, and then starts to write. He says “hi” politely to Dave and Rinnie, but he’s still writing so I don’t have him help with the groceries. My eyes pop. Dave and Rinnie have bought enough for a weekend of the whole group visiting. I know Dave can eat for five, but really. “Did you blow the month’s budget?” Dave looks a little mulish, but Rinnie interrupts. “I buyed.” “Bought,” I correct. “Paid?” he says, puzzled. I laugh. “That one’s right, boy. We’ll look at some verbs this weekend.” He grins. “I make freezing-foods for you as rescue thank you.” He’s so proud of his idea -- and is a good cook -- that I just nod and thank him. He gets a small stipend from the guys, so I’m not worried about taking the offering.

Rinnie sets to work packing food away in the kitchen and I beckon to Dave. “Too shy to do your welcome home?” He blushes, and then kneels. “Home, sir!” I ruffle his hair. “Good boy. Up.” He stands. “Listen Dave, we don’t change if the others are here, okay?” He nods and shuffles. “Sorry, sir.” “It’s okay. Listen: you’re my boy, this is your home, and you are my right hand.” Dave stares at me. “I mean it Dave. After me, the boys answer to you.” “Like Ghia does,” he mumbles to hide his pleasure. I snort. “Oh, she’s your dog, boy.” “Right. She looks at you first now, sir. She knows who the alpha male is.” I laugh, but it’s not a bad metaphor. Dave’s a big dog in many ways -- he’s got some bark and bite, but he’s happier riding herd on the boys, not running the whole show. I’ll watch him carefully this weekend and see what sort of role he’s shaping up for. I’m trying not to assume he’ll be just like Rob -- that would be fatal -- and, I realize with a pang, Rob’s not what I want any more. Having Dave sit beside me is becoming the new normal. Rinnie is making some cheerful clattering in the kitchen, and Dave heads in and returns with a beer for me. He looks at it longingly. “You’ll be twenty-one before you know it, boy.” He gives me a baleful look. “You’re too law-abiding, sir.” “Respect for rules,” I say mildly. I don’t do anything to anyone that evening. I let Rinnie and Laurie join us for dinner, and send them to sleep together in the sleeping loft. “Play nice if you do play,” I say to Laurie.

Rinnie giggles. “I have my careful word, sir.” He knows darn well that it’s safe word, but he’s decided he likes his version better. Laurie says he’s pretty tired, but perhaps they could be jack-off buddies since they’re sharing a bed. Rinnie does his usual pause-process for colloquial speech, and then nods. Dave has work in the morning -- he knows better than to bitch about Saturday hours around me - so we just have a quickie and settle in to sleep ourselves. As we snuggle -- yes dammit, we sleep spooned -- I get Dave’s take on Laurie and Rinnie and start factoring it into my plans. “Will you be okay on your own, sir?” “Cheeky pup. I can handle two boys.” “Laurie’s huge.” Dave’s right -- Laurie must fill some of his lonely hours pumping iron. Rinnie and Laurie are taken by surprise at how early Dave and I get up. Rinnie’s more used to adapting his schedule, and hustles around making me breakfast after Dave’s left. Laurie apologizes sleepily. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t expect a six a.m. start. Honest, if I’d known…” “Don’t you get up with Simon?” He shakes his head. “No sir. I put the coffee on a timer, but he has breakfast in town after he’s been to the gym.” He looks annoyed rather than ashamed. “I lay his clothes out and prep his gym bag the night before. He says I’m just in the way in the morning.” “He not let you serve?” asks Rinnie, sounding scandalized. I cut them short. “Laurie -- you shower while I eat. Rinnie, your turn is after his. He can finish breakfast service.” Rinnie has got the hang of a good cooked breakfast. I like how he does buttery scrambled eggs with chopped bacon. He balks a little when I tell him to sit down and have some too, but he’s a good boy and answers my questions nicely as we eat. He’s doing well in his English for College Learners prep class. I suspect his written English is better now than some of the boys. Were he not a sub with no owner, he’d be in great shape. Nice homes to live in, light domestic duties, studies going well, and an unencumbered visa once

Owen’s mom had helped him. He’s a little homesick, but I think that would have the edge taken off if he had a settled spot here. He’s allowed to call home to Peru every Sunday and no host has begrudged a phone bill yet. He gives me a sweet smile and a warm cinnamon roll and coffee, and then trades places with Laurie. The towel can hardly make it 'round Laurie’s hips and thighs. “I wasn’t sure whether I should dress, sir.” I laugh. We both remember his last punishment visit. “You can dress, boy, and then clean the kitchen for Rinnie. I’ll read your notebook before anything else.” By the time I’m done reading I want to swat Simon. He’s ruining a perfectly good boy. Laurie’s well trained in service, but Simon’s not letting him perform. I thought we’d worked on this last Christmas and I’d reminded Simon at the retreat, but Laurie’s time and service are still being wasted. He’s starting to sound bitter in his writing, too. Before he was sad when he told me he was “just one of Simon’s things” but now he’s getting pissed. I notice he doesn’t say he loves Simon and at Christmas he was adamant they loved each other. Back then Laurie was ready to do whatever it took to shape up. It looks as if his efforts weren’t reciprocated. He has fucked up big time again by sneaking off to his tenth high school reunion and spending the night with his high school boyfriend. Simon didn’t notice he was gone until he confessed. He claims he only fucked his boyfriend to make Simon angry. I smooth out his notebook where I’ve crushed the edge in my fist. “Did Simon let you start volunteering?” Laurie shakes his head. “He said only Arts volunteering was appropriate and he still doesn’t want me mixing with his colleagues’ spouses, so there was nothing. I told him I would work at the food pantry, but he said I may as well be a grocery bagger.” Christ, what a snob. I remember to think that, not say it. I think Simon is fooling himself that his colleagues don’t know he’s gay. “Let me think, boy. Go mow the front grass. If the mower cuts out, call me, there’s this thing Dave showed me that you have to do to restart it.” Laurie seems happy to be doing something practical, and doesn’t sneer at my ancient gas mower. I have a good morning with one boy making food for the freezer and the other mowing.

I have Laurie shower again after his mowing and then clean the kitchen after Rinnie’s morning session. While he does that I give Rinnie a lesson on irregular verbs, and leave him set up with some work sheets. I go inspect the yard work, and when I return Laurie is sitting next to Rinnie. Their heads are nearly touching, and Rinnie is following along in the book. I pause, and bite back a rebuke. Laurie is being nice, not mean. And, to my greater surprise, is doing a decent job of explaining a sentence to Rinnie. “See Rin, this word is working on this one, not that one. English puts stuff in order to make it work, it doesn’t mess with word endings.” Rinnie smiles sweetly. He knows Laurie’s technical vocabulary is limited, and that Laurie’s not meaning to patronize him. “Quechua like ends of words,” he says. “We do cases.” I take a long hard look at Laurie. He must be twenty-eight or so if he’s just been to his tenth reunion. I know he’s lived with Simon for about two years. Without the other boys around to jostle for status, he’s genuinely helping Rinnie. “What’s your degree, boy?” Rinnie and Laurie both make a yelp of surprise as they realize I’ve been watching. “Not cheating,” says Rinnie frantically. “Sir, I--” gasps Laurie. I sigh. “Rinnie, I didn’t accuse you, and Laurie, I asked a question.” Rinnie’s not convinced and shows me his wrong answer as proof, but Laurie gives me a wary look. “Communications and marketing, sir. I trained to do public relations and convention planning.” “So you had more than just the basic writing classes if you were doing press releases and so on?” He nods. “Then there’s no real reason why you can’t help Rinnie, is there?” He looks relieved, and shakes his head. “No, sir.” “Or get a job?” “Simon--”

“Right. But if you had permission to job hunt, you have a résumé?” “Yes, sir. It has a two-year hole in it now, but I was doing marketing events for drug companies - that’s how I met Simon. It was a conference in Chicago.” “Poor boy -- swept you off your feet and away from it all, huh?” Laurie grimaces. “Yeah. I guess this is the After the Happy Ending, huh?” I should rebuke him for disrespecting his owner, but shit, the boy’s moved across states, quit a career, and is being neglected for golf games and schmooze fests. He’s asking for help as best he can. “Finish the chapter with Rinnie. While he makes lunch, I want you to research Quechua. You may use my laptop. Give me an oral report at lunchtime. Then you can work on the backyard after lunch.” Rinnie is giggling and I glare when I realize he is being smutty about “oral report.” Still, joking in your third language is pretty impressive. I watch Rinnie as he studies with Laurie. I’ve not played with him -- I was distracted at the summer retreat and, since we rescued him from Steve, I’ve not seen him enough. Now that he’s no longer stressed out and terrified, he’s a little hottie. Before his main charm was poster child pathos, but now -- damn. He’s not really fragile -- he’s short and wiry and looks resilient. He makes me think of a mountain goat. I roll my eyes. Jeez, John. Was that racist or bestial? Still, you can tell his ancestors were high altitude -- he has a broad chest compared to the rest of his frame, and his thighs and calves are well developed. I remember him playing soccer this summer -- the boy can dribble a ball -- oh dear God, now I’m making myself snigger with innuendo. I leave the boys to their tasks and go plan Laurie’s backyard chores. I’m starting to enjoy being a gardener so I don’t want the chores I prefer done. Laurie can do the backbreaking weeding. No way should I be on my knees for any reason with boys around. Rinnie has made some weird fish dish for lunch -- sort like a Peruvian sushi with lime. I’m glad Dave’s not here as he thinks Tex-Mex is exotic, and he won’t try anything “too foreign.” It’s pretty good, and Laurie gets some goodwill points for complimenting Rinnie on it, and for giving a decent enough report on Quechua. It’s mostly a Wikipedia re-hash, but that’s okay -- all I wanted was for Laurie to get some idea of what Rinnie’s native tongue is like. I have Rinnie give it a grade since he’s the expert. He giggles when I tell him that and gives Laurie a B. I raise my eyebrows -- I’d have given it an A-. “Laurie gets the how sure ends wrong.” I puzzle over what he means.

“Evidentiary suffixes,” says Laurie with a sigh after reviewing his notes. “Rinnie, do you guys really do that?” Rinnie looks at him levelly. “We do Laurie-mi.” I wait, and Laurie explains better than he did in his lunch report that Quechua puts mi, si, and chá on the ends of words to show whether they think the sentence is fact, rumor, or probable. I roll my eyes at the thought of twink hollering, “But Dr Fell-mi, I DID do it!” Rinnie dimples, and whispers: “Dr Fell, Laurie is really nice-si.” Laurie gets into the spirit and says, “Dr Fell is also kind-chá?” I snort. “Now, that is doubtful, boy. Get to work, kid. I have a row of potatoes to be weeded. Do you know which are the potato plants?” Laurie scowls, and then admits he has no idea. “I make papas for dinner,” says Rinnie perkily. Laurie and I exchange looks and decide to leave it be. I show Laurie what a potato plant looks like and then putter around the yard myself. When Dave pulls up in the truck, he laughs at the domestic picture we present. He kneels and does his “home sir” with wild dimpling to control his mirth. “Careful, boy,” I growl. “I’ve already got a boy in the kitchen and one in the garden, so perhaps your chores will be less pleasant…” He just chortles, and stays on his knees. “I thought you were shy about outdoor sex if people might see?” “Laurie and Rinnie don’t count,” he says cavalierly. I laugh back at him. “Good, because tonight I want you to fuck Laurie so Rinnie and I can watch.” He goes a delightful rose, but nods. “Um, sir, will you be, um, I mean, um Rinnie?” I frown. I sure don’t need his approval or permission, but I still ask, “Will it bother you?” He squirms, and then blurts out, “Not if I’m screwing Laurie’s ass at the same time.”

I ruffle his hair. “Get up, boy. A blowjob would be nice, but let’s save ourselves for later. Oh, and Dave, make sure you top Laurie, not just fuck him.” It’s still only late afternoon so I have Rinnie stop his kitchen work, rescue Laurie from weeding, and whistle for Ghia. She’s been trotting between guarding Laurie and the potatoes -- she’s not convinced he’s meant to be pulling up plants since she was scolded for digging up seedlings; visiting the back porch just in case Rinnie drops a chicken out of the window; seeing if her Dave’s truck is coming up the track; and, making sure I’m still around. She’s had a busy day. She’s still ready for a trip to the creek, though. She and Dave bound ahead down the path. Laurie and Rinnie follow me, and I hear them conversing softly. I wonder if Simon would approve of Laurie being Rinnie’s tutor? Ghia and the boys splash around in the creek. All four look like happy, healthy animals. I just dangle my feet in the water and think about how best to help Rinnie and Laurie. There’s no damn reason Laurie and Rinnie shouldn’t be happy in reality. Compared to Laurie, Rinnie is tiny but he’s gamely splashing at Laurie and trying to jump on his back to dunk him. Ghia and Dave flop next to me, and we watch the two visitors play. “Perhaps you should let Rinnie fuck Laurie,” mutters Dave. I grin. “Maybe tomorrow.” Dave beams at me, and then hoots and points. Rinnie has toppled Laurie and they’re both on their asses in the water. I quick march three wet boys and one dripping dog back to the cabin. They’re muddy as a result and, after I’ve rinsed my own feet, I hose them all off. They all whimper, but the water’s no colder than the creek, whatever Dave says. They all romp around drying off and finding jeans. Well, not Ghia of course, but Rinnie throws an old kitchen towel on her so she galumphs around like a super-heroine with a cape. It’s absolute bloody chaos, but, to my surprise, I’m not mad. No one is misbehaving or being unkind, and order eventually prevails without ass slaps: Dave brings me a beer, Rinnie starts his mysterious papas, and Laurie catches Ghia and rubs her with the towel. I feel rather at a loss so I sit down and watch the boys work together. Rinnie and Laurie are being good, but my boy is also quietly directing them. Papas turn out to be potato cakes stuffed with ground beef, and they are fucking good. And meat and potatoes are plenty all-American for Dave and Laurie who demolish the remains between them. Rinnie frowns at them. “Greedy! They were the second set for icing.” “Freezing.”

He shrugs eloquently, and I feel a rush of desire for him. “Dave, I think Rinnie’s worked enough for today. Why don’t you supervise Laurie on clean up? Rinnie can have coffee with me.” Dave nods, and I know he’s caught the stress on “supervise.” Rinnie sits next to me on the couch, and solemnly sips his coffee. I pat the cushion and he scoots closer, as sweet as can be. The evening is getting cool, and he’s a nice little bundle against my side. He curls his legs up and gives me a conspiratorial smile. I can hear Dave and Laurie finishing the kitchen work. I’m pleased with them both -- there’s an authority in Dave’s voice, and Laurie isn’t bitching. I think Dave has given Laurie the heads up as they join us with Laurie following Dave with his hands behind his back and eyes downcast. “David is your sergeant,” whispers Rinnie. I ruffle his hair. “Smart boy! That’s what I’m thinking he’ll become. Sit on my lap, little one. We can watch.” Rinnie squirms on, and we watch Dave start his evening. He’s been thinking about it all afternoon, I know. He’s asked me a few questions, and made a few requests. Since I’m watching, Laurie certainly shouldn’t challenge Dave, but he’s done dumber things. Laurie doesn’t fuss when Dave ties his hands to the hook I’ve had installed above the mantle. I think Dave’s made a basic mistake -- he’s tied Laurie before removing his T-shirt -- unless he wants to humiliate him by having him stand bare-assed with his prick poking out from under the T-shirt hem. Ah, I’ve misjudged my boy. Poor Laurie tries not to fuss as his precious Crummie and Itch shirt is scissored off. He’s a vain boy even when he’s being good. Rinnie sighs. Laurie has some serious pecs. “You want to play with him?” Rinnie squirms. “Is Dave’s fun today,” he says. And then he squeezes my thigh. “Tonight you fuck me? You watch me screw big boy tomorrow?” I smother a laugh since Dave is working hard at putting Laurie in the zone, but damn, Rinnie is a cheeky wee beast. “Yes. I’d like to see you fuck him, and yes, tonight I’ll do you.” Rinnie gives a “I’m a saved orphan” grin, and I feel my prick leap. I settle into some heavy petting with him while we watch Dave slowly strip Laurie and then remove his own belt.

He turns Laurie so we can see his back muscles and his ass -- fuck, it’s like he’s made of marble. “Bathroom marble,” giggles Rinnie. Apparently I said that aloud. “He have pink bum.” “Has,” I correct absently as I caress Rinnie’s smooth belly. “Pinker soon,” predicts Rinnie. He’s correct both grammatically and factually as Dave starts using his belt on Laurie’s ass. Rinnie’s a trooper. He’s not at all disconcerted that I get distracted by watching my boy perform. He does however take advantage of my divided attention. He’s got my shirt and pants unbuttoned, and unlaces my boots. “Sir should lie still,” he says. I growl. He giggles. “Sir works hard. Should let his boys serve him in bed, too. So lie still. I do work!” He pulls my boots and socks off, and beams at me. What the fuck. I let him maneuver me around on the couch until I’m naked and lying full length on the cushions. Rinnie massages me -- he’s not as good as Jamie but good enough -- and I lie there in bliss watching Dave trade the belt for a riding crop. He gives Laurie’s thighs a fine set of stripes. Laurie’s been punished by Simon for his reunion infidelity, and, since he’s a pain slut, the effective punishments left are limited, but I figure the humiliation (which he hates) of having the newest boy beat and top him instead of me doing it will be enough. Laurie is weeping steadily instead of his usual ecstatic slut cries. I watch carefully to make sure Dave’s blows are landing safely. Rinnie is working on the knot in my thigh and brushing my balls with the back of his hand. “You get naked, too, boy. I want your skin against me.” He may be having fun having me lie still, but he’s obedient. His warm smooth skin slides over my legs as he sits astride me. Unlike Dave, he’s almost hairless -- I doubt he even grows much beard -- but he has a delightful, uncut, nut-brown prick jutting out from his dark curly pubes. It reminds me of Tommy’s except without piercings. Rinnie has resumed his massage and now he’s not teasing. My thighs and prick are getting equal service. I’m getting impatient, but Rinnie places a hand flat on my belly, and repeats, “Lie still. I do work.”

He crawls up me a little and dances his hips over my hard-on as he lubes himself. He’s not as innocent as he looks as the little devil knows how to ride a Sir. He must have practice in guiding pricks in from below as he never once loses his ass’s grip on my cock. He makes slow tiny circles as he lowers himself down. Those soccer player thighs maintain fine control and he doesn’t accidentally bend my dick with his weight at all. He sighs and opens his eyes once his ass cheeks brush my thighs. “Sir is good fit! Stay still. I ride!” I don’t need telling again. I put my hands behind my head and let him do all the work. He’s having a fine time sliding up and down my prick and trying out different paces and force combinations. I spare a glance for Laurie and Dave. Laurie is on his knees blowing Dave -- as I watch Dave shoves him aside and orders him to his hands and knees. Dave’s the only one of us still dressed and he simply unzips and starts fucking Laurie from behind. Laurie’s still crying from his beating, but I’m mostly impressed with how assured my boy is. I know this is only the second time he’s topped someone -- hell, the second time he’s fucked at all. He has Laurie begging him to finish and to let him come. Rinnie’s shimmying on my prick and he’s muttering to himself in Quechua. His cock is smacking back against his own belly as he moves. I can’t reach it -- besides that would be work. “Touch yourself, boy.” Rinnie understands that perfectly, and he keeps his hips going as he opens his eyes and starts showing off his stroke to me. I’m overloading -- seeing Rinnie’s hand pumping that pretty brown cock while he rides and clenches at me, hearing Laurie wail as he comes despite his shame, and seeing my own boy keep hammering at that big spoiled ass -- aw hell -- I’m done. Rinnie does something extra wicked as he feels me tense and shoot and I’m taken well over the edge. I feel Rinnie’s come spatter my belly and after a moment my tired little jockey flops forward on me. I let him rest there as we watch Laurie, limp-dicked now, trying to please Dave. “Dave is drill sergeant,” says Rinnie embellishing his earlier observation, and giggles. I snort. I’m not sure if he meant the double entendre, but it’s funny. Dave goes red in the face and roars as he shoots. Laurie hangs his head and weeps. I catch a choked out, “Simon” in his misery. I feel bad that he gets more attention and discipline from my boy than from his Sir. Rinnie is going to be fine once we find him a home, but Laurie? Everything so far is a just a band-aid over how he and Simon keep hurting each other. For tonight though, I let Rinnie scoot over to comfort Laurie, and have Dave let Ghia back in. Tomorrow, we’ll have Rinnie fuck Laurie, and Dave and I can make some plans.

