My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 49

Yeah, blowing Gordon was overdoing it, especially after that hot sex I had with Dickie. Gordon's dick looked like Bruce's, plus he said 'please,' and I don't hear that word very often. Jeez, though, Dickie's funk routine brings all the dominant bells and whistles causing submissiveness in me that rocks my world, and I don't even especially like him. I like how he gets the job done professionally, though, and his paddling technique sets things up perfectly for what comes next. 

Common sense tells me Dickie doesn't have many, if any, customers who put out the money I do, which is why I was hopeful he'd accept my apology for throwing him out of the hotel room. And then, yeah, my humble apology was a factor in my increased submissiveness this morning. I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. 

I've paid a lot of money to male prostitutes this summer when, previously, I never paid for a single one, never even considered it. And, I've admitted many times that Richard, as big a prick as he is, did me a huge favor that night he dominated me and taught me my true sexual nature. Because of that, I've had the best sex of my life this summer. Early on, I had sex with Cowboy as his top. That was when we drove cross country and back right after Ronny died, but then Richard showed me I was a submissive bottom and Cowboy discovered Lee. After that, we were off and running on the craziest sex of our lives. Wow, what a summer it's been traveling with Cowboy... and none of this would have happened if he wasn't with me. Life is funny like that. What if we skipped Atlantic City? I only stopped there to gamble a night or two.

Well, we did stop there and we haven't left yet. I'm on my way to have lunch and see Bruce. The pussy boy sex I'm having with Dickie is sexy/hot but pales compared to the sex I used to have with Bruce. The funny thing is, I didn't feel especially submissive during sex with Bruce and, come to find out, he didn't especially like fucking me. We've found that being best friends works for Bruce, and he knows I'm paying pussy boys and serious about becoming a pussy boy. He tried only having sex once a day but eventually didn't even want to do that. His whoring life and especially recently has ruin Bruce for romantic sex.

After parking and paying, I walk up the ramp to the boardwalk feeling awesome. I'm light on my feet and as contended as can be. Contentment is not necessarily fulfillment of everything I want, but the realization of what I already have. I mean, I'm set up for the day ready to be cool without being horny.

Hmm, I see the rental booth over the beachside railing but can't tell if Markie's there. At the cafe, there's a short line of people waiting for an available seat inside. It's the weekend crowd, that's what has caused this backup on a Saturday  afternoon. I stand behind a man and woman holding hands. They appear to be in their forties and still holding hands after probably being married for years. I'm guessing they're married because the man has a wedding band on the proper finger. Huh, holding hands is sweet. Yeah, but you need a boyfriend before you can do that. 

In front of the couple holding hands are the two gay swisher boys I saw on the beach yesterday. They appear to be about Bruce's age or younger; one is short and blond-headed with a somewhat supercilious expression on his face, and the other one is a tall, light-skinned African American, neither of them especially cute, but they're cute together. They're not holding hands, but the way they're standing closely together, the way they keep finding reasons to touch each other, their heads close together whispering, then giggling; it all screams, hey everybody, we're gay boyfriends. You don't need gaydar to recognize that.

In front of them, is a mother/father combo with two teenage kids, a boy around fifteen and a girl who looks sort of like the boy but is maybe two years younger. Both kids are frowning and looking as if they'd like to be someplace else, preferably with creatures in their tribe, meaning kids their age. Then, those four are ushered into the cafe. As that happens, a man and woman senior citizens'-age get in line behind me. The woman taps my arm and says, "Excuse me, young man, is this line moving quickly. Have you been waiting long?" The man makes a snorting sound as if he's annoyed she asked me that.

Smiling, I say, "I got here a minute before you, and already four people in line got served," then the two swishing gay boys go in, and I add, "There go two more." She said, "Thank you, we drove down from Philly this morning, and we..." The man interrupts, "He doesn't care when we drove down here, or where we drove down here from... for God's sake, Mary!" 

She pats my arm, mumbling, "Thank you." I want to pop that old guy on his too-large nose, but spending a day in jail would likely be the result of that, plus my paddling is supposed to eliminate thoughts of violence like that one. . Then, the hand-holding couple and I are inside. I get seated at a small table against the wall with Bruce coming right over, saying, "Omigod, you're looking pleased about something."  

"It's you, Bruce. You make me happy." He goes, "Uh-huh, and I feel the same way about you. Um, whaddya going to have for lunch today?" 

Without looking at the menu, "Cheeseburger, fries, and a large Coke." As he scratches something on the little pad in his hand, and mutters, "Okay, number 8 with large C. Coming up, Zach," and off he goes. Hmm, these boardwalk shops are much deeper than this dining room, so this shop could be twice as big if someone wanted it to be bigger. The kitchen is open along the side opposite where I'm sitting, so half this place isn't being utilized. 