Attitude Adjustments Chapter 6 I’ve slept in. Well, not really, it’s only just past seven, and I am awake. Dave’s twined round me. I like lying here with my boy’s arm sprawled across my chest and his thigh between mine. Besides, he deserves his day off sleep in. I can hear Rinnie taking care of breakfast, and Laurie calling to Ghia to run with him, so Dave’s first chores are covered. They learned yesterday how early Dave and I usually get up. God help me, I’m enjoying a snuggle. And Dave’s got a hard on -- I’ll wake him up in a minute. Right now it’s nice. A misused word. But perfectly what I mean. Rinnie tiptoes in with coffee. He smiles sweetly when he sees I’m awake, and leaves a cup by Dave’s side, too. Dave wriggles a little, and his nostrils twitch. Rinnie whispers, “Breakfast, soon, sir?” I nod and he leaves quietly. He’s a good kid. He’ll blossom with the right owner. It must be hard going to college in foreign country and another language as well as having no settled place to stay. I sit bolt upright. I’ve had an epiphany. “Ew, not in the bed, sir!” says Dave. Shit. I thought I’d broken that musing aloud habit. Damnable Sunday morning snuggles lowering my defenses. I slap Dave’s rump. “Cheeky boy! And I know you know what epiphany means. We covered it in class.” Dave chuckles. “Yeah. You had a ‘duh, John’ moment!” I growl, but he’s right. I lie back down. I’ve got plans for Dave’s ass, and then I have a plan for Rinnie. Dave’s all curious and tries to find out what I’ve figured out, but he doesn’t deserve to know after his sass, and I distract him pretty effectively. Much as I love a scene, there’s still something exquisite about a Sunday morning vanilla quickie. We take a quick joint shower and go to breakfast in our towels. Rinnie has made fried potatoes as part of breakfast. Damn, that boy can do wonders with a potato. Laurie comes in panting with Ghia huffing behind him. When he realizes I’m up, he freezes.

“It’s okay, boy. You didn’t do anything wrong. Give the dog some water, and you can have coffee.” Laurie still looks anxious, but obeys. Rinnie serves him some breakfast, and everything is suspiciously peaceful. I muse on what exactly to do for these two boys. Short term, I know I want to see little dark Rinnie fuck huge blond Laurie, but I need to figure out how to get Laurie’s owner to shape up. I’ve long been grumbling that it’s really the tops in this group who need the training, but Simon really needs some remedial work. He drinks too damn much as well, and I should know -- I can hit the bottle hard, too. Well, at least I have a possible home for Rinnie, and my own boy is shaping up just fine. Dave stretches. “Going for the paper, sir. Want anything?” There’s no Sunday paper delivery out this far, and Dave routinely takes his truck into town for the Sunday papers. He drops by his mom’s for lunch and usually comes back with a huge container of “leftovers.” I nod, and give him a twenty. “The boys have been good -- drop by Krispy Kreme for a dozen doughnuts.” All three stare at me. “What?” Dave jokingly feels my forehead, and I growl. “Yeah, that’s still my man. Okay, sir, if you say so, doughnuts for everyone.” Dave whistles for Ghia and jogs across the yard to his Chevy. Laurie starts cleaning up without being prompted and I beckon Rinnie into my study for an interview. It takes a bit of work -- and a spanking of his sweet ass -- to get him to him to start talking freely. But once he’s going, I have trouble keeping up. I listen hard, and finally do hear enough. Rinnie is sitting on my lap by then and is trustingly curled up despite his sore ass. He smiles at me and leans his head against my chest. Fuck. I can take a boy weeping and bruised, but one quietly relying on me to make these big decisions -- aw hell. I can hardly sneer at Simon for neglecting Laurie though, if I can’t follow through with Rinnie. Rinnie gives a contented wriggle, and grins. “Suck you, sir?” “Brat. No, you save yourself boy. You’re going to entertain me and Dave tonight by fucking Laurie.”

Rinnie beams and keeps grinning while I take a snapshot of him with the camera phone Dave insisted on getting us after Ghia chewed and buried my old phone. I send the picture with a short text message. Dave still hasn’t got over my outrage that there’s no semi-colon on the keypad, and I’m dreading the tale getting to twink about how I’ve screwed up the voice-mail system not once, but twice. I hate the damn thing, but it is convenient sometimes. Rinnie watches as I mutter over the keypad, but doesn’t ask anything. He scampers off to start lunch when I shoo him out. I expect, and get, a phone call within half an hour. “So boy, who is this child you want me to sponsor for a better life in America for just a few dollars a month?” I snort. “Aw, Dr. Rønne, he’s not an overseas orphan.” “You pushed my buttons, boy. You know you did.” “I know, Pol. Sorry. But listen…” I tell Pol all about Rinnie and Steve, his village and career plans, and how we are trying to cobble together housing and care for him, but it’s not fair to the kid. I don’t say how much I thought Pol clearly needed his own boy last time I saw him. It’s bad enough he’s still calling me boy. Pol is quiet. “And you asked him?” “Just what he thought of your school. I didn’t jump the gun. He said the engineering program at your school is better than this one, and has some specialized classes he’d really like. He was accepted there actually, but came here because of Steve’s offer. He’s spent this year on English training before the actual program. Can you pull strings and get him re-admitted at your school? We have a lawyer this end who can deal with immigration concerns.” “He’s really a sub? Not just agreeing to that Steve-shit for his safety and immigration?” “Really. I vouch for that. He’s a delight, Pol. He deserves the best.” Pol groans. I drop my voice. “Sir -- he’d serve you well. He needs a mentor who understands what it’s like studying abroad and learning English. He’s a good cook, too.” There’s a long silence. “Sir? Come and visit? You can meet my boy Dave and see the cabin and meet Rinnie.” “Damn. Johnny -- is he as sweet as he looks?” “He’s a goddamn heartbreaker,” I say a bit too honestly. “Pol, I mean it; he’ll serve you well.” “I’ll check my calendar.” Pol hangs up abruptly.

I hold the phone for a moment, say “bye, sir” softly, and then jab what I hope is disconnect. I’m shaken as always by talking to my old owner, but I know Rinnie and Pol just need a little time together and Rinnie will have a home for the next four years, and Pol will have a new boy. I head out of the study after a few minutes -- Laurie is playing with Ghia in the yard, and Rinnie is humming as he cooks. It’s a perfect Sunday. It gets better as my boy gets back early. He’s a bit disappointed -- turns out his mom and dad have gone to the next county to visit a cousin -- so he has no Mom’s home-cooked lunch to share -- but I’m happy. I have my boy back early, the Sunday paper, and doughnuts. I’m not immune to the charms of a fresh Krispy Kreme. Rinnie grabs the box from Dave’s hands. “After lunch!” We all watch him in shock as he marches them away from us. I man up. As if I had a choice. I scramble to save my dignity since a tiny Peruvian sub has just snatched my Sunday treat. “He’s right. Desserts are after lunch.” Dave and Laurie give me looks to rival Ghia’s it’s-five-minutes-until-kibble-and-I’m-starving look. I remain stern. I give everyone a paper section and we settle down to read. Rinnie’s lunch is roasting away, and he earnestly reads the international section, Dave has the auto pages, and Laurie is reading a health article. I’m a total wuss: I really want a cigar on the porch, but Dave is riding my ass about quitting. If Laurie and Rinnie join in, there will be trouble. I take the path of least resistance. Even I want a quiet Sunday. I hide behind the editorials and ponder what to do about Laurie. I’m not the only Dom who’s shirking. Laurie really has improved his attitude, and he was good working with Rinnie yesterday. With the right outlet, he’ll be a fine boy. I don’t know Simon that well -- I’m going to have to ask him to visit or invite myself to dinner. I’ve got a nagging sensation that something is wrong. Things are too good. This just can’t be my life: a boy, a dog, a home, and two boys to help. Must be some other Dom sitting here with coffee and a roast in the oven. I sigh, and Dave kicks my boot under the table. “Why don’t you have a Sunday smoke, sir?” I narrow my eyes. He grins. “It’s Sunday, sir, and there was no poker this week so you missed your Friday smoke.”

I grumble something about being managed, but I still take the crossword, head to the porch, and light up. Fuck. This is good. I’m about done with the crossword. I hear lunch clatter starting up and some murmurs as Dave ably supervises the boys. I’m just puzzling over a final clue. I know the answer, but it’s dancing just out of reach. I must be getting old. “Campbell says follow your blank. Five letters starts with b, ends in s. Fuck. Pol would kill me for not knowing.” “Bliss,” says Laurie from the doorway. He hands me a pre-dinner drink. “Follow your bliss, sir.” I take the glass and frown at him. “Sorry,” he says. “I thought you were asking, not talking to yourself.” He loiters. “Sir? What’s going to happen to me? Did you read my notebook?” I point to the space beside me on the swing seat, and Laurie settles down making sure his bulk doesn’t slosh my drink. “Did you mean what you wrote at the very end?” “It’s just between us, right?” “Just between us for now, boy.” “Then, yeah. I mean, I won’t just leave without notice, but I’m really thinking about moving on.” “But you and Simon need to do something.” Laurie sighs. “Yeah. Sir, I am trying. I want to be owned, but I can’t help thinking I should start looking for a new owner while I’m still in my prime.” I snort, but I do take his point. If Simon’s not going to man up, why should Laurie squander his service? “You two need to talk. For real. Not just you running away for a weekend.” “I didn’t run away. I took a trip, and he didn’t even notice I was gone.” Laurie’s pain is deep so I don’t minimize it. “What do you want from him, boy?” “His attention. His time. Being part of his life, not just something he plays with on Saturday nights. I wish he’d come out at work so I could meet his colleagues. I’m so fucking bored and

lonely, Dr. Fell.” He rocks the swing a little. “This time last year, he was talking about introducing me to his family this holiday season. I don’t know how we went wrong.” I snort again. “Well, Laurie, you do need to think back -- you screwed up last Christmas -remember the shopping spree and gift buying disasters?” Laurie moans. “I know. I panicked. Simon got me all mixed up -- he wanted me to meet his parents, but stay hidden here in town. I saw this lifetime of lying and remembering where I could be his partner and where not. Shit, sir, I know that’s not unusual, but if I’m his, I’m his, not just sometimes his partner and sometimes his housekeeper. I don’t want to worry about which caller id I’m allowed to pick up, and--” He breaks off and gives me an anxious look. “And I wish he’d stop drinking so much. He never drinks during the day, I don’t mean that, but, sometimes, sir, I have to put him to bed. We hardly ever do scenes ‘cause he’s always buzzed once his work day is over.” He swallows. “He’s responsible, sir, he won’t play and drink. But…” “You need that part of being owned, too.” I pat his thigh. Poor kid. “Okay, Laurie, I’ll see what I can figure out. Come on, lunch.” I swallow my scotch and water in one gulp -- Dave drowns my drinks although he knows I prefer ice. He does it on purpose because he thinks I drink too much and partly as revenge for not being allowed to even have a beer. Laurie’s looking pale as we eat. I’m not sure whether it’s having spoken so openly to me, or the knowledge that he and Simon are going to have their relationship held up to scrutiny. Of course, it could just be the smutty way Rinnie is eating a carrot and the knowledge that Rinnie gets to fuck him later. Dave’s a bit subdued as well. We have a conversation planned for today about his coming out to his parents and how we’re going to handle his mom’s repeated invitations for me to come to dinner. He’s asked to use the phone later because he’s bugged about his parents going out of town without telling him. If he hadn’t spoken to his parents’ neighbor when he pulled into the driveway, he’d be really worried. “They know I come on Sundays,” he’d whispered to me earlier. “I don’t get it.” Rinnie licks some gravy off the tip of another carrot and beams at me. For a technically homeless kid in a foreign land, his trust is terrifying. We’re all too stuffed with roast beef and veggies to eat the doughnuts yet, so we settle in for a prolonged “reading the rest of the paper” session sprawled on the couch. Dave doesn’t even pretend -- he kicks off his shoes, undoes his belt, lies on the hearth rug, and uses Ghia as a pillow. I wake up with a mouth on my cock. It feels odd -- fuck -- there’s a hard bead pressing against my slit. I open my eyes, carefully. Laurie gives my thigh a squeeze, and I rub his shoulder to acknowledge I’m awake. He keeps going. Hot damn. I’ve not experienced his tongue piercing

before -- oh my God. He’s got a killer massage of my cockhead going with the bead and I can feel my spine melting already. I must be getting noisy because Ghia wakes up with a whuffle, and Dave’s head bumps to the floor. My boy sits up and glares. Fuck. I’ve caught a flash of jealousy on his face, but my eyes and thoughts are blurring as Laurie starts flicking the bead across my prick tip. When I’m back in my brain and pants, Dave has gone outside with Ghia. I ruffle Laurie’s hair. “Good job, boy. Simon would be a fool to say goodbye to that mouth.” Laurie’s eyes well with tears to my shock. I’d meant it kindly. “That’s all I am, sir. A mouth and a body. Something he can say he owns. But he doesn’t. He’s forgotten my heart and head. And that’s what I wanted. Someone who knew me and chose to own me. Not my body.” I raise my eyebrows and look his muscles up and down. Laurie grins ruefully as he gets up from where he’d been kneeling. “Yeah, I know I’m a gym bunny, but there’s nothing else to do, and I may as well maintain my assets.” “You still want him to own you, don’t you?” He nods. “I could still be his, sir, I do still love him, and I think he loves me, but I owe myself a real owner.” He sticks his chin up. “I walked away from a career to be owned. I deserve it.” I slap his rump. “Good boy. You do. Now stop the attention-seeking shit, and we’ll work on your Sir. Okay?” He nods, and I see the cautious hope in his face. “I know Dave beat you yesterday, but I’ll still beat you before Simon picks you up tonight.” That gets a real grin. “Thank you, Dr. Fell!” “Go start some coffee so we have something to go with doughnuts.” I head outside. Dave’s looking a little sullen, but is trying to hide it by sticking his head under the hood of his truck. I know he’s mad because Ghia is looking back and forth between us anxiously.

“You know the deal, Dave.” “Yeah.” “So?” He just jiggles something greasy in his engine. Ghia shifts her hindquarters and makes her eyes even browner. I scratch her ears. “Don’t give me the silent treatment, boy.” “I’m having a crappy day,” he blurts out. “And I feel bad about it because it’s not really anything wrong, but first, I don’t have you to myself and I have to work tomorrow, and then my own mom stands me up, and Rinnie’s a better cook than me,” he finishes lamely. I’m surprised by my reaction; I want to hug him. “Cheer up, I’ll give you a damn good spanking as soon as we’re alone. And right now, there’s doughnuts. Come on.” He pokes something disconsolately. “And Laurie made you holler like I’ve never heard you do before.” “It was good -- he has a tongue piercing,” I say honestly, but unwisely. Dave’s face shuts down. “Aw, Dave, don’t. It was just a blow job.” He puts the hood down. “I’m going for my doughnut.” Ghia and I exchange looks and follow him in. I feel childish, but I’d wanted to snap, yeah, and you fucked him yesterday. God, this emotional crap will kill me one day. Rinnie is humming in the kitchen as he arranges the doughnuts onto a plate. “From the box, dude,” says Laurie, but he sounds affectionate, not mean. “You eat doughnuts from the box!” “On plate now,” says Rinnie. “You pour coffee, big boy.” I steal a look at Dave. He’s trying not to smile at them. They’re quite a picture: short dark Rinaldo and pumped blond Laurie -- he’s the biggest of all the group come to think of it. Only Nick last summer out-weighed him. “They’ll look good fucking, too,” I whisper to Dave.

He stuffs a doughnut into his mouth to hide his reaction. He’d better be careful; there really is only so much silent sass I’ll take. A peace of sorts lasts through the afternoon. The doughnuts sweeten us all up just enough. Laurie goes to jog off the empty calories and Dave watches a movie on his laptop. He lets Rinnie turn on the Spanish subtitles despite knowing I disapprove of that -- it doesn’t help Rinnie’s language acquisition to flip back to his second language. I know he’s doing it so he and Rinnie can snuggle on the couch. Trying to make me jealous really won’t work. Oh, hell, I’ve been watching them instead of doing anything at all. Who am I fooling? I was a possessive owner with Rob, I admit. We never shared with anyone. Crap. My Foundation job will be in jeopardy if we can’t straighten this out. How can I discipline and train the boys if Dave is going to be hurt? Or if I’m going to be distracted? I pour some coffee and sneak a shot of Scotch into it. Isn’t it enough that the guys and I agreed Dave isn’t shared himself? He has it pretty sweet -- he gets to play with the boys, but not be shared with the guys. Twink thinks that’s sad, but then he is a slut. I chug my coffee, and swirl the last bit in the mug. Hell and damn. This was a good weekend. Now I feel as bad as Simon: my boy’s made unhappy by my job, and I’m drinking to distract myself. Fuck. I take Ghia for a walk instead. Laurie jogs up the track behind me as I finish and we head up the yard together. Perhaps I can at least fix Laurie and Rinnie’s problems. Laurie gives me a shy smile. He doesn’t want to get fucked by Rinnie, I know, but he’s looking forward to being beaten by me, and he seems increasingly sure that Simon will listen to me. “Sir said he’d be here around six, Dr. Fell,” he says softly as we go inside. Rinnie and Dave are close to the end of their movie judging by the intensity of music, explosions, and how they are crammed up by the laptop screen. I look at Laurie. “Rinnie will be ready for you soon. Want your beating first, in private?” “Oh! Yes, please, sir. Thank you.” “Come on then.” Laurie follows me to the study. He’s been beaten by me before so there’s no real accounting for his smile. “You like the discipline part?”

“Yeah, sir. It makes me fly. It’s why Simon’s so hard for me to, uh, respect.” He hangs his head. “Shit, Dr. Fell, what can be worse? Losing your respect for your owner? I still love him, but…” “Shh, boy, it’s all right. I know it’s hard, but if you want it, we can put things right.” He scrubs his hands over his face, and nods. “Yeah. I want it.” I know he likes being tied, so I use his own belt to strap his wrists to the end of my bookcase. His butt is bruised from my boy’s work, so I focus on his upper back and thighs. He pants and grunts, but I see the stress and misery flow from him, and some peace settle into his demeanor. If I went for big blonds, he’d be perfect. As it is, I mostly feel sympathy for him as he writhes under my blows and his owner’s neglect. He starts to yell at last, so I finish up with a flurry of fast, light taps across his bruised ass, and then release him. I let him sag against me for a few minutes. We pretend he’s just getting his breath and coming down from his punishment, but we both know I’m comforting him. He puts his jeans back on, easing it over his bruises and hard on, we go back out. Dave’s fussing with his laptop, but Rinnie is hovering hopefully. “Ready boys?” Laurie nods, and earns my favor by holding out his hand to Rinnie. “Dave, come and watch with me.” “Just a moment, sir. I have an e-mail from Mom. She’s wondering why I didn’t return her call.” I roll my eyes, and turn my attention to Rinnie who has already stripped and is clicking his fingers impatiently at Laurie’s slower disrobing. “Rinaldo, he’s sore. Let him pace himself.” “I know! I hear sir work on him. That’s why I’m ready!” Laurie laughs despite his careful motion as he bends over. “You’re a kinky beast, Rinnie.” “I like the boy pastings!” I can’t help it. I give a hoot. “Oh Rinnie, what have I told you about the thesaurus?” He gives me the sweetest grin as he tugs Laurie down. “You say, use with caution, boy!”

Laurie shakes his head as he waits patiently on his hands and knees. Rinnie stops his giggling, and starts to stroke his cock with one hand and Laurie’s fine, bruised ass with the other. Dave left some good marks there, and my work has made Laurie’s thighs glow. Laurie sighs, and hangs his head and moves his knees apart a little to help Rinnie. I’d say it’s like a Chihuahua mounting a Great Dane, but that just sounds so wrong. “Dave!” I call. “You’re missing the floorshow.” “I’m fixing the voice-mail,” yells Dave. “Again,” he mutters pointedly. “Sir,” he adds a moment later. Shit. That’s thrice I’ve fucked up our messages. I’d better read the instructions. How can a phone need instructions, though? Never mind -- Rinnie’s pretty cock is sliding in between Laurie’s chiseled ass. I lean back and watch. If my boy would just get over here, we could jerk each other off. Dave flops down on the sofa next to me, and I put my arm around him. “Figure out where your mom was?” I ask since I figure we should get the phone message spat over. “Yeah, she and Dad went to Cousin Maggie’s to see her new baby. She left a phone message yesterday while I was at work asking me to join them there. I’m in the shit for not visiting the new family addition. Didn’t you hear the call?” I man up, and mumble, “Sorry. I guess we were outside.” I hold off on bitching back that he could have checked the damn voice mail himself when he got home. Dave shrugs. I think he’s sulking, until I catch his expression. “What?” Dave pulls me close, and whispers in my ear. “There was a second message, sir. The ER called this afternoon.” He knows about my phobia and must feel me go rigid as he hastily whispers the rest. I sit up and watch Laurie panting as Rinnie pounds at him. Time enough to tell him that his owner has a DUI and two broken legs once he’s finished getting fucked.

“Oh,” says Dave. “And Dad called to say if we want to make Mom happy again we’re both coming to Thanksgiving dinner, and Mrs. P called and said we have a lunch date next week, and some guy called Ronnie says he’s coming to visit you. See why we need the phone, sir? And I’ve told you a hundred times, the blue one isn’t disconnect, it’s off. That’s why we missed today’s calls.” His face when he looks at me is a mix of love, tolerance, and exasperation. Just like Mom would look at Dad.

Chapter 7 (Note: Lost and Found 4: Deeper Submission takes place between chapters 6 and 7.) I am happy. Except. I’m turning into my dad. Dave thinks that’s hilarious, and he even told Mama P about my fear at our last lunch. She dissected all the ways we are alike and different and I feel even worse. I still think Dad’s a rotten excuse for a man -- even seen through Mama P’s perspective. Loving Mom was his only good quality, and I’m beginning to worry that loving Dave might be mine. When I voice that, Dave stops the teasing, squashes up next to me and puts an arm 'round me. Damn, he really is bigger than me. The little shit is trying to get me to put my head on him. I pull free. “Jeeze, Dave.” “Sorry, sir, but you’re being pitiful. And that’s not you. You can be mean and sarcastic, and you sure did wallow in being sad--” I slap his thigh hard. “But you don’t usually act so pathetic. You’re usually all you -- like twink says, all Fellish and stuff -- so I thought you might really be, uh, ill?” he lamely concludes. I growl. I hate when my boy is right. Yeah, I dealt with real sorrow -- not well, but I did deal -and I was always sure of who I was all through it -- and now I’m being a jerk. Fuck. I am dad. Dave puts his hand on my thigh. “John, what’s wrong? You’re a good man and a good sir. All the guys like and respect you and the boys adore you-- ” I growl again. “Well, they do,” says Dave, unperturbed. “And you have me and Ghia who love you. And nothing’s wrong. No one is ill or homeless or in danger.” He pauses. “Or unavenged.” We’ve still not really talked about what I did to Rob’s killer. I’m too ashamed to even move. When Dave’s right, he’s right. “Being an asshole when everything is fine is being like my dad,” I mumble. Dave folds his arms. “So, perhaps you need to deal with your dad.”

“Fuck, no. We’re dead to each other and it’s fine that way. Not even Mama P thinks we should change that.” Dave scowls. He clearly doesn’t get it, but he has loving parents and thinks I should have a family. I even went to Dad’s fucking wedding to Mama P to please Dave. So I have tried. “Shit, sir, you’re doing that ‘something must be wrong because nothing’s wrong’ crap again.” “Well something always does go wrong,” I say, and I’m shocked at the sulky tone in my voice. Dave throws up his hands, then unzips my pants, and kneels down. “Sir, this is all the moodchanger I’ve got left since I can’t give you a damn good spanking.” He’s lucky my cock picks the blow job over me beating him. Damn, he’s good. He’s taking his time, and settles into a leisurely piece of cock sucking. And, yeah, he’s changing my mood. Changed enough that I jerk him off after I’ve come, and let him sprawl across my lap and pet me after he’s done. He’s smart enough not to start the conversation again, but he does remind me that we need to work more on the cabin addition this weekend if there’s going to be room for that Ronnie guy as he insists on calling Pol. Twink has already had gales of giggles over the possible Rinnie and Rønne combination and has already married them off in his mind. No wonder I’m so worried. Having my old master visit and meet my boy, twink, and my candidate for his new boy is enough for any man to turn sour. Of course, I invited him, but that’s not making it any easier. Still, if it gets sweet wee Rinaldo a proper home, owner, and better degree program, it’ll be worth it. Right now, Rinnie has a more settled spot living with Laurie and Simon to help out while Simon goes through two sets of rehab: one for his broken legs and the other for his alcoholism. Laurie’s flourishing now that his owner actually needs him, and he and Rinnie are tight buddies. I almost feel sorry for Simon in their clutches, but he deserves everything that’s come to him -including the second chance with his boy and his career. He narrowly avoided losing both. As it is, he’s lost his admitting privileges at the hospital and his practice has agreed he can return with a demotion after completing community service at the free clinic for six-months. He was a hair away from having his medical license pulled and his driver's license is suspended. Poor bastard - can’t walk, can’t drive, can’t drink, can’t avoid his boy, can’t work yet, and worst of all, twink is his sponsor for all the twelve-step stuff. Twink says his two weeks with me was like earning a one-year chip all at once, but he does go to some meetings. He’d not gone to them after his own rehab, but since he’s been working and going to the metro church he’s decided to give meetings a try as well. Ben just shrugs when I needle him about twink’s religion and recent nesting behavior. I think they’re on dangerous ground myself. Ben’s letting things slide, and twink’s going to get hurt soon. He’s matured, I’ll give him that, and he’s doing fine at LOC as a book-keeper and office manager, but his new freedom is going to bite them in the butt. Ben’s said he’s considering letting twink attend his Christmas office party as his partner, and twink is already unbearable about it.

Fuck. This the bloody problem, I decide. We’re all getting settled. Twink wants to be respectable, I’m getting in-laws and a step-mom, half the guys have been through commitment ceremonies of some sort, and I’m match-making my old owner and Rinnie. “Shit. It’s all so damn straight.” And I know I said that aloud for a change. “’Phobe,” mutters Dave sleepily from my lap. He and twink have a long-running claim that I’m a heterophobe. “Am not.” “Are too.” Dave wriggles and smiles so saucily that I can’t resist. He’s over my knees, bareassed, and squirming happily in a second. His ass glows pink, then red, as I spank him heartily. I miss doing this; life has been vanilla recently. No time for scenes; just work and dealing with life. Well, that I can change. Dave has weekends free now that he’s a journeyman, and we’re building a weight room as part of the cabin addition. I give Dave an especially stinging swat as I decide the weight room will only be reached through our new bedroom and will be as much for scenes as workouts. I finish up his spanking with some fond pats and roll him over on my lap. “Better, sir?” he asks. “Yup. Come and look at the new rooms with me before we lose the light. I have some ideas.” “That’s what you think about when you spank me? Construction?” I avoid a lame joke about carpenters getting wood, and just tell him to wait until he hears the plans. I smoke a cigar as we walk around the outside of the cabin and inside the framing we’ve already done, and I show him the new interior layout idea. I can see his grin in the twilight, and he gets all exuberant about the best spot for the St. Andrews’ Cross and his weights. “Colby and Laurie will be so jealous! No one else has a dungeon!” I roll my eyes. “It is NOT a dungeon.” “Playroom,” hollers Dave and jumps and punches the air. “Hard to believe you’ll be twenty-one soon,” I say slyly. “Perhaps you are too young for a birthday six-pack of Heineken.” “Work room?” says Dave, both feet on the ground. “Our room,” I say, all smushy. “Where I’ll make you scream for mercy.”

“Yes!” He’s back to punching the air and leaping. Fuck. Maybe I’d better let him put up the basket hoop he wants on the side of the garage. He’s got far too much energy for an old man like me to work off. “Yeah, old men who talk to themselves,” hoots Dave and dashes off into the gloom to escape from me. His mutt galumphs between us. I swear he’s trained her to run interference. I’d rather finish my cigar on the porch anyway. *** Saturday starts off just fine -- Dave’s a good carpenter’s helper and we’ve already done most of the framing work for the building. We’d had a foundation slab poured a month ago, but switching the bedroom and weight room around is more a matter of interior usage than any real re-design. Tomorrow we can take the truck to the lumberyard and buy what we need. We’ve saved all summer for this, but the budget is still tight. Dave and I are still bickering about who will do the plumbing and wiring -- he has trade school friends who will give him a discount, and I’m still adamant that I don’t want people who know either of us doing the work. Before you know it we’ll have folks just dropping by, and there’ll be an end to my peaceful life -- what’s left of it after twink, Owen, and whichever passing boy who feels like it just lands on the porch. “Stop being grouchy, sir,” says Dave. “They visit because they like you. It’s called having friends.” “The group is one thing, but outsiders or,” I pause and shudder, “family is another. What if you’re all tied up and gagged? And I like being able to stash lube wherever I want it.” “But we’ll have a dungeon -- um -- our room for all that and no one will just walk in. And it’s my home, too -- I want my friends and family to be able to visit me.” “I want to be able to fuck you on the porch,” I snap. “Think how you’d feel if your mom and dad show up and you’re on your knees with my cock in your mouth.” “You’re the one who said the risk of getting caught is half the fun.” “That was about fucking by the creek, not being surprised in my own damn home.” Shit. I’m shouting. Dave gives me a look. “You are so damn territorial, John. For someone who wants me to be okay with him fucking other boys, you’re mighty possessive.” “So that’s the real issue, is it? You agreed, Dave, and you get to fuck them, too.”

God damn it. How do we end up arguing like this? Dave has his truck keys in his hands and is whistling for Ghia. “Sir, I think we need a few hours apart. I’m going to town.” He gives me a peck on the check. “I love you, John Fell.” “Love you, too,” I grumble, and shove my hands in my pockets as he leaves. Fuck. I act as if I’m fifteen around him. I keep working -- it calms me down. But I am mad. I cherish my privacy, and Dave doesn’t seem to get how precious it is to have this space. The rest of the world is full of normal expectations; I just want our cabin to be for us. Since Dave is gone, I step inside to get a cold one so I miss the arrival of the truck that jolts up the track. Hell. If Dave were here I could point out that this proves my fucking point. It’s his dad. How the hell did he find us? The cabin’s not easy to find the first time. If Dave gave him directions, I’ll -oh, wait. Dave got his dad a GPS thingy for his birthday. Well, it’s still his fault. Dave’s dad climbs out of the truck and crosses over the scrubby bit of grass between us. “Fell,” he says. “Rass,” I reply. I hold up the beer bottle. “Want one?” “Yup. Dave home?” “Nope. Just missed him.” We sit on the porch steps in silence, and sip some beer. Rass was never one for much conversation when we worked together, but he’d had my back when I got called fag on site. He won over a hundred dollars betting on me against the asshole in an arm wrestling match. “So, this is where my boy lives now. We’ve been waiting on him to ask us over.” I bite my tongue to not say, “he’s my boy” and just nod. “We’re trying to get it fixed up before we have company.” My stomach flips. I think I just outted my boy with pronouns. Rass squints into the sun for a moment and takes another swig. “He said you were building on a second bedroom. Do I take that to mean there’s only one now?” Heh, looks like my boy has accidentally outted us already. Still, I know his parents know and are just waiting for Dave to tell them. He’s in denial that they know and won’t believe me, but hell, his mom labels everything she sends over “Dave and John” and we’re both invited to Thanksgiving. She’s already got me saying yes ma’am, no ma’am to her on the phone. Rass knows his son’s “room-mate” is gay, and still sent out a full-sized Stars and Stripes flag for Dave as a housewarming present when he passed his apprentice exams. It was a fancy one, too -- sewn

stripes and embroidered stars and no polyester. About as clear a “you’ve settled down” as you can get in a man like Rass’s eyes. “Yup,” I say. “My boy don’t sleep on the sofa, I suppose?” “Nope.” He sighs. “Well, all right then.” “He plans on telling you.” Rass snorts. “That boy. Cindy’s all but told him we know. It’s driving her crazy that he don’t trust us.” “I’ve been telling him to man up,” I reply. “But I can’t make him do anything.” I hide a grin about that big old lie as I swallow more beer, but I really can’t make him come out. “He’s a stubborn one. Like his mom.” Rass picks at his beer label. “Cindy says she knows your mom.” “Step-mom. Mama P married my dad last year.” “Cindy speaks well of her.” I nod. “Yeah, she’s a fine woman. Except for being blind enough to love my dad.” I look into the woods. “He’s not quite as, uh, open as you and Mrs. Rasmussen.” Rass puts down his empty beer. “Dave’s our boy. I don’t know what he could do to change that or make us stop loving him.” I take a risk. “I second that. You raised a good man.” Rass and I ignore each other for a moment. “You got a roofer lined up for that addition?” “Nope.” “I had a job fall through this coming week. Is it ready for a roof yet?” “Take a look.” Rass and I get back on familiar ground as I show him the plans and site. He’s implied pretty strongly that he’ll do the roof, but I’m not sure what he’s intending.

He’s started drawing on his worksheet and crunching numbers. “I’ll be back on Tuesday then with a crew and materials. Tell Dave he’d better be ready for a talk with his momma when he comes to lunch tomorrow.” “Right. Uh, thanks.” Rass grins. “Cindy sent me. She couldn’t stand it any longer. You’ll be coming to Sunday lunches soon, bud.” He’s walking back to the truck as he speaks, and looks back over his shoulder. “Roof’s from me and Cindy since we don’t have a wedding and crap to deal with.” He bangs the door and drives away before I can say a word. Fuck. I pop open another beer and down it fast. I really want a scotch, but I’m trying hard to keep that for special. I have a father-in-law. And a mother-in-law. I am fucking screwed. This might be the most expensive roof in creation. Dave takes the news quietly when he gets home a few hours later. “Oh shit,” he whispers every few minutes as he wanders around the job site picking up and putting things down. He finally settles, and says, “You told me they knew.” I summon up a grin. “Yeah, I can at least get an ‘I told you so’ out of this.” Dave sighs. “I guess it was inevitable, huh, sir?” “Yeah. But see my point about people just showing up?” Dave nods. “Oh, but sir, look!” He dumps out the contents of the Radio Shack bag I’ve been studiously ignoring. I’ve been working hard recently on not bitching about how he spends his walking around money. “What is it?” He babbles and I finally understand he’s going to rig up an early warning device at the bottom of the track. He’s building it himself and using a web cam and a motion sensor or something or other. I’m already getting lost. The bottom line is that anything bigger than Ghia coming up our track will sound an alarm in the cabin and on the porch, and that Dave’s laptop will show a picture of what triggered it. “Set it a few yards up the track,” I suggest. “You get a few lost drivers making a turn in the mouth of the track. We don’t want getting woken up by them.” Dave nods. “Do we ever get deer, sir?”

“Not enough to care about false alarms. They usually stay back in the woods nearer the creek, and across the creek on the Mullins’ land.” Dave ponders a minute. “Can me and Dad hunt out here this winter?” “I guess. What does he use?” “He has a bow and a .243 Winchester.” I grin. My dad always said that was a woman’s rifle, but then he never hit a damn thing in all the seasons he fancied himself a hunter. “And Mom hates him bringing stuff home, so we can have all the deer meat. I know how to do the field dressing. And I make awesome deer burgers!” I suppose having a father-in-law who can put on a roof and fill the freezer with venison could be something I can live with. Dave’s already adjusting. Of course, he still has to face his mom. Dave puts his electronics back in the bag, and returns to helping with the construction. “Was Dad pissed?” he asks after a bit. “Some. It was okay, though. I think he was mostly mad that your mom made him visit, and that you didn’t come out of your own accord.” “Oh.” “Yeah. Oh. He was very cool about it in fact.” Dave passes me the nails I need, and chews his lip. “Dad has a gay uncle he really likes. And Mama P said Mom is friends with all the gay guys at the hospital.” I nod, and let him keep talking. “Oh no! Mom will be like a PFLAG mom and wear buttons and go all Sharon Gless on me!” I blink at him -- my hands are full or I’d swat him -- and ask, “What the hell are talking about, boy?” He explains at painful length while I keep working. Talking seems to help him, so all I do is nod, hammer, and ask for more lumber and nails. He seems to be worried now that his mom will be too supportive. “Don’t be ungrateful, boy.”

“No, sir, but, well. It is a bit too good to be true.” I give a positive guffaw. “Shit, boy, that’s my role.” Dave looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I get it now. Good things are worrying. I mean a new roof? How does Dad know we won’t break up?” “He doesn’t. He’s showing trust in his son.” Dave moans. “Aw, man. And before he didn’t want me living away from home.” “That was when you were eighteen. You’ve shown them in the last two years that you’re a good kid. You don’t go to bars or out clubbing and you’ve earned a great job. They have no reason not to trust your judgment.” “I’m a goody-two shoes,” says Dave mournfully. “No, you’re a boy with a sir.” “I am! Do you think they know why I’m good?” I put down my hammer and peer down at him from my ladder. “Because they raised you right, you nitwit. I love you because your parents raised a good son.” Even Dave’s scalp goes red. He passes me more nails, and scuffs his feet. “Yeah, but, I like getting beaten and fucked.” “No parent wants to know about the bedroom, boy, so we’re no different there. They raised a boy who thinks service is a good thing. Nothing wrong with that. You’ve done charity work, and you told me the motor pool in the army was a dream except for ‘don’t ask’ -- and knowing your place is to serve and help isn’t bad.” He sighs. “Okay, sir. It’s true, I like working down the ladder, not being the boss.” “Not so fast, Dave, you’re an excellent right hand. You run the boys for me and you do it well.” Dave shrugs. “I guess. I always thought being a sergeant of some sort would be about right.” “Rinnie called you drill sergeant when he stayed.” Dave gets his smile back at that. He likes Rinnie a lot even if he does still have spasms of jealousy about me fucking the boys. I’m getting anxious about what he might ask for when we re-do our contract. We’ve been re-upping our temporary one for the last year, but we’re getting close to a permanent one if we can agree on the details. I’m just as anxious about what I’ll ask for. More and more, I’m realizing that what I want from Dave isn’t anything like what Rob and I

had. I can’t imagine Dave reciting my favorite sonnet or even wearing a collar, but what are we to do? I’m a sir to the bone. Well, nothing to do now, but to keep building our room. There’s a row of new rooms enclosing the side of the cabin, and new porch extensions enfold each end. I turn and survey our domain, and feel a mighty rush of love and pride for my boy and the home he’s helping me build. Our private room is only accessible through our new bedroom which has a bathroom of its own, and then there’s a small computer room for Dave to hole up in with his DVDs and games. I still have my study and my old bedroom can be a guest room. There’s plenty of room for boys in the old laundry room bunk beds and the sleeping loft over the chimney. It’ll be fucking palatial. I’m still scratching my head over plumbing, wiring and heat, but no doubt I’ll crumble and let Dave’s buddies have the contract. It is his home, too.

Chapter 8 “It’s my home, too!” hisses Dave. “You could ask first,” I whisper back. “Fuck, Dave. She’s a girl!” “Duh! She wouldn’t be pregnant if she was a boy. And you’d have said ‘no’ if I asked.” “You little--” Dave has marched out of the kitchen area, back to the sofa, carrying the glass of milk and some of his mom’s oatmeal cookies. “Here you are, Casey, you stay there, and John and I will bring your bags in.” Casey balances her plate of cookies on her belly and wipes her nose and eyes. “Thank you, Dave! Thank you, Dr. Fell. I’m so grateful. I--” I don’t hear more; I’m already on the porch. Dave comes out behind me and goes over to his truck. I am going to beat him so fucking hard when we get alone. “It’s my home, too, John. I invited my friend Casey to stay. We have a spare room now, and her parents threw her out. You should have some sympathy for that.” Dave pulls out her belongings. I feel a stab of shame when I see her stuff is in plastic grocery bags. “But,” I say weakly. Dave shoves several bags into my arms. “Don’t you do your ’phobe thing, sir. She’s Bill’s girlfriend, and they were both your students.” “How does teaching them developmental English mean I’m their unwed mothers’ home?” Dave almost snarls at me. “They’re my friends, John. Don’t be an asshole. You take in boys all the time. It’s only for a week while Bill stays in town and finds them an apartment. Casey can’t be expected to apartment hunt right now -- she feels ill and she’s really upset about her parents.” “Can’t she stay with her girlfriends?” “Her mom will bully her if she stays with people her mom knows about.” “With your mom?”