Why am I thinking a idiotic thought such as that one? It's because Bruce would like us to buy this place and maybe it could be turned into a dining room with a cool enough atmosphere that casino patrons would come here for dinner. After buying this place, though, it would take a lot of expensive renovations to turn it into a dining destination. And, I think I read that restaurants are the number one failure of all new business types in the world. Amateurs think they can run a successful restaurant until they try doing it and find out the zillion details they didn't know about. Buying this joint is a loser idea, but I need to let Bruce come to that conclusion himself. Maybe I can help him by getting some facts about it from Google. I need to do it cleverly, though, plus have an alternative business plan we can work together.

Glancing around the room, I see Bruce laughing about something with customers at a table near the front. He's smiling and laughing, and, gee, he's changed so much, so quickly—my hat's off to him. Surprisingly fast, my lunch is served. I go, "That was fast," and Bruce says, "Yes, sir. The chef is a genius." 

It'd be even better if he were a better chef, but I keep that thought to myself and mumble, "Well, what a good and loyal waiter you are," and there goes Bruce.

Well, the chef is fast, but my cheeseburger is almost raw. Not that I'd complain to the nice waiter. I eat quickly because I don't particularly appreciate eating alone. I tip the shit out of my waiter, wave at him, and then I'm on my way to the car, where I get a towel and sunscreen. Then, going down the beach, I'm feeling terrific, sexually satisfied, and almost giddy about everything.

At the rental booth, two teenage girls wait as Markie mumbles, "I'll take care of you just as soon as I get something corrected." One of the girls, the one who would make a super-cute boy, says, "Thank you, no rush." The other girl, who wouldn't make a super-cute boy and who needs to skip lunch for about a year, says, "Just hand us two chairs now. and correct whatever after that," as she holds a ten-dollar bill out.

I tell the overweight girl, "I'm sorry you have a hearing problem. It's sad at such a young age. He said he'll be with you when he corrects something." Markie glances over and grins at me but doesn't say anything. I'd guess the hefty chick, about seventeen, she snottily says, "Nobody's talking to you." 

"If not me, then who are you talking to?" The cute girl, who looks younger than hefty, says to the hefty girl, "Sissy, please don't start up..."  I smile brightly at them. Markie writes something on a clipboard and says, "Two beach chairs, right?" Sissy mutters, "Brilliant! You remembered what I just said," and the other girl goes, "Plus an umbrella, please." Sissy shoots daggers at me as I smile and say, "Have a nice day."

Returning from dealing with the girls' umbrella, Markie again does his cute grin, saying, "I set them up as far away from your spot on the beach as they'd let me." 

Smiling at him, "Good, thanks, Markie! Um, where ya been the last two days? I missed you, dude." He walks behind the counter,  "You're the most smiling person I've ever run into. What's up with that?" 

"I don't know. Everything is going pretty well for me even though my boyfriend and I broke up. How's your b/f doing?" Markie mumbles, "None of your business." 

"That good, huh?" He puts one of the new chairs out for me, asking, "Umbrella?" I smirk, "Yes, but doesn't your boyfriend need me to beat anyone up?" Picking through the umbrellas, he chooses a newish one, saying, "Nope! The homophobes are leaving us alone now that we've got you as our bodyguard."

He puts the umbrella on his skinny shoulder and starts walking. I catch up to him, saying, "So, your hair has grown out nicely from that horrendous haircut the boyfriend gave you a month ago, huh?" He mutters, "Is that supposed to be a pick upline?" 

I laugh, "Yeah, it's my best one. So, where have you been the last two days?" As he twists the umbrella into the sand, he mumbles, "I needed to drive my old man to work and back until my mom could do it again, not that it's any of your business. Um, the rental stand's owner, Mr. Grayson, was here running things." 

I give him ten bucks, saying, "Yeah, I know, but he's grumpy, and I prefer your grumpiness to his." He snickers, "I'm not grumpy to you." Rubbing his head, I ask, "How much tip did those girls give you?" He rolls his eyes, "What do you think?" 

"That much, huh?" He says, "Yep, zip." As I open the beach chair, I watch him walk away. Wow, cute ass on that kid! Oh, man, I feel good. Well, it is a rather weak sun this afternoon. Hmm,  after this weekend, there are only two weekends left before Labor Day, so it's getting close to decision time for me. Bruce will be working at the cafe through September, but I'll need a plan work-wise for him and me after that. I might take a chance and visit dear old Dad. He'll have a job for us in the firm. Well, hell yeah! That's what I'll do, and why didn't I think of that earlier? No, wait. What if I'm doing the pussy boy thing?

And I suppose the gay thing will come up about Dad giving us a place in one of the businesses. He's known I'm gay for years, of course, although we've never discussed it directly. I'll need to do that now because of Bruce. It won't be Mac who will set me up with a job anyway. He'll tell me to talk with Jo-Jo Sale in New York about it. 