“No, sir. Mom and I are good again after she chewed my ear off last month about not coming out, but I haven’t earned any favors from her yet. Casey needs someone familiar to stay with, and that’s me. Her friend.” He all but throws another bag at me, then takes a deep breath and visibly controls himself. “And you know she must be desperate if she’s willing to stay with mean Dr. Fell! You made her cry about sentence diagrams, remember?” “Just a week,” I say firmly as I balance the stack of bags and hold it down with my chin. “I mean it, Dave. Don’t you do another Ghia on me.” Dave chortles. “No, sir. Thank you.” Casey and Ghia are asleep on the sofa together when we get inside. I feel shitty for being so unwelcoming. Even my dog is a better host than me. I put her bags in my old room, and bring out mom’s afghan to put over her. Dave gives me such a look that I am ashamed all over again that such a simple act makes him so proud of me. We retreat into my study and Dave gives me the whole sad story about Bill and Casey and their outraged parents. “They’ll come around,” says Dave sounding unsure. “No one can resist a grandbaby, right?” I shrug. “Damn,” says Dave. “I guess you could.” “Me having a grandbaby is so fucking unlikely, boy! I don’t like children, and I’ve never even-” I break off. Dave’s not above sharing my secrets with twink if he thinks they’re funny enough. “Never even what?” asks Dave. Oh fuck. He’ll never let this drop. I change the subject, and ask how far along Casey is. Damn, that was a tactical error. Dave knows I must be desperate to hide something if I’m asking about female stuff. He hounds me mercilessly. “Shut up, boy! You are getting such a thrashing. And no thinking you can hide behind Casey. We have a private workroom now, remember? And I will gag you.” Dave pauses. “Casey is six months, sir, and you’ve never what? If you’re thrashing me anyway, I-- ow!” “Don’t wake her up, boy.” Dave rubs his butt where I’ve snapped my ruler against him. “Never what, sir?” “You’re incorrigible, boy.”

He smiles sweetly. How the hell am I so wrapped around his finger? I am my dad. “You know I’ll find out, sir.” “Never even kissed a girl,” I say wearily. Dave bugs his eyes at me. “Sir! You’re a virgin!” “Oh hush up, boy. I never even tried to like girls, okay? I knew I was gay in grade school and I never let worrying about sex mess with my plans to get out of town. Unlike Bill and Casey,” I add gratuitously. “And if twink or anyone else learns this then you’ll wish…” I trail off, unable to think of anything threatening enough that won’t make Dave collapse into the belly laugh I see him suppressing. Dave tugs me down onto the futon that’s still crammed into my study. He plans to put it in his computer room once he’s finished networking the room. He pins me. Hell, I can’t get over that my boy is bigger and stronger than me. He kisses my mouth. “Sir, it’ll all be fine. We have our new rooms all finished, so Casey can have her own room and bathroom. Bill will come out tomorrow and make plans with Casey. You won’t have to deal with anything girly or the baby. And Sunday, Ben and twink are visiting so that’ll help!” “Help? In what fucking universe is twink visiting a pregnant girl help?” Dave kisses me hard again. “Sir. Just go with the flow. Let me be the person rescuing someone, okay? It’s not a big deal. This time next week, we’ll be back to normal and getting ready for your Ronnie guy’s visit, and for Thanksgiving with mom and dad.” *** Dave’s gone into town to get Bill, and I’m home alone with Casey. Dave’s left me Ghia, “In case the dangerous pregnant girl attacks you, sir.” Little bastard. Bill and Casey’s dilemma is made worse by neither of them having their own transportation. I guess they do need a friend like Dave. I give Casey an anxious smile and offer her some tea. When she was my student, I thought she was a very quiet guy up until the moment she burst into tears when I said “sentence diagram” and Bill comforted her. She is butch, to be fair to myself, and kept a baseball cap on the whole time. I think I gave her a D for the class. Oh well. She’s giving me a nervous smile back. She scratches Ghia’s head, and goes watery eyed.

“I had to leave Fargo behind. He’s a pointer. I hope Bill can find us an apartment that lets us have a dog.” She gulps. “As well as a baby.” We sit at the kitchen table, and I avert my eyes from her bump. I feel panicky. Dave is going to ride me over this, but I think I really might be freaked. “I’m sure he’ll do his best.” Casey sighs. “Yeah, but we’re broke. We’ll have to take what we can get. I’d hate for Bill to take a quarter off to work. It’s too hard to go back if you do. And who’ll hire me?” She shoves her bangs out of her eyes. “I dropped out, Dr. Fell.” “Because of…” Fuck. I can’t even say “baby”. She nods. “Yeah, and because I hated it!” I give her a sharp look. Dave would say I’m being all misogynistic -- I regret teaching him that word -- but the thought has occurred to me that this is her way out of a situation she was unhappy in. I try to think of a neutral question that might give me a clue. “Do you plan on working after?” “Hell, yeah! I’d go nuts staying home all day while Bill works -- whatever mom says about working women. I can’t be all stay at home depending on my man. That’s so--” She stops and puts her hand to her mouth. “Oops, sorry, Dr. Fell. I didn’t mean…” She trails off, and I frown to hide my puzzlement. “Bill said -- wait, no, I meant,” she tries again. “Um, you’re not -- oh fuck.” No wonder she never spoke in class. A bubble of mirth and outrage are fighting it out in my poor brain as I process what she didn’t say. “Cookie?” I say weakly to give myself breathing space. Holy shit. Casey and Bill think I’m the stay at home wife since Dave goes off to work and is bigger than me. Part of me wants to upside whoever put such stereotypes into their heads, and part of me wants to mess with Dave when he gets home with Bill. Casey is chain-eating cookies to avoid talking, and I make some more tea. I watch her sideways as I work. My brain is dredging up the papers she wrote for me. And Bill’s. A funny mix of small town morals and reaching for something more as I recall. Good kids -- they really are Dave’s friends despite what their parents no doubt say about gays -- just trapped in this town. I remember being young here. Pure hell. I sit back down, and turn on my company manners. I can do small talk; I just don’t often see the point. Casey has relaxed and is chatting nicely by the time Dave and Bill get back. I’ve managed to weave in that I work at the county jail now instead of the college, and I watch her process that information. I don’t mess with Dave when he gets back, but I do suppress a desire to call him Ward Cleaver or offer him a martini or something.

Bill gives me a half-proud, half-embarrassed smile, and gives Casey an awkward hug. I watch them closely. They don’t act like they’re in love, but then again they’re miserable right now. “Feel free to use my study if you want some privacy,” I say, giving Dave my best “see, I am being nice” look. “Thanks, Dr. Fell,” mumbles Bill and holds out his hand to Casey. God, they look young as they head into my study. I know Dave is the same age, but he seems so much more mature. Oh. I change my mind. He’s cramming a whole hot dog bun with only a dill pickle as a filling into his mouth. “What?” he says, mouth full. “I’m hungry.” “Disgusting brat. Come on -- yard work. Then you can have some time with your car.” Dave gives an unholy grin. “And I can give you another bike maintenance lesson.” Crap. Well, I’d best man up. Engines and electronics just confuse me, though. Perhaps I have a learning disability. For some reason that makes me chuckle, and I’m reasonably content while I rake some leaves and Dave careens around on the ancient lawn tractor that he’s restored. Casey and Bill have moved out on the porch, and I amble over. Dave’s putting his beloved tractor into the shed, so I get to admire Casey’s minuscule diamond chip engagement ring all on my own. Bill holds her hand tenderly. “It ain’t much, but I’ll get you a better one, baby, once we get set. Dr. Fell, sir, can I leave Casey with you a week? There’s a studio apartment coming empty at the end of the month. It has a foldout bed and the baby can sleep in a crib by us so it’ll be okay.” Casey looks like she’s going to cry again. “No pets,” she mumbles. “Sorry, baby, but your folks like Fargo. He’ll be okay.” Casey looks like she’d rather have her dog than the baby and a single room with Bill. I think I’m with her on that -- not that Bill’s a bad catch. “Sure, you can stay Casey.” I think I said that graciously enough. Thank God Dave didn’t hear about Fargo. He’d have invited the damn dog, too. Casey has blanched and sets off inside quickly. “Ain’t just the mornings,” says Bill. “Or just the early months either for her.”

She has her own bathroom, I think frantically. Man, I’m a worm. And no sign of rescue from Dave. He’s still in the garage. He must have gotten distracted by his car. I did say he could work on it after the yard work, but Bill’s his friend, he should be having this conversation, not me. I motion to Bill and we sit on the porch steps. I don’t want to be a shit-stirrer, but fuck, they look so trapped. “Are you sure about this, Bill?” Bill hangs his head. “Dad says I should man up and take the dry-wall job he found me, and he’s right, but, shit, Dr. F, I’ve just got the hang of college. I’ve started my major, and I’m getting into it. I really think I can have a good shot in the Criminal Justice program.” He swallows. “There I go, talking about me first again. Mom says that’s all I do. But Casey, well, hell, she hates college, and she was going to leave anyway as soon as she could figure how to get her parents to agree. She ain’t doing this to get out of school. Hell, sir, if she liked school, that girl would keep on going with a baby on her lap.” “What does she want?” I ask, fighting the urge to give Bill a hug. Just a manly one. He’s not my type. “Hell if either us know, but she don’t really want to be a mom -- not yet. We’re too young. We like each other but…” “So what happened?” Bill grimaces. “We was drunk, and hanging out. You know. Wondered if since we was best buds if we should be together. Casey was all bummed out ’cause the guy she had her eye on called her a dyke ’cause she looks so mannish and all. And I felt bad for her.” He gulps, and gallantly adds, “Not like it was a mercy fuck or nothing, Dr. Fell.” Then he gets all flustered at having said all that to me, his remedial English teacher. “You planning on being a cop, Bill?” “Yeah, or maybe Sheriff’s Department.” I nod. “You’ll be good at it. You’re an honorable kid, Bill, but don’t let you and Casey make each other miserable with both of you doing what you think the other wants.” “What else can we do except get married?” I smother a smile. Poor small town boy. He is a good kid. “Well, Bill, something might come along. In the meantime, think hard about what you both want as well as what your folks say is right.” He snorts. “Dr. F, that’s all we’ve been doing. And Dave and I have hashed this out a hundred times.”

“I bet, but don’t let your parents’ ideas over-rule you.” I pause; I don’t share personal stuff much, but this seems to warrant it. “Listen, my parents ‘had to’ get married, and, well, I reckon my dad never forgave me for spoiling his romance with mom.” Bill gives me an amazed look. “Your pa was jealous of a baby? Dude, that’s…” He swallows. “Uh, lame.” I doubt that’s what he really meant to say, but sure enough Dad resented me for as far back as I can remember. No wonder I have no siblings. The gay had nothing to do with it -- it was just fuel. He kept adoring Mom but, fuck, jealous of a kid? “Yeah, Bill, lame, but my point is that getting married isn’t always the best thing to do.” Bill looks scandalized. “Dr. F! Six months along is far to-- ” “Not what I’m saying, bud. Although, how did she get to six before this all blew up? Wait, never mind, I don’t want to know. Look, you two don’t have to raise the kid.” “I can’t bail on her!” I put my head in my hands. No wonder he had to sweat to pass my class. “Bill, you and Casey put the brat up for adoption.” My patience is slipping, and I feel bad. “Our baby,” says Bill stonily. “Not the brat. Dr. F, we wanted to, but our parents-- ” “It’s not their decision or their lives,” I interrupt. “Besides, they lost any right to dictate as soon as they threw Casey out. And you’re both twenty.” “Casey wanted to find a home for it herself,” he mumbles. “Like an open adoption? So she could choose the parents and visit.” “And you?” He nods. “Yeah. But now I’ve fucking proposed to her.” I laugh. “Aw, dude, she doesn’t want to marry you any more than you want to marry her. That part is easy. Why don’t you go in and start talking to her about what type of person you’d like to have raise your child? We can research the steps later.” Bill looks exhausted, but he nods. I can see some hope in his face as he stands up. “Fucking breeders,” I mutter, just to vent as I remember the earful I got from twink about my attitude, as I go to find Dave.

I report to Dave while he patiently shows me how to do something else mysterious and vital to my bike. He gives me an engine-oily smooch and calls me a big old marshmallow-Dom. He is going to get such a damn thrashing. *** “She’s asleep, sir,” whispers Dave, tiptoeing away from Casey’s door. “Then get in the workroom and strip off, boy.” Dave dashes along the corridor that runs down the side of his computer room and into our bedroom. I hear the workroom’s door lock being hastily worked. “Control yourself, boy!” I catch up, and Dave is already neatly, and less frantically, folding his jeans and putting them on his weight bench. He’s smiling -- not his big old grin, but an anticipatory glowing smile. “Cross, sir?” I look around our room, and then nod. It’s tempting to bind him to his weight bench, spank him, and fuck him, but he deserves a full on St. Andrew’s session. I take my time securing him and tease him between buckling each limb with some caresses from the whip’s leather ends. I stroke slowly and let each of the quirt’s falls tickle him. Mike sent it to us when he heard I’d finally moved in a boy of my own. It’s some of his finest handiwork, and Dave loves it. He’s begging to be gagged by the time he’s secured. I kiss his mouth and he kisses back. His tongue is yielding to mine, though, as he’s already sinking down into his subspace. I rub his shoulders and kiss his ear as he settles his head into a good position. I hear him faintly whisper, “Pass over me and through me,” and know he’s reciting that crazy-assed Bene Gesserit sci-fi shit he loves. Well, it’s his flight; I’m just the guide when I send boys on these journeys. I work the gag in tenderly, and then tighten it with a sharp tug, and Dave gives a muffled yelp. “Show me your safe move.” Dave taps three times with his left fingers. “Good boy. You remember the consequences for being macho and subverting the experience?” He taps his right fingers twice. That was a tough lesson for him to learn about not abusing his safe word. Unlike spoiled Kyle, whose nickname among the boys is “Crying Wolf” for his excessive safe word use, Dave will wait too long to use his.

“Good. Now you settle in and wait.” Dave loves anticipation, so I wander off to the bedroom, and read an article in Corrections Today. There’s some interesting reading material in the break room at the jail. Not so interesting that I forget my boy, of course, and I can always see him through the door. I lower the lights in the workroom -- having a dimmer switch in a cabin, how fucking decadent -and swing the whip from the doorway before Dave reacts to the light change. He bucks against the frame, and my prick jerks in response. Hell, I love my boy. I take my time giving Dave his thrashing. I circle the cross every so often so I can check his face and tease his cock some. I pace the blows unhurriedly, but I maintain a rhythm to keep Dave in his headspace. He’s breathing well, and, although he’s hard, he’s not trying to frot the cross. This bit isn’t about getting off for him -- although he’ll want that once he’s released. He’s looking angelic -- well, angelic to me -- with his rapturous face, sweaty brow, damp curls, and welted back and ass. His fingers are still splayed flat against the wood and giving no signs of even twitching. He’s lying still under the slow, heavy blows. I change pace and move to lighter, faster flicks on the back of his thighs, and now he does start to jerk around. He’s moaning behind his gag. I slip a condom onto the whip handle, lube it up, and slide it into Dave’s ass. He threshes around and the two lash ends dance against his calves and ankles. I stand back and watch. I rub my cock through my jeans. I don’t exactly need to keep myself fluffed with that display, but I can’t help touching myself. Dave’s hips slow, and then stop their frantic motion, and then he begins a leisurely bump and grind that flaunts the whip obscenely. I hurry over and snap the quick releases on his ankles, then wrists, and guide my smutty boy to his hands and knees. He looks so fine with his mouth stretched around the gag and his ass filled with the whip. I need to get off, but I can’t bear to empty his mouth or ass. “Crawl for me, boy.” Dave crawls around the room, and I unzip and start jerking myself off as I watch his ass and thighs work, and his cock sway and drip under him. He’s shaking his head and moaning, but he doesn’t pause in his journey at all. I snap my fingers as I feel my vision blur, and he scoots over just in time to get my load in his face and over his back. I bite my lip not to yell and wake Ghia or Casey. Dave is butting his face into my thighs and rubbing against my balls and shrinking dick. “Patience, boy.” I rub my come into his skin, and take my time watching it dry and flake on him in the warm air. “Kneel up.” His prick sticks straight out at me, and I rub his slick head for a moment before having him kneewalk over to his workout bench, and lean face up across its width with his back arched and knees on the ground. The whip handle is just below the edge of the seat. His body quivers like a strung bow and I run my hand over his belly. He puts his hands there for a second to protect himself and I slap them away.

“If you want to come, keep still.” Dave gurgles behind his gag, and then groans when I lick his prick. I tease around the head for awhile with just my tongue, and then take pity with some proper cocksucking timed to thrusts of the whip handle. Behind his gag, Dave sounds like Ghia in a thunderstorm: a high, thin whine interspersed with panting. As soon as I feel a spasm, I reach up and twist his nipple hard, and he shoots. And, since I do love my boy, I keep his cock in my mouth and swallow. I keep his gag on him until we’re in bed and about to turn out the light. “I don’t want conversation spoiling the mood, boy.” Dave nods, and when his mouth is free, he meekly kisses me and stays quiet. *** Dave’s gone into town for Sunday lunch with his parents and to pick up Bill. As I expect, I get a call from his mom scolding me for not coming, but I explain we have a guest. As she hangs up, I hear her starting to tell Dave off for not inviting our guest to lunch as well. Dave gets his tenaciousness from her all right. Casey’s napping on the porch swing. She’s calmer now that she and Bill have agreed to have their child adopted, and have gotten un-engaged, but the poor girl is still having a rough time. Only dry crackers, gentle rocking, and Ghia’s company seem to be doing much for her. Perhaps I should cancel twink and Ben’s dinner visit. When Dave and Bill get back, they veto the idea. “Casey and I want to talk to Ben, Dr. Fell. Dave says he’s a lawyer. He can help us figure out adoption, right?” “Well, yeah, I guess.” “Of course he can,” says Dave cheerfully. “And Charlie says he helped you find a home for Jamie.” “Not quite the same situation,” I say, giving Dave a hard glare both for being indiscreet and for gossiping with twink. Unperturbed, Dave continues. “Ben has lots of contacts! I bet he could find a great couple who’d love to adopt your baby.” Casey has woken up, and is looking at us expectantly. “Oh, good word choice John,” I mutter. Bill looks at me, puzzled.

“John’s always talking to himself,” says Dave, and gives me a smirk that’s got to be worth five riding crop swats all on its own. “Have you found someone to help us, Dr. F?” asks Casey, and she looks so hopeful that I nod. “Uh, yeah. Ben’s a lawyer, and so is our friend Pete,” I add, suddenly feeling the need for reinforcements. “Dave, why don’t you call and see if Pete and Owen can come out for dinner, too?” And, oh boy, am I ever glad we called in more troops when I see the gleam in twink’s eye as he hurtles up the cabin pathway and skids to a halt in front of Casey. Ben is already looking worn down as he follows. “Hi Dr. Fell,” twink gasps perfunctorily. Then he sticks out his hand to Casey, and says, “Hi, I’m Charlie, and I’m gonna make sure your baby gets everything it needs!”

Chapter 9 The porch is chaos for a bit. Casey and Bill have never met anyone as gay as twink before or spoken socially to anyone as professional as Ben, so they are rather quiet. The chaos is all twinkgenerated. He’s babbling up a storm next to Casey on the swing, and has already decided where she should register for baby gifts and where she should have the brat and... Dave’s not helping. In fact he’s just grinning, the little shit. Ben looks shell-shocked. Before I have to do anything, Pete’s car arrives. He’s finally got Owen to move in with him, but they haven’t done anything about a contract or Owen being a member of the group. Good thing for Owen really, or I’d do something about his damn feet. He has on pink flip-flops and his toenails have a French manicure. Or at least that’s what mom always called those white-ended nails. I am officially boggled. Casey and Bill don’t seem to notice amid all the greetings and twink’s squawking. Owen redeems himself by opening the cooler he and Pete brought -- lots of ginger ale for Casey to sip and some beers for the rest of us. Twink gets himself an iced tea, and Dave grudgingly has one, too. He can’t get over how set I am on his not drinking until he’s twenty-one. Pete steers the conversation to practical matters, and Ben joins in now that a fellow lawyer is present. Casey and Bill ask some sensible questions, and twink keeps fussing over Casey. I swear he’s about to rub her feet for her. Owen is keeping out of the discussion, and I think he’s trying to flirt with Dave. I assume he’s just teasing Pete, but I glower nonetheless. I catch him offering Dave a surreptitious sip of his beer. My boy refuses. Twink is getting antsy at the lack of his input into the professional conversation. “Ben, we could--” “Quiet, Charlie!” Ben all but snarls. I can tell he avoided a “boy” in straight company by the skin of his dick. As it is, Casey and Bill look disconcerted. Twink quivers, and then flounces into the cabin. Owen follows, and after a meaningful stare from me, so does Dave. I don’t want twink and Owen hyping each other up -- Dave will be a calming influence. As it is I hear twink wail “if he does that, how does Ben think I can look like a--” before my boy’s voice drowns him out. Ben moans, and Pete covers by asking a legal question. Casey and Bill are a bit intimidated by him -- even in his off duty clothes Pete is rather shark-slick -- but they are taking the chance for free legal advice. I beckon Ben aside. “What’s going on?”