Hell, Jo-Jo runs Mac's whole enterprise now, and Jo-Jo loves me. He's my Godfather. He invited Ronny and me to join him in Key West last spring. Then Ronny was killed and, at the funeral, JoJo and I didn't talk much. Cowboy and I did spend some time in Key West, although not with JoJo. Since then, he's sent me a few texts, but I've been vague about what I'm doing. He hasn't pried because he knows Ronny and I were super close, and I'd need time to get over... that.

Yeah, I'll think about this job situation some more. It has possibilities, although not immediately, and maybe as a last resort. Mac wants me to go to law school first and foremost. I'm not patient enough for that, though, and even if I was, I don't want to do it for a hundred reasons, and now Bruce is one more reason because he couldn't do it. 

Yeah, Bruce, Jeez, he's like Markie in that when he smiles or grins, that's when his cuteness shines through, and, unlike Markie, Bruce has been doing a lot of smiling and grinning lately. Hmm, I wonder if Mac ever mentioned to JoJo about me being gay? They became friends years ago when they were getting their MBA degrees at Wharton. Yeah, Mac had to have mentioned that minor fact of his Godchild being gay to JoJo, although he, like my old man, has never said a word about it to me. As I've said ten times, life is complicated, but this is another topic I'm putting on the back burner to think more about later. I want to enjoy how good I'm feeling.

After spending an hour or so fantasizing about Being a pussy boy for Jon Scheyer, I do a leisurely swim. Then, while walking up the beach to my chair, I see the swishy gay young guys giggling as they try spreading their beach blanket, hampered greatly by a strong breeze coming off the Atlantic. 

"Need some help, guys?" I ask as I walk up to them. The tall one gives me a girlie pose, a hand on his hip, as he lisps, "Well, aren't you sweet. Yes, take a corner on Henry's side; I can handle this side because of my wide wingspan." Supercilious Henry goes, "Are you a lifeguard or something?" Nodding, I go, "Yes, um, the 'or something part,'" and take a corner of the blanket from him. The three of us pull the blanket flat on the sand. 

Henry says, "I suppose now you want to lie in the middle with Antoine and me on either side of you." Antoine says, "Don't pay any attention to him. It's windy, huh?" I nod, "Yep," and walk up to my chair. They lie on the blanket as the breeze blows up one side of it, and I hear, "Shit!" as they spread out their arms and legs, giggling, looking uncomfortable. The wind dies down for now, and they roll together to the middle of the blanket; then, Henry is on his side doing something on Antoine's face with his finger.

Looking away from them, I wonder what percentage of Nature or nurture causes some of us gays to be, well, girlie-acting like Henry and Antoine, while others like Bruce and me are straight-acting, or what is accepted as normal-acting. On the other hand, those two probably feel they're normal. Puzzling...

The sun is hot now, so I moved my chair under the umbrella and checked my cell phone. Well, I should have seen Lee and Cowboy hours ago. I hear giggling from Henry and realize that occasionally, Lee and even Cowboy will break out with a gay affectation or two. I noticed it from Cowboy when he was with Lee. Yeah, I never noticed it before. It's not that I care one way or the other. It's just that guys like Antoine and Henry have a tougher time in this 'straight' oriented world we're all living in.

A little later, I hear Lee chattering away behind me as he and Cowboy walk down the beach towards me. He's chattering about one of the boy's favorite topics, Cosmology. A combination of physics and astrophysics. He's saying, "No, you're wrong, Cowboy. There are 120 billion galaxies in the observable Universe." 

Cowboy says, "Well, no shit! I'm talking about when telescope technology in space improves. Then they'll probably discover ten times that number. There's probably ninety percent of the Universe that modern technology cannot view." I turn around and say, "Keep it down, you two. There could be for-real astrophysics around here who will know you're both full of it." 

Cowboy says, "Hi, Zach. Lee thinks he knows it all." Lee sets his chair down and hugs my shoulders, saying, "I pretty much do know about the Universe, Zach. It's been my hobby since I was eight."

Cowboy sets his chair next to Lee's, the arms touching, and then says, "Well, it is a wicked interesting topic. What's the furthest galaxy, Lee?" He says, "That would be galaxy MAGSO 647-JD at 13.3 billion light-years away. It's relatively new and much smaller than our Milky Way." 

I'm getting a headache already as Cowboy says, "There are a hundred and twenty billion galaxies, and many of them are huge. Our Milky Way is a medium-sized galaxy, but if we set off the fastest spaceship, currently moving 35,000 miles an hour, it would need to roar through space at top speed for two billion years to reach the other side of our galaxy." 

I mutter, "Wow, we'd probably all be dead by then." He goes, "Oh, by the way, Zach, did you know there's been research done as to why men's penis heads are larger than the penis shaft?" 