Ben give me a look full of despair, and suddenly I get how he’s felt looking at me the last few years. “Charlie wants to adopt their kid. Shit -- John -- help!” “Fuck!” Not the most helpful of replies, I know, but I’m stymied. Ben is pale, and I walk him around to the side porch so we can be private. “Breathe, Ben.” He gulps several times, and then hiccups as he swallows too much air. I pass him my beer, and he drinks. I manage to get my head together. When I’ve had my anklebiter rants around twink before, Ben’s not been as anti-brat as I’d expected. “Uh, do you want this?” He’s silent for a moment and then says, “Charlie does.” “I said you, Ben.” He shrugs. “Aw, John. It’d make him so happy.” “It’s not a fucking puppy,” I snarl, amazed at the force of my anger on behalf of Casey’s child. Ben gives me a scowl. “I know. And, no, I don’t want it. I want to make Charlie happy. He deserves something -- he’s really got his shit together these days -- but hell, a kid would take away everything that makes our relationship work.” Ben leans back against the outer wall of the workroom Dave and I built together. He looks as if he’ll slide down. “I should never have told Charlie I’d like to be a dad.” I cough hard to avoid calling Ben a fucking idiot. “Uh, no, that might have been a mistake.” “I meant in the abstract,” moans Ben. “The idea of being a father. Having an heir. Or you know, donating to some dykes or something.” He shakes his head. “Not having a child live with us.” “You have to stop this before he gets hurt, then.” “Too late. He’s already got himself convinced Casey will say ‘yes’. I’ve been trying to talk him out of it, but I can’t convince him. Shit, John. I don’t want to cause Charlie pain.” We both brood for a bit about how to cushion the blow for twink. A distant part of me thinks it’s funny: two smart doms helpless in the face of causing a silly sub pain, but I can’t even manage a wry, ironic smirk. I don’t want Ben or Charlie to suffer, and it looks like one, or more likely both of them, are going to be hurting soon.

“You have to tell him, Ben. Not persuade. Tell. I’ll head Casey and Bill off from asking. And I’ll give Pete the heads up to steer them away, too. He may have some candidate parents in mind.” “Oh, please, fuck yes,” mutters Ben. “John, should I do it now? I mean, with others around?” “I don’t think it’ll make much difference to twink, but perhaps we should protect Casey from his reaction.” Ben nods. “It’ll ruin us one way or the other.” “He’ll get over it.” I bite back saying that Ben could always buy him a poodle. That’d make me just as jerky as my dad. Ben shoves himself upright from the wall and goes back round the corner to join Pete. I head in the other direction to talk to the boys in the kitchen. Dave’s got his stormy face on under his company manners. I’ll be in the doghouse for sending him in with twink and Owen later. “--and then you can use a blender to make baby food from your own dinner!” says twink triumphantly. He beams at me. “Hi Dr. Fell! I was just telling Dave and Owen--” “Quiet boy! You’ll give us all a headache. Casey needs calm. And I thought Ben said you gave him food poisoning last week?” “That was an accident! I forgot about the mayo sitting out, and, well, anyway, Ben is sending me to cooking classes so it’ll all be fine, and I will be really careful with cleaning stuff for the baby!” “Twink! Shut up! Calm, I said. Don’t get Casey’s hopes up, okay? It won’t be fair to her if you can’t do this. This isn’t a friendly state you know even though--” I anticipate his next line, “Ben is a brilliant lawyer and Pete will help. Two men adopting round here isn’t easy.” I pause and gentle my tone. “And you do have a record, boy, as well as the rehab.” Twink flushes, and gives Owen a look. Fuck. I think I just outted him. I assumed they all knew about twink’s addiction, but Owen doesn’t look bothered. In fact, he looks bored. He’s admiring his own toe nails, and giving Dave bishie-boy looks. Curse Tommy and his yaoi books. Still at least twink is temporarily de-railed even if my boy is being flirted with. I need a conversation with Pete about his boy. “Dave, take Ghia for a run. She’s been really good, but she’s going to get stressed with all these people. Twink, come on back out, but remember what I said: don’t lead Casey on. Ben and Pete need to do a lot of legal research yet.” I think I walked that line okay. Twink’s looking subdued but isn’t wailing, Dave’s loping across the yard with his pup, and Owen is just giving me a sassy look as he follows twink to the front porch. I grab some animal crackers for Casey. I bet she’ll need them to go with her ginger ale.

There’s more chaos for a bit -- not all twink related -- Owen gets the giggles over the animal crackers. Since Dave ‘fesses up that they are his and his mom sends them out to go in his lunch box, I forgive him for looking sulky and for only giving Ghia a quick romp. I’d have taken the chance to disappear into the woods, but Dave wants to know what’s going on. Pete and Ben are good lawyers and work well as an off-the-cuff team. In no time, they’ve got Casey and Bill agreeing they’ll take their time to consider a variety of offers for private adoption. Twink gives Ben a betrayed look, but stays quiet. Pete doesn’t even flicker an eyelid when he says he has a list of several couples who live a few hours drive away. They’re all close enough for Casey and Bill to visit, but not on the doorstep either. I think Pete’s lying about having them now, but I know he will provide them before the week is out. “Are they, uh, men couples, Mr. Cole?” asks Casey. I know she doesn’t want to insult any of us, but it is a fair question, and she hasn’t said she doesn’t want them included. “Some are,” says Pete blandly. “They’re a bit more advanced legally across the state border. There’ll be fewer problems there. And I’ll run background checks on them all so no surprises.” Twink flushes. “Okay, Charlie,” says Ben. “Time for us to head out. We both have work tomorrow.” “Yeah,” says twink. He gives Casey his best adorable face -- which is cute, but not exactly convincing parent material -- and then trots off to Ben’s car. Ben gives Pete and me a meaningful nod, shakes Bill’s hand, and smiles at Casey. “Let us know if you need any help later on, honey.” She blinks, and then smiles at him. She gets it. And I think she’s relieved not to have to tell twink he won’t be having her baby. I rub my forehead. Christ, that was a fucked up sentence. Owen is looking bored again. I liked him before he was Pete’s, but now he’s moved in he’s getting a real attitude. If I had any authority over him, I’d... okay, something else that’s not my problem. Pete seems to like his boy all girly and bratty, and I have to stop looking for trouble. I’ve got plenty right here. God, I must be tired, for a second I thought I heard Tommy’s voice caterwauling “Right here in River City!” At least I don’t have singing boys to contend with anymore. Pete and Owen offer Bill a ride back to town, and, to my relief, he accepts. If Dave drove him back, I’d be alone with Casey again, and I’m too wiped to handle talking with her by myself. I think she’s exhausted, too, and when I suggest a nap, she smiles, shuffles off to the guest room and shuts the door. Ghia has followed her in -- our dog adores her. My boy ruffles my hair and gives me another beer. I thought I was in for a ration of sulk and nag, but he’s being sweet, if cheeky.

“Poor sir,” he whispers. “Girls, twinks, bishie-boys, and lawyers... all talking about babies.” I growl, but just a bit as he’s also unbuttoning my shirt and now it’s my chest hair he’s ruffling. He scoots closer on the swing seat, and gives the tip of my nose a friendly little kiss before heading down to my pecs. I sprawl back with my shirt open to the waist, sipping beer, and let my boy lick and kiss my chest and happy trail. I smother an unmanly hoot when he sticks his tongue in my navel and pretends to rim it. He traces my appendix scar as he unbuttons my jeans. Of course Rob comes into my head -- he would always kiss my scar and mutter ‘heaven this way’ as he carried on down -- but it’s not a painful memory. Unlike the one of getting the scar. But neither memory bothers me right now -- Dave’s sucking my cock with no more preliminaries. Just a good old-fashioned blow job. No ball licking, no teasing, no fancy tongue work. A real delight. I come hard and fast. Dave’s unzipped himself and has been jerking off as he's blown me. He kneels back to show himself off as he finishes. He stays kneeling my feet, and we stay peacefully still with both our softening cocks drying in the breeze. “Good boy,” I say after awhile, and Dave rests his head on my knees. “I like being your boy, sir.” His shoulders heave with a suppressed sigh, and he adds, “But we do need to talk, don’t we?” “Yeah.” I stroke his head. “We do.” *** We agree to save our talk for after Casey leaves. Just acknowledging that we need to do it is enough to get us through, and there’s no point stressing Casey out. She’ll be gone in a few days. The last few weeks have been crazy as she and Bill interviewed potential parents. Twink wanted to lend Casey his beloved Betsy -- somehow we have all fallen into the habit of using twink’s name for his Honda -- so she and Bill can get in and out of town, but Ben provoked another tantrum by forbidding it. Poor twink -- he was trying to take the high road and show how fair he could be by letting Casey meet other candidates. He’s not taking Ben’s refusal to make Casey and Bill an offer well. He’s sure Casey will decide she’d rather have her baby stay in her hometown if only she knew they were interested. He’s obeying the letter of Ben’s instruction, but not the spirit. Baby gifts and treats for Casey arrive from him daily, and every time Casey checks her e-mail, twink has sent her an encouraging message and health tip. Ben is quietly helping them now that he’s made it clear to them that, despite twink’s persistence, Ben and Charlie are not prospective parents. He’s rented Bill a mid-sized car and Bill and Casey have been driving to baby-family candidate lunches. Casey’s stopped puking at last and is eating us out of cabin and home. The lunches are more than welcome for our budget and they give me some precious midday privacy.

She’s made a choice and, rather sweetly, has asked if I would be her second opinion. So, tomorrow, her baby’s new fathers will visit the cabin. Bill’s not coming -- he’s signed a heap of paperwork already with Pete saying the decision is Casey’s alone and outlining what visiting rights he and Casey would like. I think the poor boy is hurting more than he can show. He knows the burden is on Casey and won’t say anything about what he needs. He’s a good kid. Dave’s withdrawn about it all. I think he’s talking to Bill to help him out, but he’s realized just what a commitment it is having Casey to stay. We haven’t been alone for weeks, and have had streams of visitors. Dave’s quietly apologized to me for inviting her without permission. I just smiled. And he moaned. Now he’s convinced I have a revenge planned, but I don’t. He did a good thing for Casey, even if Ben is ready to kill him for what twink is doing. Ben’s given me and Dave the stink eye recently. Twink just won’t let up, and to be fair Ben had said he’d like to be a father. His idea was to find a lesbian couple and donate sperm to them, and then provide financial support in exchange for visitation for him and twink. I weakly repeat that to twink who has just stormed up the cabin path. Betsy is parked at a crazy angle. He must know Casey is closing in on a decision. Thank God Casey is in town. Ironically enough, she’s spending a gift certificate twink sent her. “Papa-Ben without the diaper changes,” I say. “Doesn’t that sound better?” “As if he’d do that anyway!” Twink has his hands on his hips and is pink with frustrated rage. “He’ll be at work or asleep or whatever! He’s just weaseling out and only wants the good bits! Dr. Fell, I want their baby! I DO! All of the work would be mine. That’s okay. I want that.” To my horror, twink’s eyes are welling up. Shit. It’s hours until Dave gets home. “Why aren’t you at work?” Twink flaps his hands. “I can’t concentrate, sir. My baby will be going out of state any day now, and Ben won’t help me.” “Fuck! Twink -- Charlie -- sit down. Come here!” I beckon him over, and smother all my Dom instincts. I put my arm around him and let him cry on my shoulder. I’ll beat him later if necessary. Right now the poor kid needs a friend, not a sir. He must hurt -- he doesn’t think for a moment about crying on mean Dr Fell and he sobs and sobs on me. I stroke his back until he’s just gulping and snorting. He lifts his blotchy face up, and scrubs his eyes. “Sorry, sir. But I need your help.” “Charlie, you know I can’t do anything. If Ben doesn’t want the baby, you can’t force it on him - no baby deserves a reluctant daddy.”

Twink shrugs. “Ben would learn to love her. Oh, Casey told me she’s a she!” “Maybe so, but he doesn’t want your lives to change, Charlie. He told me he doesn’t want to share you.” Twink giggle-snorts. “Right, he lets any of you fuck me!” “Share your love, Charlie. He’d be second in your heart, and he knows it.” Twink fiddles with my shirt button. He’s still smashed up against my chest and shoulder. “And that would be right, Charlie. But Ben doesn’t want all the power to shift. You’d be in control. Everything would be about your daughter and what she needs. I told him that’s how it should be as well. All about the baby. But your relationship -- as it is now -- would be over.” Twink moans. “It is anyway.” “Don’t be silly, twink. I know this is really hard for you. But you and Ben have a good thing going.” “We did,” says twink sulkily. “Ben’s ruined it.” Okay, friendly time is over. I slap his ass. “Shape up, boy! Ben has not done anything wrong. He knows what his limits are and he’s not going to risk being a father.” Twink squirms against me. “Dr. Fell? Is it me? Am I the problem? Would Ben want to be a dad if I were better? Does Casey think I’d be bad for her kid?” He looks so crushed and lost that I hug him. “Oh, Charlie! No. I think you’d make a good -- uh -parent.” I can’t quite bring myself to say ‘father’ but given my opinion of my own dad and Rob’s dad, that’s no insult. “Charlie, you’re kind and loyal, you do know how to be organized when it matters, and you know what its like to go through shit, and you get why structure matters.” I grin. “You’d be fun to grow up with. And you’d learn to say: wait until Ben gets home, young lady!” “So--” “Hush. Think, boy. Think how much your lives will have to change if you become parents. Apart from anything else, you’ll have to stop working at LOC because, face it, Ben’s not quitting his job. Ben might agree, but it’ll be to make you happy, not him. Do you want that from him?” I squeeze twink’s ass. “I think being Uncle Charlie is the best plan, don’t you?” “I guess,” he mutters. “It is best, Charlie. You’ll be some kid’s best uncle and friend and you’ll still be Ben’s boy.”

I’m starting to get anxious about Casey returning while twink is still here, so I do something I thought I would never ever do. I ask twink for a driving lesson. He’s stunned out of his sulk. “Dr. Fell! You can’t drive? But--” “I can drive,” I say with great dignity. “I just never got a license and I haven’t got anything to practice in. Dave takes the truck to work and the Karman isn’t running yet. Besides,” I fix him with my best Sir glare. “No one knows. This is our secret. I want a license before Dave figures it out. Can you help me practice and take the test?” “In Betsy?” squeaks twink. I shudder. “Unless you can borrow Ben’s car for test day, yes, in Betsy.” I can see the glee darting around twink’s brain, and he jingles his key chain at me. Oh God! He has a pink fuzzy dangly thing on it. A scowling rectangular monster. “What the fuck is that?” “Valentine domo-kun!” trills twink. I’m no fucking wiser, but I open the car door and get in. Twink is babbling about quizzing me on the street signs and stuff, and I snap that I do have a motorcycle license and passed the written test. Twink just clicks his seatbelt, and says “I’m the teacher, Dr. Fell!” Oh God. I’ve really dug myself a pit this time. I start the engine, and we bounce down the track. Betsy is old, but she is an automatic, so we get to the road with no trouble. As I drive toward town, I see Casey and Bill pass in the other direction. I look over at twink. Thank God. He still has his hands over his eyes in mock horror at my driving. “Slow down,” he pleads. “Really, sir, not joking.” I look at the speedometer. I’m five miles under the limit, but, as the other boys unkindly say, twink does drive like a little old lady. I slow down. He is the teacher and it’s his car and I’m trying to make him feel better. The car behind us honks, and twink waves as it passes. “I get that a lot,” he says. “People sure are friendly. I think it’s Betsy’s stickers. They make people happy.” He beams at me. I clench his Hello Kitty steering wheel cover hard, and nod.

I drive us into town with twink offering a steady stream of giggly instructions, and then call Dave to meet me at the deli after work. He’ll be so excited about having a Reuben for dinner that he won’t ask how I got into town without my bike. I can’t risk having twink drop me at the cabin and barreling on in to see Casey. Twink squeezes my hand as he takes the driver’s side again. “Thanks, Dr. Fell. You’re a good friend.” He drives off before I can rebuke him. It’s a peaceful evening. I learn that feeding a pregnant woman sauerkraut is dumb. A lesson I hope to never need again. Casey just placidly blames Ghia for all her farts. Dave has eaten twoand-a-half sandwiches himself, and I suspect he’s enhancing the atmosphere, too. Girls, according to Dave, don’t fart, but they always have stinky dogs or boyfriends around. Ever since he learned I’ve never even kissed a girl, he’s been very worldly-wise about women around me. I think he wants to tell me all about his year of hetero experiments in high school, but I’m less than interested and don’t encourage him. “Doms don’t fart either,” I say to him grumpily, as I head for the porch. My cigar would bother Casey quite apart from being a fire hazard right now. Ghia joins me looking very guilty after all the “oh Ghias” from Casey. I scratch her head. “Poor girl. Never mind. I know you’re innocent.” Dave is playing cards with Casey, and I enjoy my grown up time with my dog. Tomorrow will be busy. I don’t work at the jail on Fridays, so I’ll be home when Casey’s visitors arrive. Pete and Ben haven’t said much to me about any of the candidates, and Casey and Bill have diligently focused on making their own adult decision. I can’t blame Casey for wanting some help with the final choice though especially since Bill has backed off. Whatever Casey asks, he’ll just mutter, “you’re the mom, you know best, baby.” Bill managed to get the jeweler to refund the money for their engagement ring, and he’s found himself a small place to live with the refund as deposit. He stamped out on his folks after they called Casey a slut. The good thing is that his place allows pets, and he and Dave dognapped Casey’s beloved Fargo last week. Casey left a quick message on her mom’s voicemail saying she was okay, the baby was okay, and she had Fargo, so no one was to worry. Bill brings Fargo out to lollop around with Ghia who I think may be a dyke dog. Ghia and Fargo are as in love as any two mammals I’ve ever seen. It’s not made the cabin any less crazy, and Dave has already reassured me that Fargo will not be our dog once Bill and Casey are sorted. *** Just before noon, a Volvo pulls up. Not a station wagon, but not a flashy model either. It looks prosperous without being ostentatious. My heart flips. Casey is dithering inside, and I suggest she stays on the sofa. Never mind her feelings -- I need a minute to compose myself.

The young man opening the door for his passenger is soul-wrenchingly familiar. He’s changed for the better, but -- oh hell. I stride down the steps, and hold out my arms. “Dr. Fell!” he cries, and forgets his manners and training and hugs me while his owner patiently waits by the car. “You’ve put on weight,” we both say together. I grin idiotically. “Yeah, times were tight, huh, boy?” I lightly touch the faint scar around his neck. “I might not have known you without this.” “Oh, sir! Of course you would.” “Of course, and I did. Now, Jamie, I know you have some manners.” “Oh! Dr. Fell, this is my owner, Ryan Compton. Sir, this is Dr. Fell.” We shake hands, and thank God there’s none of that territory pissing behavior. Ryan seems secure in his ownership, and he thanks me for rescuing Jamie. Then he smiles, and I see that he is a kind man -- he has crow’s feet and laugh lines -- and adds “and for finding us a child. I hope. It’d make us very happy to have someone to care for and share our good fortune.” I roll my eyes mentally at the smush, but Ryan seems genuine, and I can already tell his ownership of Jamie is benevolent and mild. Ryan seems like an old-fashioned TV father. He’s in his forties, but trim, and Jamie clearly worships him. “Come and meet Casey,” I say before I get all mellow and start thinking I’m in the Waltons or something. Dave and twink think it’s hilarious that I remember that show fondly, and I endured weeks of “Night John-Boy-Sir” before they got fed up. Casey’s met them before, of course, but she’s still shy and self-conscious about her belly. Being called a slut cut her deep. She’s a conservative girl at heart. Ryan and Jamie are just all warm and loving and tease her a little and ask questions and I am smothering with the domesticity so I head back outside to breathe. I’ll tell Casey I already know Jamie later. Back in to the lovefest for lunch. Man, my cabin is foreign territory to me all of a sudden. God, I wish Dave had taken the day off. Jamie and Casey are conferring over the lunch in the kitchen and Ryan is all but glowing as he watches his boy. I have no doubts about advising Casey to have her daughter raised by Ryan and Jamie. I just hope Charlie will forgive me.

Chapter 10 Jamie, my lovely boy, has become a fine man, and Ryan exudes calm and trustworthiness. I wonder if I should have qualms about sending a baby to a parent who’d been abused, but Jamie’s abuse was of a different kind and took place when he was an adult. I think he’ll be wonderful. Casey clearly does, too, because after a conference with me and a careful re-read of the background report from Pete, she packs her belongings -- in a new travel bag from twink, not her supermarket grocery bags -- and prepares to leave with Jamie and Ryan. She says it’s just for a weekend visit to check out their home, but she’s packed everything, and I don’t think she’ll be back. Part of Jamie and Ryan’s offer is to give her a home for the next few months and pay all her medical bills. To my surprise, Ryan will be the one initially staying at home. He gets paternity leave, and since Jamie is still building his business, Ryan will be the one to take time off. Looking at Ryan’s expression as he talks to Casey makes me suspect the paternity leave is just his cover for wanting to be a stay-at-home papa. Jamie’s face is so sunny now -- I can hardly bear it. Ryan paid for him to get his medical massage training certified, and had him save all the money he earned. Jamie has used the money to buy a part share in a physical therapy co-op practice, and he loves his work. He’s already rubbed a leg cramp out of poor Casey, and has been eyeing my shoulders. I’m saved from a massage by Ryan saying it’s time to go if they want to be home before dark. Casey gives Ghia an ear rub, me a shy peck on the cheek, and then clambers into the back seat, and waves goodbye as the Volvo drives off. Dave’s indignant when he gets home. For a start, he wanted to say goodbye, but he was also dying to meet the parents, and, when he hears who they are, he about pops. “Well!” he says several times before he can get a sentence out. “Well! I was raised to thank a host...” I roar with laughter at his transformation into Miss Manners, but he is hurt that Casey flew the nest so suddenly. “Dave, we can drive over to see her, okay? I expect Bill will want to visit once she’s settled.” Dave scowls. “Yeah. I guess. Oh man, I missed Famous Jamie.” I sigh. Lord knows what the boys’ grapevine says about me and Jamie, but Dave doesn’t have his jealous face on. And we are alone. At fucking last. I undo my belt, wrap it around Dave’s wrists, and tug it tight. No preliminaries -- I just march him to our workroom. I can see his workweek and host irritation shedding behind him as his sub space takes over. He’s already looking calmer as I hook his bound wrists to a post.

“Please don’t tear my shirt, sir,” he mumbles. “I’m about out of them.” I shove his curls from his face and kiss his mouth hard. “All below the waist then, boy.” Dave moans, but sticks his butt out, so I know he’s assenting. I act rough, but I’m careful of his jeans as I pull them off. I spoiled his favorite button fly pair a few months back. Damn, he looks good in just his shirt. I’ve pulled off his socks along with his undershorts. I’m distracted by my boy’s feet. They’re nice and manly. Long toes with tufts of dark hair. No way they’ll ever have a manicure and pink flip-flops. I use my riding crop to tap his pale ass sticking out from under his dark blue shirt. “We need to find our feet again, boy. A talk later, but first--” I land a good swat on his ass, and he yells. “No need for a gag now, boy. Holler all you want. No one can hear. And your early warning webcam system is back on now we’re alone.” “Fuck,” roars Dave in pain and delight as I take another swing at him. I take my time beating his ass. A bead of sweat trickles down from his back and runs through his ass crack. “Turn around, boy.” His prick is sticking out under the lowest button. I rub the juice glistening on its tip with the riding crop. Dave whimpers. His arms are twisted and I know it’s not comfortable. I don’t plan on him being in that position for long -- and he’s able to lift his wrists free of this hook if he needs to get down fast. I run a flurry of gentle crop taps along the upper side of his cock, then bounce his balls on the crop tip almost as if I were prepping for a tennis serve. He sobs, and then groans as I slide the crop shaft along the under side of his cock, and give one slap to his cockhead. It would be nothing on regular skin, but it makes him wail when it contacts his prick’s sensitive tip. I do it once more, then stop. “Aw, Davy got a boo-boo? Shall I kiss it and make it better?” Dave clearly doesn’t appreciate my imitation of twink and Casey. He chokes an indignant “yes” and I gently kiss his red cock. “All better. Poor boo-boo.” “Sir!” he sobs. “Not fair.” “Fair? What does fair have to do with it?” Dave scowls. “You are always fair, sir. In your way.”

I caress his prick. “Am I?” He nods. “Yeah. You are. Even when it pisses you off.” I start a rhythmic stroke on his cock, and he moans. My boy looks gorgeous hanging there with his arms twisted, shirt stuck to him with sweat, and his knees buckling. He trusts me so much. He bucks and thrusts, and I worry about the pressure on his shoulder joints. I lean against him so his body rests on me and his knees can sag without his arms being stressed. I keep jerking him off as he hangs like a martyr to the D/s cause. “Oh! Fuck! Sir!” His hot jizz floods my hand and I shift to a friendly palming of his cock as he moans and finishes a spasm. He rests his head against me, and I think I hear a whispered, “Love you sir.” My own prick is throbbing under my jeans, and I release Dave and let him kneel before me and stretch his arms for a few moments while I unzip and consider if I want his ass, mouth, or hands. He decides for me by moving to his hands and knees and sticking his ass in the air. “Please, sir,” he says. I smooth my hand across his ass, and grin. “I remember when you claimed you didn’t like to get fucked.” Dave wriggles his butt. “I was wrong! And I hadn’t been fucked by you then.” My ego is about as swollen as my cock as I get slicked up and slide into my boy’s hole. Hell, he feels perfect. So hot and tight inside and he knows just how to move to please me. My knees are sore by the time I’m done, but I don’t care. My boy’s ass is worth any amount of knee pain. *** Man, my knees hurt. Yesterday was hard on them. The rest of me aches, too, but I ignore it. I have work to do. Dave has already mowed -- he gets up early and does it before the heat of the day kicks in -- and now he’s in the garage tinkering with the Karman. If I get busy with my chores, I can probably avoid another motorcycle maintenance lesson. Dave is trying very hard to be patient, but it genuinely puzzles both of us that I am a complete dolt with engines. He even blurted last week that he knew I’d taken the community college class so he didn’t get why I couldn’t understand about spark plug gaps. I grimace at the memory and make a mental note to check that the grade

report is well hidden. If any of the boys know I got a D, I will be dead in the water. My academic self can’t bear it either, but nor will it let me destroy a report card. I head into the backyard and start working on the vegetable plot -- some weeding and watering. Nothing strenuous. The sun feels good on my aches, and I get a little lightheaded. That’s the only way I can account for what happens. I sing. I choke at the end of a few bars once I realize what the hell that weird sensation is in my throat. I’ve not sung for years. Ben teases me about it, but I really was in a Renaissance singing group for a semester, and I have a decent baritone. I turn around slowly acting as if I’m just altering the hose angle. No one there. I’m safe. I hear some test engine revs from the garage. I clear my throat and start again. This time in key, and with the volume modulated. There were three men come from the West Their fortunes for to try, And these three made a solemn vow: "John Barleycorn must die." I grin. The perfect yard work song. I am getting positively jaunty by the time little Sir John has had clods thrown at him, been beaten, tied at the waist, and been chopped off at the knees. My volume increases. “…and served him barbarously.” “Busted!” yells Dave, and grabs me ’round the waist. Fuck! I’m nearly double-busted as he tickles me and I hide my wail by turning the hose on him. I get drenched too, of course, but it’s worth it to avoid the death of my reputation. I’m sure none of the boys would dare tickle me, but if they know I beg for mercy after a few seconds of rib work - well, hell. Dave takes it all as horseplay and we roll around on the ground wrestling and necking with the damn hose still thrashing around with us. At least it keeps Ghia away. We get filthy as grass clippings and some dirt from the vegetable plot get into the mix. Dave is dragging my pants down, and I fumble with his drenched denim. We get our jeans to our knees and give up -- it’s too hard to undress -- we grab for each other’s cocks and settle for a down and dirty hand job session. Dave’s shirt is translucent with the water, and his chest hair is plastered flat under the shirt. His nipples are nicely visible and perky and I tweak at them as we jerk off.

“Wooo, yeah,” hollers Dave as he comes. I shake my head even as I spurt. We finally manage to get our soaking jeans off, and we sprawl on the wet ground. I grab the hose before it drowns the tomatoes and rinse us off before I kill the water. “You have a voice, sir!” says Dave as we slosh to the cabin porch. “Yeah, I guess you brought it back,” I mutter smushily. “No telling twink.” Dave cackles. “Okay, but I wanted to prove him wrong. He says you don’t know any songs without ‘hey nonny nonny’ in them.” Since twink isn’t here, I slap Dave’s naked, damp heiney. Dave works on lunch while I throw our wet stuff in the laundry. I put on clean jeans and nothing else, and bring Dave out a pair. “Time to talk, John?” says Dave as he defrosts something from his mom. To my dismay, Dave came home a few weeks back with a microwave. It is convenient, and helped with Casey, but I don’t like food that beeps at me, and Dave is forever “Just zapping me a burrito, sir!” and driving me nuts. “Yeah. Time to talk.” Damn, my throat is scratchy. Must be that singing. Our long-planned talk isn’t that bad at first, and I try not to get stubborn, but Dave is really set on our full contract being exclusive. He hates that I fuck and beat the other boys. Monogamy is staring me in the face, and I don’t like it one damn bit, but the idea of losing Dave is just as bad. And I’d have to answer to Rass, Cindy, and Mama P as well as twink if Dave and I split up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “One more temporary contract, John,” says Dave taking pity on me. “We can re-sign this one, but no more. Time to shit or get off the pot.” I snort. “Not the most romantic proposal ever, boy.” “Not the most romantic grumpy old Dom, either,” sasses Dave, and squeezes my hand across the table. “Sir, I get it. I do. But I’ve tried. And I hate you being with them. And they’re all settling down anyway, and no one is really fucking up anymore, and you can still do training without sex.” My ears perk a bit. “So you’d be okay with me beating them?” Dave shrugs. “Not really. You’re the uber-Dom -- you don’t need to touch them to make them obey. But I guess I can make that compromise.”

I grab on to what I can and quickly say, “Let’s try it that way for the next temporary contract at least.” Neither of us is happy with the solution, but it’s a step from both sides, and at least we don’t have Ben and twink’s current problems. As we sign our renewal, Dave makes a snide mutter about how it’s the sirs that need the training. “I know. I’ve been saying that for years.” “And?” I sigh. “Dave, I’m gonna need your help with it. I need you to be my right-hand and help me figure out how to get those guys to step up.” Dave beams. “I will be your under the covers agent!” I growl. “No screwing around for you either, boy!” “I know! That’s what Rinnie calls himself when he helps Laurie with Simon.” “At least Simon’s under control. Poor bastard -- those two are enjoying themselves far too much.” “Well, he can walk again now, and Rinnie said he’s looking forward to transferring to Ronnie’s school in the Fall.” “Dr. Rønne. That joke’s getting old, boy.” “Not to me,” says Dave cheerfully. He stands to clear the table, avoids my swat at his ass, kisses the top of my head, and starts the dishes. I head off to the porch. That had gone about as well as I could hope, but I feel out of sorts. I intend to work on some editing for LOC, but I fall asleep. Dave wakes me up by flopping, hot and panting, next to me on the swing seat. Ghia glomps past looking for her water bowl. I deduce they’ve been on their run to the mailbox. I sit up and glare. “I was asleep!” “I know you were. You’ve been asleep for hours.” “Huh.” I rub my eyes. I could sleep some more. “Mail, sir.” Dave shuffles the bills to me, his car magazine to himself, and then grins, pops open an envelope, and waves tickets at me.

“I thought they wouldn’t get here in time -- they’re for tomorrow!” I roll my eyes. He and some of the boys pool their treat days and pocket money for concert trips. Shit -- Dave’s shoving the tickets at me wanting me to join in his excitement. I feel sour, and snap at him. I see a shadow cross his face, but for fuck’s sake, I can’t get all squee about every damn outing he takes. He’s an adult, not twink. “They’re for us,” he says after I brush at them a second time. “I know you and fun, sir, so I thought I’d get it set up in advance.” Fuck. I swallow, and take them. I hate going to concerts and Dave and I have no musical tastes in common. I start to prepare an excuse, but when I see the event, I blurt out my true thoughts. “No fucking way! That’s the last damn place I’d--” Oh, man. There’s real pain on my boy’s face. His Adam’s apple bobs a couple of times. He shoves the tickets back in the envelope. “Okay. I’ll, um, see if Luke or Dex wanna go with me.” He gets up and goes inside. He closes the door so carefully that I know he’s about to lose it. Shit, Fell, what the hell is wrong with you? But a Renaissance Faire? Hell no. I would be arrested for haranguing the food vendors about when turkey became a common food or punching a fake Shakespeare or well, hell, getting pedantic about any fucking thing at a RenFest. But, my boy planned this. He must have thought it would be a treat for me. He thought about what I like and arranged a surprise. Aw, hell. I stay immobilized with self-loathing and stubbornness. He comes back out after a while. “Dex will go with me.” He’s not looking at me. “You’re lucky, John, that we signed the contract at lunch.” He stamps off to the garage again and Ghia follows him, tail down. I sulk until I fall asleep again. *** This really must be a nightmare: I’m in bed being fussed at by Mama P. And I can’t move.

I open an eye. Shit. I am in my own bed. And tucked in tight. And I hear Mama P talking to Dave. She’s telling him to leave and have fun with Dex. But that’s tomorrow. And why is my stepmother telling my boy what to do? I try to holler at them, but I just croak. It feels like Ghia is lying on my chest, but there’s no dog here. I hear the front door bang, and then the rumble of Dave’s truck. I smell chicken soup. Oh God, no! I cannot be ill and trapped. I sit up and start to cough. There are pillows behind my back -- as if by magic -- and a cool hand on my forehead. I give Mama P the best stink-eye I can while still hacking. She answers what she sees in the glare. “Don’t be silly, Johnny. You’re ill. It’s only because Dave begged us to help that you’re not in an ER. He said that would finish you off.” “Us?” I wheeze. “Cindy’s gone into town to get some medicine.” Holy crap. My mother-in-law and my stepmother are colluding. And Dave has jumped ship. I must have whimpered aloud. “Hush, sweetheart. We’ll look after you. Don’t forget Cindy and I know each other from nursing at St. Sebastian’s. Now let me take your temperature, and then you can have some nice soup.” I let her stick the thermometer under my tongue, and try to ask what’s wrong with me at the same time. “Pneumonia as best we can tell. Now, here’s the deal. You let us look after you and we’ll try to keep you at home, but you act up or get worse, then we’re off to Urgent Care.” That hot feeling in my eyes must be the fever. How can this be happening to me? If Dave tells anyone I’ll skin his ass. Fuck, I’m talking aloud. “No, you won’t. He’s very worried about you and doing his best to respect what you want. But the boy is allowed to tell his friends his partner is ill. There’s no shame in it, Johnny.” She inspects the thermometer while I control a pout. “101. Better than it was. Stay right there. I’ll get you some soup.” 101 -- introduction to pneumonia. I snigger. Oh man. I’m losing it. Oooh, my soup is full of stars! I'm sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that.

“Eat your Chicken & Stars, Johnny, don’t just stare at it.” I blink. Mama P is sitting on the end of the bed, waiting. “Yes, ma’am.” It tastes funny, but I eat it all obediently. Mama P takes the bowl, and asks if I want the TV on. Shit, it’s been moved it into the bedroom while I was asleep. I growl. I truly hate TV in the bedroom. Mama P just laughs. “I want you to stay sitting up for awhile, Johnny. You’ll breathe easier, and besides, your tummy is full.” She turns on the TV and hands me the remote. “Now relax. I’ll be right back.” I do not throw the remote at her, but I deliberately find a kids’ show to sulk through. That bites me in the ass as I end up cackling at a sponge wearing shorts. I’m not sure how much is the product of my fever-ridden brain and how much is the show. When I look up at a commercial break, Mama P is watching from the door. “It’s good to see you laugh, Johnny. You used to laugh a lot when you were a little kid.” Addled as I am, I still bite my tongue to not badmouth her husband. He’s the reason I became such a quiet kid, but Mama P seems to be enjoying life with him. I just grunt at Mama P and try to slide down under the covers. The soup and TV have helped my brain and I’m suddenly aware that I am naked under the covers. “Oh, Johnny, I have seen your chest before. Stay sitting up, young man.” I obey, but clutch the sheet under my armpits. Mama P laughs at me, and then sits on the side of the bed. “Just be a good boy.” I blurt out a Dave-style sentence about hating this, and why do you have to bring me down, make me weak, and make me look like I need my mom. Totally incoherent, but she simply strokes my forehead, and I know my scowl makes me five years old in her eyes. “What is weak about being ill, sweetie? You know you’re not a momma’s boy. You’re a good son. You came home for your mom’s illness, and you didn’t let anyone chase you off. Now let me do what she’d have done for you.” I’m silent a good while; I wrestle with seeing my mom die. It was my hand she was holding, not Dad’s. And Mama P is her friend.

“All right, but let me puke in private.” “Don’t be silly. You have pneumonia, not flu. This is serious. Cindy’s going to talk to you about your cigars when she gets back.” “Aw, shit. That’s rich -- she won’t quit her Marlboros. She smokes them with me after Sunday lunch.” “Cindy doesn’t take blood pressure medication or have pneumonia or refuse healthcare.” “And it’s only five a day,” says Cindy from the doorway. “Sometimes six,” she adds, and gives Mama P a wink. I try to slide under the covers again while Mama P and Dave’s mom banter and cackle. Nurses are crude! I think I’m shocked. “John Evanlee Fell! I told you to stay sitting up.” “Wanna sleep,” I say as an excuse. Fuck. Double-teamed. The two of them haul me upright and re-tuck the covers tight around my waist. Cindy spoons some gross medicine into me. I moan. They’ve seen my junk. This is hell. I have no dignity left. “He has an unusually big appendix scar,” says Cindy. “He does,” replies Mama P. Oh man, now they are talking about me as if I’m not here. Mama P pats my arm. “Little Johnny nearly died when he was ten. All macho about his tummy ache. His appendix burst when he was at school. He’d insisted on going in that day, and his dad let him go. They’d been having a father-son week while we were at the cabin.” “That’s not what happened! I-- ” I stop. There’s no point, and why tell now? I never hurt Mom with the story and there’s no reason to hurt Mama P with it. I swallow my pride, and drift while my mothers dish away over my bed. Mama P was right about one thing: Mom, my aunt and Mama P -- I’d forgotten she was there -had been having a girls’ getaway (their name, not mine) and I was home with Dad. Until then we’d got on okay, although he’d grumble about me reading too much. And, in hindsight, I realize he hated being left alone with me, and assumed I would lie since “The damn brat likes made up stuff.” I absently mindedly rub my appendix scar. Yeah, what a liar I was.

Dad yelled at me to stop trying to get out of going to school when I said I hurt. But I always liked school. Shit. My belly had been agony, but the hurt that stayed was finally getting it through my head that Dad didn’t like, trust, or even know me. Man, I feel shitty. It’s the fever, but I want to curl up and be five. And hide from this like I hid from dad. Not physically, I just used reading as a retreat from his world after that. I knew I was different from Dad, and that he’d only hate me more as he learned how different. It’s quiet in the room except for some cartoon soundtrack -- Mama P and Cindy have gone into the kitchen. I shut my eyes. I think it’s safe to go to sleep.

Chapter 11 I get away with napping for a bit, but, the next time I wake up, I betray myself with a cough, and Mama P pounces. “He’s awake, Cindy!” Fuck. Dave’s mom and my step-mom have been conferring. Apparently they’ve come to quite a few conclusions about me and are ready to give me a talking to before Dave returns. Mama P hauls me upright, and Cindy ruthlessly takes my temperature. My pillows are efficiently plumped, and my covers tucked. My tormenters, I mean nurses, sit on either side of the bed pinning down the covers even more, and face me. “He’s still a bit feverish so perhaps he’ll talk for a change,” says my mother-in-law. I am smart enough to bite back a snarl about nursing ethics, but I still try a pathetic cough. They laugh, and Mama P even pats my hand. “Aw, now Johnny, be a man about it. We won’t bite.” “Or give you girl cooties,” says Cindy straight-faced. What on earth has my boy been saying to his mom? I moan aloud, and then mutter, “I’m listening.” “Johnny, we’re both very fond of you, but we have a few things to say to get you to shape up and face some responsibilities.” What the hell? I dredge my brain and conscience for how I could be considered irresponsible. Twink and the boys usually claim I’m too serious. And I won’t even let Dave have an underage beer, so I’m hardly corrupting the boy. Well, apart from the fucking and beating. “Quiet!” says Cindy preemptively. I shut my mouth and give her a mutinous glare. “It’s time to grow up, John. No more getting drunk and smoking cigars. You have a family to think about.” I shrug. If that’s all this is about -- wait, family?

“You need to understand what you’re taking from us,” says Cindy, and Mama P nods. “John, you mean no grandchildren. No more Rasmussens. Dave’s our only child. We want our son to be happy. But it’s not that simple, is it?” “Did Dave...?” I wheeze, panic-stricken. “He talked about Bill and Casey, and he’s glad not to be in Bill’s shoes,” says Cindy honestly. “But I don’t think my son has thought about how he’ll feel in a decade or so when he has no son. He’s only twenty now, John. Rass and I are glad to see you and Dave building a life together. In fact, if he were asking to get married to a woman, we’d tell him to wait. We wanted our son to see the world, get out of this town, know more than...” She shrugs. “Well, I guess he knows more, if he’s with you.” “I’ll make sure we have a good life together. I know it’s not what you hoped for your son. But I can give him a good home. I promise.” She laughs. “I taught him to cook and look after himself -- I figured it’d serve him well while he found his feet and his wife would thank me for a husband who can do laundry.” She grins ruefully at me. “I never thought he’d be the wife.” “Ma’am, believe me, he’s not my wife.” Cindy folds her arms. “He’s done well since he met you John -- we don’t want him running wild and we’re glad he’s found a job he wants and a partner. Rass and I like you. But.” Mama P leans in. “Sweetie, your mom would be pleased to see you settled, but you know how she felt about family. She’d be so sad to see the family line end with you. And it’s not as if your Cousin Tom will have kids. Or Jack,” she adds with an eye roll. Fuck, that’s dirty pool bringing my mom in. And what do they want? Me and Dave to get wives? Wait! Jack! I cough for a bit in my excitement, then blurt out, “Jack has a kid! Didn’t dad tell you? Mama P flaps her hand dismissively. “Doesn’t count. We don’t know the child. John: Cindy and I want grandbabies. Ones to have in our lives.” I whimper. There is no way. “I’d be a terrible dad,” I say. “Besides. No! I am not interested. Nor is Dave.” “Yet,” says Cindy determinedly. “And I think you’d be a fine father.” “Just start thinking about it,” says Mama P cheerfully. “Now then, next on our list. Cindy is taking your scotch and cigars to her house. You can have them after Sunday dinners. You and Cindy can smoke while Dave and Rass do the dishes.”

Cindy chimes in. “As soon as Dave is twenty-one, we’re giving you our old fridge so he can have a beer fridge. That’s all you two drink out here from now on. If you’re my boy’s partner, we want you healthy.” I inch down the bed to get away, but I’m trapped. They are relentless. It turns out they actually very pleased with me and Dave under all the nagging, and think we are ready for the next steps in being “adults” as Cindy grimly puts it. Apparently they wouldn’t bother with this if they didn’t think we were a promising family. They have a timeline that has me and Dave each with a kid in the next five years. I want to die. At least Cindy hasn’t banned my bike. I pray she doesn’t remember it. “Enough,” I beg. “Take my damn cigars and scotch, and Dave and I will talk about children. No promises. Please. Let me go back to sleep.” Mama P chuckles. “I think we’ve made our point, Cindy. We’ll let him think it over. And he’ll need his rest for when Dave gets back.” I am so fucking screwed. Damn Casey for triggering all this baby fever. Mama P leaves, but Cindy remains. She stands, then bends over me, and hisses in my ear. “I’ll consider your behavior to my boy yesterday as a symptom of the pneumonia. But don’t you ever hurt my boy like that again, John Fell, or you won’t be able to father anything.” “No ma’am,” I whisper and finally get to slide under the covers. I’m not even sure what she means, but I’m not arguing. Oh. The shame rush is about as bad as the fever rush. I was a real asshole to Dave yesterday -- he’d planned a surprise for me and I spat on it. I pull the sheets over my head and sulk. After a bit, I start to plot. What if Jack can step up? Jack does already have a wild oats child so I know he’s physically capable. Shit, like that all worked out so well. He is such a dumbass; I can’t wish him on any kid as a father. He’d be worse than dad -- well, friendlier but less responsible. Dad at least never failed with his financial duties while I was a kid. Jack and I are amiable again these days -- he let me sleep on his couch after mom’s funeral -- and we were tight when we were in school. It wasn’t really until he got his girlfriend pregnant that stuff fell apart. Jack freaked out and tried to blackmail me into saying it was my kid. Total dumbass. He had begged me first, and said to think of how pleased my dad would be at the proof I wasn’t a fag. Jack nearly wet himself when I shrugged, and said I didn’t care who knew I was gay since it was true. Jack was -- and still is -- such a hapless fuck that I can’t really hold it against him. And his dad was rough on him. I saw him with more than a few bruises when he was small. But, Dad and I were going to have that scene regardless and if poor Jack thought I’d trade my dignity and shot at college for pleasing my dad and a shotgun wedding then he was a worse gambler than I thought.

Poor bastard. He couldn’t believe it when I stood there stony silent and let him tell my dad his son was a fag. I was seventeen so I think I can be forgiven for then saying, well yeah, at least I keep it zipped and didn’t knock Sandra O’Malley up. It saved me having to come out, and gave me the shove to get out of town. Dad was never going to sign my college papers anyway, not when he had a job at the factory lined up for me, and it gave mom the anger to defy dad and sign all the financial aid forms. I didn’t even have a major planned -- just escaping from dad and this town. I try rolling onto my side, but I can’t breathe like that, so I sit up and fret about those evil witches. No wonder I never wanted a girlfriend. I’m fucking defenseless against women. I can’t shout at them or hit them and they’re seemingly immune to my authority. Ghia shoves the door open with her snout and comes in. She looks cowed, too. I pat the bed, and she gives me a doubtful look. She’s not allowed on the bed usually. “Come on, girl,” I whisper. “Protect me!” She bounds up, and flops next to me. Her warm weight helps me drift off. Ghia leaping off and the door banging wake me up. Since she abandoned me, I take it to mean her Dave is home. “Bye Mom, bye Mama,” hollers Dave. “Thank you for John-sitting.” I groan. But at least our moms have gone. Dave tiptoes in. As if I’d slept through his arrival. “I’m awake, boy” I say sternly. “Do you feel better, sir?” “A bit,” I say grudgingly. “I called the jail already to tell them you’ll be off all week. And I’ve hired LOC for a day to look after you while I’m at work tomorrow,” he says. Fuck, if he doesn’t look just like his mom as he says that. “I’ll be fine alone,” I say hastily. “I don’t think twink or Owen would help me any.” Dave grins. “Good thing Luke drew the short straw then.” “When I’m well, I will kill you, boy. Did your mom tell you what she wants?”

“For dad to take her to the Bahamas?” “If only if were that easy. No, she wants you and me to breed!” Dave chokes. “I’m pretty sure mom knows it doesn’t work like that!” “With women!” I add, too freaked to joke. Dave flops on the bed next to me. “She has grandma fits every so often. It’ll be okay, sir. It’s just hearing about Casey on top of my cousin’s new baby. We just need to ride it out.” “It’s Mama P, too,” I say dismally. “Fuck,” says Dave. “John, I don’t wanna be a dad.” “Me either.” “Perhaps if Charlie gets a baby, we can introduce them, and mom can be Auntie Cindy?” I am desperate enough to consider that and I imagine Cindy and Rass in the same room as twink. I’m still feverish, I guess, because I start laughing, and can’t stop. “Sir! I didn’t know you got the giggles.” “I do not giggle,” I hoot helplessly. “But, shit, Dave. Just imagine twink and Mama P together. With a baby. And your dad’s face!” Dave tries, but he breaks into a guffaw, and we laugh until I start coughing. Dave helps me sit straight and then snuggles next to me. “Are we okay, sir? I know I was a brat yesterday. I didn’t realize you were ill.” I swallow my pride. “Dave, I was a jerk about the Renaissance Faire. I’m sorry. Did you have a good time?” Dave gawps at my apology, and then saves us both by answering my question. He loved the stupid RenFest. I’m lucky he didn’t come back with a replica sword. He’s babbling about all the stuff he saw. Good thing I didn’t go. I start to snooze in my boy’s snuggle. His chatter is soothing. I dimly realize he has an arm round me and is stroking my forehead. “...and renaissance means re-birth, did you know that, sir? Oh right, I bet you did...” I nod drowsily and go to sleep held by my boy.

Just like his mom, Dave is taking shameless advantage of my bedridden state. He has decided I will watch a movie with him. When we were just dating, we did go to the movies a few times, but he knows I hate watching television. “Come on, sir, you’re ill. Lower your standards for once. You might enjoy it. I’ll get your supper, and then we can hang together. You can fall asleep if you are bored.” I wonder if I can escape while he gets my supper? Or fall asleep now? But, crap, I’ve promised myself and Cindy that I’ll shape up. I just mutter a bit so that I am still me while he serves more damn soup and then finds the movie he’s picked. “Chicken soup for the dom’s soul,” he says as I spoon away. I growl, but he’s hit play, and is staring at the screen. The film is very silly, and to my surprise I am laughing like a little kid. And enjoying the sword fight scenes. And finally understanding what Luke and Dexter meant by calling me the Dread Pirate Fell at the retreat. “I love this movie,” says Dave stealing my leftover soup crackers. “I watched it every time I was ill all through school.” The maudlin side of me appreciates the revenge quest -- confronting Rob’s killer had been an important part of being able to be re-born with Dave -- but mostly I’m just feeling happy. And apparently mellow and trusting as I not only tell Dave that I fenced in college, but that the team photos are in mom’s trunk. “No!” I yell, but Dave has dashed out and is back in no time with my college photos. He’s been kind, and only brought those -- not the damn ones of me on my trike that twink still hoots over. Dave is a real buddy and doesn’t mess with me about the singing group shots, and just drools appreciatively over me in my fencing whites. He squints. “Is that Ben?” “Yeah. It’s how we met. He was captain of the fencing squad, and president of the club.” I stop talking. The club was a hotbed of gay sex, and I don’t want anyone knowing that Ben hit on me and I turned him down -- purely because I still lived with Pol then and not because I was not tempted. I ponder an alternate history where Ben and I hooked up. “I never figured you for a jock,” says Dave talking over my silence. “Don’t like teams,” I reply. “I ran track in high school and was an okay pitcher in baseball.”

“I bet,” says Dave and waggles his eyebrows. “Good thing I’m a catcher.” Oh hell, if I felt better, I’d have that boy over my knees and then on his knees. As it is, I’d be out of breath in a few seconds. My stupid dick doesn’t know that though. Dave pats the tent I’ve made out of the sheets. “How about you lie still, sir? I’ll do everything...” He disappears under the sheet before I can say anything -- as if I’d object -- and starts a happy slurpy blow job. If I move too much he taps my thigh and mumbles “stay still!” Bossy little bastard. I focus on enjoying what his mouth is doing and keeping my breathing controlled, but I have to say an orgasm while you’re already feverish? Well, fuck! Well worth the coughing jag that follows. Dave gets out of bed and comes back with a glass of water, and holy crap, a scotch. I point and cough and say, “Your mom...” Dave grins. “She missed the emergency bottle in the store room.” “What emergency bottle?” I ask suspiciously. Dave squirms. “I’m not tippling on the sly, sir. It’s one I hid from you when you were really stressed out over Rob.” He touches the scar on the palm of my hand where I broke a glass. “Oh. Thanks.” Dave stretches back on the bed beside me, and unzips. “Never mind my mom, sir. She forgets she’s not running a hospital unit sometimes. Me and dad know how to work around her without disrespect. Um, do you mind if I take care of this?” He points at his own erection. “Of course not. Make sure I can see, though.” I lie back against the pillows, sip my drink, and watch my fine boy stroke his prick. I may be ill, and my chest hurts, and I’m falling into a rabbit hole of domesticity, but hell, life’s good. Dave’s a hot sight as he jerks off -- he’s not shy now that he’s used to having a partner -- and he moans and tweaks at his own nipples as he comes. Sure as hell the boy is still twenty -- his spunk about hits his chin. “Phew,” he says. “I needed that!”

He rolls towards me and kisses me on the mouth. “You lie down and sleep, sir. I’ll watch a bit of TV until I’m tired enough for bed.” I finish my scotch, but I grumble about the TV being on. “It’s not staying, boy. As soon as I’m able that damn thing is out of the bedroom.” Dave chuckles. “Oh, sir! This is our spare set now. Dad gave me their old TV today for our main room. He got a big screen last week.” “Two TV sets!” “Yes. Lie down and sleep, John. Don’t be such an old poop.” “But-- ” “John -- you are not thinking it through. Don’t you want to watch some porn with me in bed?” I think my boy may have just won that round. I lie down, and zone out while he watches some cop show. As I fall asleep, I hear the phone ring, and Dave talking. “No! Charlie, no, you can’t come over. No! I know it’s a disaster, but no. Not tonight, and not tomorrow either.” Aw, crap. More trouble. Can’t they leave us alone for one day? I try to sit up and Dave puts a firm palm on my chest and holds me down. He mouths, “I’ve got this, sir.” “You know Dr. Fell is ill. I’ll meet you for lunch. Stop it, Charlie. Tomorrow. I’ll help you tomorrow.” I stay down. My boy is dealing with whatever it is. I can go to sleep. I’m dimly aware in the morning of my boy leaving. He kisses my forehead, and babbles a string of instructions that I simply grunt at, and then Ghia flops on the bed with me, and I’m alone. I know I sleep until mid-morning -- the sun is hitting the wall -- and Luke is here. He’s being quiet, but the smell of coffee wakes me up, and Ghia has trotted off to visit with him. Some guard dog she is. “Boy,” I croak. I meant to bellow, but it didn’t work.

Luke shows up anyway with a mug of coffee, and can it be? A bacon sandwich! I’d forgive him anything for that. “Hey, sir,” he says sweet as pie. “How are you? I put Ghia out so your sammich is safe!” His solid bracelet chinks again the mug as he puts my food down, and he sits me up without making any fuss. “Thanks,” I say once the coffee has loosened my throat. “Luke, I know Dave has set this up, but you don’t need to stay.” “Riiiight,” says Luke, and dimples at me. “Dr. Fell, don’t be proud, sir. It’s my honor to serve you today. And it’s nice to be out at the cabin. The office is still hard for me.” Luke used to be a landscaper until his owner started taking seriously the dermatologist reports about the dangers of a red-headed boy working in the sun. Brin did put permanent ownership bracelets on Luke to help him adjust to being indoors and white-collar, and love and commitment are clearly still strong for those two. Luke adores his owner. It was hard for him, but he’s been graceful in his submission. I sip some more coffee, try not to wolf my sandwich, and look sideways at Luke who is sorting a stack of books and magazines. Of all the boys, Luke may be the one most truly submissive. He’s deep in his role, and has accepted a lot of restrictions from Brin. Rory and Dexter are sweet subs and very happy, but they have their owners where they want them these days, no doubt about it. Laurie, Kyle, and Colby are just big old pain sluts, much more into S&M than the D/s aspect although they have learned to serve well enough. And Charlie...well...hell. Charlie is just a special case. “Luke, what’s going on with twink? I heard him fussing at Dave last night.” I must be ill to ask, but if my boy is going to be pestered, I guess I care. Luke puts down his tidying. “Aw, sir. He heard that Casey had gone. He’s gutted. He’s serious about wanting to be a dad, you know. It’s not just some bug up his ass. He’s talked about it among us for a long time.” I groan, and Luke sits on the edge of the bed. “I guess he and Ben had some big blow up about it last night.” He gives a wry grin. “One more reason I’m glad to be out here today, sir. The office is drama central. Poor Charlie.” “Poor Ben,” I reply. “Yeah,” agrees Luke. “It sucks.”

We sit silently for a bit, and then Luke refills my coffee. “Help me out of bed,” I order. Frankly, even admitting I need help is a concession, and I think Luke sees it as he doesn’t argue. I take a whiz and then shuffle off to the front porch. Luke opens his mouth, then shuts it, and follows me to the swing carrying a comforter. I let him tuck me in since he didn’t bitch. It’s a gorgeous day. I feel better outside and sitting up. Luke gives me a shy look, and then sits next to me. We spend a quiet, companionable day. I sleep, Luke reads and enjoys being outside even in the shade, and Ghia guards us from the squirrels. Luke keeps me fed and hydrated, and conspiratorially gets me back to bed before Dave gets home. We have a few brief conversations during which I learn a disproportionate amount about what the boys, and in particular Charlie, have been going through recently. Luke is a master of meaningful hints without betraying anyone. “Sir?” he says as he helps me back into bed. “Um, you and Dave? You didn’t agree to be exclusive yet?” I give him a cautious look. I don’t want a monogamy lecture from him. I already know damn well that Dave wants me to stop fucking the boys. “Nope,” I say and pull the covers up. “Um,” says Luke. “Sir?” “What? Did Dave put you up to some crap about how great settling down is?” Luke goes beetroot. Poor little red head. No hiding. “No,” he whispers. “I, uh, was wondering if it was okay to suck your dick? I love your cock, Dr. Fell. Please?” Dave’s not due home just yet. And Luke is an expert cocksucker. “Does Brin let you play?” Luke nods. “Yes, sir. So long as it’s one the guys in the foundation group.” I sigh. I’m really tired. And my boy will be back soon. And Ghia is looking at me. Fuck. “Not today, Luke, I need a rain check.” He nods, and pats my hand. “Okay, sir. Here’s a book. I’ll wait on the porch.” “Yeah. Thanks, boy.”

I fall asleep with the book on my chest. “...hotter than a pepper sprout...” croons Dave as he puts a hand to my forehead. I scowl. I know my Johnny Cash, and I know what the damn song is. My temper is back, but I don’t snarl at Dave. I don’t think he’s hinting or teasing me about Luke. I’m sure Luke didn’t say a word. “You woke me up,” I say as neutrally as I can. “Yup,” says Dave. “I did. It’ll be time for bed soon, so you should be awake.” God, he has spent time with twink today. I struggle up and squint at him. He beams at me and offers me a plate. I could get used to being ill. He’s made me a fried egg sandwich. I don’t spoil his offering by saying Luke indulged me already with a bacon one, and I just chow down. My book is sliding away, and Dave catches it. “You and your sonnets, sir. No wonder you’re delirious with that crazy writing.” “Yeah, I’m my own fever and pain,” I say making Dave check my forehead again. I make a note to rein in the Renaissance allusions, but I’ll take my Purcell over his Cash any day. Dave rolls his eyes. Apparently that was out loud as he’s babbling about how cool Johnny Cash is. I don’t tell him that I agree, or that the Man in Black was a crush of mine when I was a teen. Dave’s sitting on the bed flipping through the sonnets. “Oooh, sir, this one is about fever! Isn’t it weird how stuff always fits?” I grin, and then hide my surprise as Dave starts to read sonnet 147. “My love is as a fever, longing still.” He pauses and frowns. “Don’t rat me out to twink, sir, but that’s kinda beautiful.” He reads the rest out loud. He’s terrible at it -- not quite as bad as the young man I helped rehearse Bottom, but close. No wonder the poem makes no sense to him, but he still likes the words. He thinks it’s romantic. And I guess it is in a dark way, but I’ve learned my lesson and don’t crush him by pointing out that the poem is really about being driven mad by desire. “The physician to my love,” he repeats. “Physician is like doctor, right? Hey, Dr. Fell, you’re the physician to my love!” I bite my tongue. He’s got the meanings all wrong, but he’s so pleased. And at least he isn’t calling me Doctor Love.

When I’m well, I’ll walk the boy through some sonnets and help him get on the right path, but right now, I’m exhausted. Dave sees it, and stops bubbling and bouncing, and helps me lie back. He puts the sonnets back on my lap, and they fall open to the most used pages -- what I think of as the Rob sonnets. I disguise my unexpected gasp of pain with a cough. Dave’s timing is off as he says “Sir, perhaps, we could have some Shakespeare in our ceremony when we finally commit?” My smile must be awfully thin, but I manage one. “That would be nice, boy, but I’m not sure if you’re the sonnet type.” I see a flicker in his face -- Dave and I have gone round and round about our commitment contract and I’m on my last temporary re-up. I know I’m going to sign a full contract with him -it’s just the terms I’m still fussing over. I grab his wrist as strongly as I can. “Dave -- you’re my type, got it? You’re my boy.”

Chapter 12 Dave has warned me to come up with something to be thankful for so I’m not struck dumb at the dinner table, but everything that comes to mind is inappropriate to share with Cindy and Rass. And whoever the hell else might be invited. I shove that worry aside. I’m thankful for my boy’s ass. That boys keep needing beatings and discipline days at the cabin. That the jail keeps renewing my contract. That Cindy and Mama P have been quieter recently about me and Dave procreating. That the Foundation keeps buying my health insurance. That I had pneumonia, and missed Cyclone Charlie when he learned Casey had left town. But I’m not that thankful -- I had to live through the second part of the storm when Charlie heard Casey had her baby, and that Ryan and Jamie were definitely little Cassidy’s parents. I’ve been fretting over the dinner all week. Crap. I can just imagine Cindy and Rass waiting for me to say something at Thanksgiving. I’ve known for months that we were expected, and I’ve had Sunday lunch with Dave’s parents every few weeks since Dave was effectively outted by his own family -- he took too damn long to tell them and they couldn’t wait any longer. Sunday lunch is one thing, but I’m really worried about the expectations for Thanksgiving. Dave shrugs and says I should just say something nice, and don’t worry it’s not a prayer, and to make sure his mom doesn’t go off on a grandma thing. Easy for him to say. And I have to request a recipe. Jesus fuck. I thought I could just say “I like sweet potatoes” and it would be good enough, but oh no, Cindy has a tradition of making something special for new family guests and incorporating it into future dinners. Rass still bemoans the creamed spinach that Cousin Todd asked for, so there’s a burden here. Dave’s mom likes to cook, even though she just picks at food herself. She’s as skinny as a rail, and would rather have a cigarette and a beer than food, but she loves big traditional family meals, and she’s told Dave she wants to include something from my family’s tradition since, as she says, I’m her son-in-law. I suggest that Dave and I should bring a dish, and Dave nearly falls off the porch in horror. “Nu-uh, we don’t dare, sir! Mom would so insulted. She loves making a dish for guests, it’s her thing, and you’d better come up with one, sir. And nothing too easy either or she’ll think that’s a diss. And make it yummy or Dad’ll be mad.” I chew my lip, and think back to Thanksgiving with Mom and Dad. It was usually okay. Mom’s sister would bring Jack over and we were allowed to play in the yard while our dads did the beer and football thing, but it was no big deal in our family. I think Mom and her sister would have liked to do more, but our dads were a pair of grumpy hermits. Mom was a pretty good cook. Homely stuff though -- she didn’t really have specials. Oh! Wait, those fancy potatoes she’d do at Easter.

I snort. “What, sir?” “I have the request for your mom. I miss my mom’s Delmonico potatoes.” Dave writes it down carefully as I spell “Delmonico,” and I explain my snort. Mom and I never told Dad he’d misread the name, and he would always grumble that these here demonical potatoes ain’t got no bite to them. They were delicious, and I’d take seconds, and not just to cover Mom’s hurt that Dad put hot sauce on them and spoiled the flavor blend. Dave grins. “Demon taters sound good, too. Don’t worry sir, Mom’ll do ’em up right for you.” “I bet she will. Your mom is a force of nature.” Dave goes over to his beloved beer fridge and brings me back a beer. He is so damn happy to be over-age and allowed to have a beer at home with me. Rass and Cindy gave him their old fridge as part of his birthday present and I filled it with every different bottled beer I could find. Best present ever in Dave’s opinion -- apart, he adds thoughtfully, from when I got him the junker to restore. Thank God that thing is nearly roadworthy. I’ll need a car soon, and Dave needs his truck to get to work. Winter on the bike is rough, and I tore my leg up a few weeks ago coming off the bike on a gravel road. I’m just lucky that I managed to take my driving test without Dave discovering my lack of license. Doing the test and practice in twink’s beloved Betsy with his frantic and, recently, tearful instruction was a sacrifice. But I think I helped the boy. I flex my stiff leg. I was lucky -- mostly just surface stuff and a destroyed pair of jeans -- but the damn scabs are driving me nuts and I think there’s some gravel still in there, and I have some tight tendons or something. If I can’t get the limp gone before I next see Cindy, I’ll get a lecture about selling the bike. Shit, I can barely ride right now. Dave’s been dropping me off at the jail in the morning, and he’s conspiring with me to hide the injury from his mom. The trouble is, he’s also working on me to let him drive my Fat Boy. He says it’ll only be fair especially if I get to use either the truck or the restored Karman. I’ve tried growling and saying he’s my boy so I don’t have to be fair, but he’s folded his arms and pointed out that he does all the bike maintenance. Shit. I’ll end up in the bitch seat if the boy keeps on asserting himself. “Does it still hurt, sir?” Dave’s already easing off my boot as he speaks. He’s knelt next to me after getting the beer. I must be preoccupied -- usually my boy on his knees is a direct line to my prick.

“Nah, it just won’t bend right.” Dave bites his lip. He’d tried to get me to visit a doctor, but in the end he was the one to swab it all out and pick out the dirt and stones. I spent a crappy weekend wearing a pair of my boy’s shorts and by Monday it was healed just enough to not stick to my jeans. The jail inmates ribbed me about my walk, but a few growls and threats of grammar drill settled my class right down. I may not be able to slap an ass in that classroom either, but I can report to the corrections officers. Damn, I like this job. The pre-release guys are pretty good company, and they’re as earnest as my Rob about their GEDs. Dave’s pulling my pants down. I tolerate him inspecting my leg since I plan on a “while you’re down there” blow-job. He looks just like his mom for a moment when he pokes my knee and makes me yelp. “Shit, sir, I wish you had seen a doctor. You might have torn some cartilage or a ligament or something. You should be able to bend it more. Or perhaps you need physical therapy.” I turn my whimper into a snarl, but he’s not bothered. “You need it to get better, sir, or Mom will go off on a ‘responsibility and fatherhood’ thing again.” “I know,” I say dismally. “Um, boy, while you’re there…” Dave snorts. “As if I’d waste the chance!” He starts to massage my thighs and sneaks in flexing my bad knee a bit. He’s soon licking and nuzzling my balls, though, so he gets away with it. He takes his time, and it’s a long worshipful blowjob. Hell, I’m in a good place. I may have a mother-in-law, but her son is one fine cocksucker. *** Rass and I are becoming as close to friends as either of us care to be, and later in the week he gives me a call for us to meet in town while I wait on Dave to finish work. I’m puzzled, and a bit pissed with Dave for letting his dad know I hurt my leg. Rass is a roofer, and the weather is starting to slow his business down. By the time the light has gone on a late Fall day, he’s at a loose end, and I’ve been cooling my heels for hours after finishing at the jail. A passing wicked thought makes me want to suggest Dilly’s for a beer, but hell, if I take my father-in-law to a leather bar he’ll get hit on in a flash especially in his work clothes. Dave has the usual “my parents are ancient” thing going, but his dad is only in his mid-forties and, skeezy as it may be for me to have noticed, is a fine man. If Dave’s bred true, I’m going to be one damn lucky fiftyfive-year-old. We meet at the White Horse Tavern and eat the bar nuts silently for a bit.

“Well,” says Rass after a bit. “Cindy’s got you boys all in a dither, I reckon.” I give a cautious nod. It’s Rass’s place to mention his wife, but I’m sure as hell not committing myself to an opinion about her actions. Rass grunts. We drink a bit more. “Thing is, Fell, I’m guessing you don’t want to be a pa.” I gulp and nod less cautiously. “My boy’s too young, and I don’t want him trapped. Hell, I’m too young, and I don’t want to be a grandpa, but Cindy’s got her heart set.” He takes a long swallow of beer. The man doesn’t talk much and this is clearly hard for him. “Seems to me most just accept being grandparents and get resigned to it. No one wants to admit it’s a pain in the ass. Like with kids in the first place.” He gives me a sideways look. “We wanted Dave and we love him. And maybe in ten years I’ll want a grandbaby, but right now, well, shit, Fell, I’ll work with you and Dave on sidelining Cindy. But don’t get me wrong, hurt either of them, and you’ll never ride that bike again.” Crap. Now I’ve been threatened by each of Dave’s parents. I swallow hard, then manage, “Not planning on it.” “And about the bike. She’ll be ragging on that soon. And, hell, I’ve been saving for my own Harley for years. Don’t piss on that plan by letting her know about your leg.” “Shit!” I bite my lip, and glare. How am I being so damn cornered? I’m meant to be the big bad dread Dom Fell and here I am plotting about how to stop my mother-in-law bullying us about our Hogs. It’s not right. Rass snorts. I hope it was just the last bit I said aloud. “Sure as hell, it’s not right, man, but it is survival. Cindy’s a grand woman and I love her, but getting directly between her and something she wants? We have to use our brains to keep her sweet.” “I don’t know anything about women,” I say lamely. “Lucky you,” mutters Rass, all morose. “Between the credit card bills, the family visits, the -- aw shit, I shouldn’t bitch. Don’t listen to me Fell. I’ve got no beef with her, but I get tired of being managed sometimes.”

I nearly choke on a peanut. Dave has just arrived and is standing in the door looking for us. He and his dad are dead fucking ringers in the dim light. It’s not the physical resemblance though -it’s Rass’s submission to his wife that has freaked me. He’s quite happy to be only nominally in charge so long as he’s given some respect -- and Dave is quite happy to submit to me so long as I recognize his dignity as a sub. I take a peek in the bar mirror as Dave waves and heads for us. Thank God, there’s nothing of Cindy in me other than the fact that we both smoke and drink and wear the boots. I hope. “Hey,” says Dave and gives me a cheeky grin in lieu of a ‘sir.’ “Hi Dad. How’s Mom? Did she get the guest list for Thanksgiving figured?” Rass gives an eloquent shrug. “Dunno, son, but I think your cousin Maggie and her family are coming. With her new baby. So be careful.” He waves at the barkeep and gets Dave a beer. Dave’s still not over the thrill of being allowed to have a beer in public -- and with his dad yet! I roll my eyes at him -- he and his dad have been sharing beers at home for years and Dave thought I was most unreasonable in making him wait until he was twenty-one to drink with me. Dave just beams at me, and drinks from the bottle. “Uh,” I say. I think I have just had a brilliant idea. “Rass? Has Cindy ever been on a bike?” Dave and Rass stare at me. Crap. “Never mind,” I mutter. “Stupid idea.” Rass punches my arm. “Dave, I’m startin’ to see what you like about him. Fell! That’s awesome.” Dave is still gawping. “Mom? On a bike?” “Yeah, come on Dave, remember how she was when we went Go-Karting that time?” Dave touches the small scar running through his eyebrow. “Yeah. She’s a speed demon!” Dave and Rass grin at me, and we start plotting how to get Cindy on my Fat Boy. Dave becomes even more enthusiastic once he realizes that he’ll be the one to give her a ride since we can’t risk her discovering that my leg is injured or that Rass has secretly acquired a license. I give Dave a stern look and mutter “Like father, like son” since Dave got his learner’s permit without my permission. I crumbled a few weeks back and let him take the test, and since then Dave has been relentlessly lobbying to be allowed to borrow the bike solo. Rass and I shake hands as we head out to the trucks.

“See you Thursday, son, Fell,” he says as he swings into his cab. I give Dave the hardest look that’s straight-space safe, but the little bugger just grins and starts his truck. *** When we get home, Dave’s mood has shifted. He knows we moved too far out of our normal space, and he’s subdued. He’s not even surprised when I slam him to the porch floor before we get inside. He just gives a sigh of relief and gives me a lovely, mild, relaxed look as he lies on his back between my straddled legs. He’s still and silent as I make sure Ghia’s settled and the early warning visitor alarm is set. It’s dark, so I leave the cabin door open to pool light onto my waiting boy. It’s a bit chilly too, but we’ll warm up. Dave opens his mouth to say something. I hear, “Sir, you had pneu--” before he wisely bites his lip. I give him a mean smile. “I’ll stay dressed then, boy. Get your shirt and jacket off.” He scrambles out of them, and tosses them aside. I’ll remind him about folding later on; right now I have a different priority. He’s sprawled face up on the porch floor, his belly is heaving with anticipation, and his pink nipples are perked with cold and fear. I admire how they show through his chest hair for a second and then reach down and tweak one hard. “Fuck,” he moans. “I want to talk, boy.” “No,” he wails, despite having been the one pushing for a serious talk. “Not now!” I growl. “Don’t miss your chance, boy, you don’t know what I might agree to tonight.” I ease my bad leg out straight, and semi-squat astride him and torment his nipples while he tries to think about what I said. I’m not playing fair, and I don’t care. “Sir, please!” I run the back of my hand across his stubble -- he could shave twice a day -- and down his neck. I rest my fingers on his throat. “I don’t think a collar is right for you.”

He stays very still. His face is stricken. But he says nothing. Good lad. He’s not going to bargain or panic or back down from his desire for monogamy. Appearances to the contrary, I’m the one who is yielding. I return my hand to his nipples. “So the question is, boy, where does my mark go? Your final free choice: in the left or right?” I pinch each brutally, and his hips buck even as he focuses on my face. He meets my gaze directly. “Both, sir.” We both breathe hard. I reach into my shirt and pull out the chain Pol gave me. It still has Mom’s engagement ring and wedding ring on it. Her eternity ring is inlaid into my Rob memorial. Last time I offered Dave a ring, he rejected it. This time, he watches them dangle and nods almost imperceptibly. I tuck the engagement ring back in over my heart. I have plans for it, its jewels, and my boy’s tits. Dave holds his breath while I slide Mom’s wedding ring onto his pinkie and then gives me a sweet lopsided smile. “No one else?” “No one else,” I confirm. Before we get all pink-hazy and smushy, I flip Dave over, drag his jeans down, and pull him so he’s kneeling halfway down the steps with his hands on the porch. I unbuckle my belt. His ass is flawless in the moonlight and what I can see of his face glows golden in the cabin light. My boy. His butt welts up so damn perfectly as I lay my belt across his cheeks, and he wails and sobs as I seal our deal. The boys may claim I’m a pessimist, but they’re wrong -- I have lube stashed in my jacket, so I don’t need to go anywhere when I’ve finished his beating. His skin is hot as I stroke him, and he appreciates the cool lube on his hole. In this position, he’s the ideal height for me to fuck standing up. He doesn’t have to break his post-beating buzz to move anywhere, and my bad leg is unbent. My cock meets just the right mix of resistance and surrender as it slides deep into his ass, and he groans as my balls brush his thighs. I planned to stay still and relish the moment, but, hell, I start slamming. Dave is always noisy when we fuck, but he’s hollering his heart out tonight. I reserve a tiny part of my brain to listen for him shouting “comma splice” -- the safe word I bestowed on him and that he is sometimes too slow in using.

He manages to communicate that his dick and thighs are whacking against the steps and we coordinate a move onto the porch -- I guess I can handle having to kneel for long enough to get off -- and hell, I have enough of what Dave and twink call dolphins in me that my bad knee has cheerfully bent. I keep banging and Dave nearly falls over. He’s trying to reach up to grab his prick, but he needs both hands to handle the force of our rutting. I give him a reach around and he gasps, “Thank you, sir, thank you,” but all I need to do is hold his cock as we hump. “Holy fuck, sir!” wails Dave, and goes into a full body spasm, and fills my hand with hot liquid. I’m nearly thrown off, but I grab his hips. I about blackout as I roar and spurt. I think we both zone out because the next thing I’m aware of is lying across our doorway listening to Ghia giving polite, but worried, barks from the storeroom. “Boy,” I say sternly. “Your pup needs you.” “Aw, sir, aren’t you going to finish carrying me across the threshold?” I growl and tumble us both through the door. *** Thanksgiving morning is crisp and clear, and I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to handle a family dinner. It took me awhile to get used to going to Dave’s place -- not just the usual meeting the folks issues, but it had been years since I’d been in a home. I mean a home with a mom in the kitchen that smells like clean laundry and something baking. Pol’s wasn’t it because I was doing the work. Twink tries but, face it, Ben’s place is clean and organized because twink has been trained, yet it’s somehow un-homey. Perhaps I made twink too tidy. And the kitchen is a horror show with his food. I shudder. Rob made it right when we had Ben’s place to share. And the cabin, well, I think it works. It feels like my place. It’s as tidy as a cabin needs to be. Tommy’s embellishments helped. And now that Dave is there it has a warmth and lived-in clutter. Dave is pretty tidy really, and I’m learning to handle him leaving some possessions around. I’m just like Dad wanting to have a home and someone to treat me like king of the castle. I glare at myself as I shave in preparation for our trip. Hell, I’m such a retro cave man. “My cave man,” says Dave cheerfully as he stands behind me trying to tame his curls. “Get used to it, sir. You’ll always be muttering, and I’ll always hear you.” He yanks at the comb, and then pauses to admire his ring in the mirror. He flaunts his pinkie at me.

I growl. “Don’t make me confiscate it. If you get your mom all worked up about family, I’ll…” Dave just beams. “It’ll be fine, sir. Maggie’s baby and the bike ride will totally take care of it. I’ll show Mom the ring while I take her on the ride.” He starts cackling. “Are you gonna ask Dad for my hand while I’m gone?” I swat his ass hard, and he’s saved from more by both our phones ringing. “WTF?” says Dave in what he has kindly explained is text speak. We answer. “Hi Charlie,” says Dave. “Hey, Ben,” I say. Dave and I exchange looks and move apart so we can focus on our own conversations. I still hear my boy trying to calm twink, but I’m stunned by Ben’s news. “John, Charlie’s left me. Oh, fuck, man, I’ve screwed up. He says he’s not coming home when he gets back from Thanksgiving with his folks.” “Holy crap. What did you do?” “Got him a dog,” says Ben, and groans. I bite my lip, and curse softly. I’d nearly suggested that to Ben myself. Charlie has way too much energy, and, face it, love for just one guy, and his desire for a family is real. I’ve talked to the boy as he gave me driving lessons, and I really thought I’d encouraged him to be patient with his owner and helped him see other options. I guess a dog instead of a baby has shoved him over the edge with Ben though. I give Dave a “holy shit” look and he makes the same face back at me. I hear Charlie babbling from the other end of the phone. Dave taps his watch, and I nod. “Ben, where’s Charlie now?” Ben chokes with pained laughter. “He’s still in the driveway in Betsy. On the phone. He’s late setting off to his mom’s, but you know he won’t drive while he’s on the phone.” I share the rueful laugh. Twink is a total ditz, but he turns super-cautious and rigidly law-abiding as soon as he’s driving. It’s terrifying driving with him -- he gets tailgated all the time. “Come over tonight? I have dinner with Rass and Cindy, but we should be back by eight. We’ll fix it, Ben.”

Dave is scowling and shaking his head. “Yeah,” says Ben. “Uh, John? Can you take the dog? I can’t look at it.” “No! Ben, no. You saw what happened with Ghia.” I glare hard at Dave who is trying to hang up on twink. “John -- uh, it’s not any dog. It’s Fargo. Please, man.” Christ, what a clusterfuck. Not only has Ben tried to replace a baby with a dog, but it’s Casey’s dog. No wonder Charlie flipped out. His baby goes out of state and he gets the mom’s dog instead. “You dickhead,” I say as kindly as I can. Dave has flipped his phone shut -- he must have hung up on Charlie since the boy never stops talking first. I heard a groan from Ben. “Aw, hell, he’s started Betsy. John! He’s leaving!” “Tonight. Ben. Come out tonight. And bring Fargo.” I hang up. “Shit, sir! It’s not OUR problem. You have to stop fixing everyone else. We’re good. That should be enough for a bit! Unless we’re late. Then Mom’ll kill us. C’mon!” I slap my boy’s ass hard for that sass, and follow him to the Fat Boy. Part of the Cindy becomes Biker Momma and not Grandma plan involves us riding over, but I clearly haven’t thought this through. My leg still won’t handle controlling the bike -- and certainly not with a passenger. Dave has an unholy grin -- he has thought it through. “Oh no,” I moan. “Yes!” crows Dave. “You take the bitch seat! And dismount carefully so Mom doesn’t spot your leg. And then I can offer her a ride as part of celebrating my bike license!” I man up and climb on behind my boy. I’m still his sir no matter where I sit. And I give his ass a hard pinch to remind him of that. He squeaks, and puts on his helmet. “Hey, sir? Did you think of what to say to my parents at dinner?” I put my arms around my boy, and surprise myself. “Yeah, I’m thankful they made you.” Dave yee-haws, gives the engine a triumphant rev, and we peel off down the cabin track.

END Find out what happens to Charlie in Dolorosa -- his own Color Box story (Pink, of course!) coming in October.