"Huh? That's a helluva change of topic. Um, for real... someone did a study about that?"

Cowboy nods, "Yeah, a few studies. The American government did one in 2020. It was a $180,000 study that concluded that the larger head on a penis was provided by natural selection to give the man more pleasure to ensure, ya know, procreation or some such shit. Before that, the French government did a three-year $250,000 study concluding the enlarged head was for women's increased pleasure." 

Lee says, "Yep, and then there was an Irish group that was unsatisfied with those conclusions and had a study of their own. After two weeks and $75.46 spent on pints of Guinness, they concluded that the larger heads were to keep a man's fist from flying off the end and hitting himself in the face."

They're both laughing at their joke as I shake my head, mumbling, "I knew that was an 'effing joke after you said five words," then I chuckle, too, mimicking jerking off with my hand flying up, hitting my forehead. They simmer down, and Cowboy tells me how the ferris wheel got stuck last night with Lee and him at the very top, and Lee had to take a piss wicked bad and how he, Cowboy, kept tickling Lee, getting him laughing, trying to make him pee his pants. Lee tells his side of the story, and then he goes on to tell me how Cowboy turned white and almost threw up on the Tilt-a-Whirl, and Cowboy tells his version... and so on. They're very entertaining, or energetic at least.

Bruce and I, for very different reasons, couldn't even imagine doing any of that silly childish stuff when we were nineteen, but we would probably have been better off if we had. Of course, the boys were acting immature for their ages last night, but they didn't care... they were having fun, not hurting anyone, and not hurting themselves. 

Later, they get up to take a dip in the ocean; on the way, they stop to talk to Henry and Antoine. I don't know who initiated the conversation, probably Cowboy, but after a couple of minutes of talking, the other two get up, and all four go in for a swim. I walk up to the street and buy five cold water bottles from a vendor who only charges $3.50 a bottle...

After a fifteen-minute swim, the guys come out of the water and drag Antoine's and Henry's blanket to where we have our chairs and umbrella set up. Cowboy says, "You already met these guys, Zach. Can you believe they're from Key West, and yet they come up here to vacation?" 

I mutter, "Wow," and Henry lisps, "We stop at all the spots up the East Coast that have amusement parks and boardwalks. Key West doesn't have any." As I nod at the water bottles, I ask, "And, um, what is it you two do? For work, I mean." Henry puts his arm around the back of Antoine's neck, saying, "You sound like my parents. Um, we don't do anything. We're going into our junior year at Florida State University."  

"Oh, college students." They look older. Lee says, "Thanks for the water, Zach," and the other three mutter thanks as they all grab a bottle, then Henry says, "Antoine and I almost had heart attacks when we saw Cowboy here. Whoa, he's gorgeous!" 

Cowboy finishes his water bottle, mumbling, "Yeah, everybody says that, Henry." Lee goes, "You two keep your hands to yourself 'cause Cowboy belongs to me. Doncha, Cowboy?" Cowboy says, "Totally. Yeah, Lee's my man!"

Whatever. They talk about Ocean City, Maryland, comparing those amusement rides with ones on The Steel Pier and other places as I lose interest and maybe feel slightly jealous of their youthfulness. Henry is the size of Lee, meaning short and slim; he has longish blond hair and big blue eyes, but, as I said, he's not cute at all. His face is all angles with a pointy nose, chin, and cheekbones. Antoine is six feet tall, an inch or so shorter than Bruce and Cowboy, and stockier. He has a short African American hairdo and nice facial features, but he's not cute, either. He's nice-looking but probably was cute as a younger teenager. It's funny that size-wise, Antoine and Henry resemble Cowboy and Lee, with the smaller one being the boss.

Looking away from the boys, I try to develop a solid plan for talking to my old man about the future, but I can't make myself commit to a specific timetable for when I might do that. If Bruce were less conscientious, less responsible, my life would be easier 'cause it's better when he's with me deciding stuff for us. No, it's not even that much, as I simply like him being with me. We could travel around doing shit together if he didn't insist on working. Haha, that sounds so fucked up of me. What do you expect, though? I'm a trust fund asshole. I graduated from Yale, then four years as a Navy Seal so I was doing something worthwhile then. For the past three months, I've been drifting aimlessly but having the time of my life.

Cowboy and Lee are great kids, but we don't have a helluva lot in common. Amusement rides bore me, and I don't care about Solar System factoids... and they're nineteen, for Christ's sake! I'm twenty-eight, and Bruce just turned twenty-three, although, in many ways, he's older than me. Luckily, I met him or I'd probably have reenlisted in the Seals for lack of anything better to do. The possibility of going back to school for a law degree, as I said, has always been out of the fucking question, and working for the firm in a desk job has equally been so. Now, though, with Bruce... hmm.

Oh, fuck, look at that guy walking by! A hot-looking cute motherfucker walking by himself. I'm not the slightest bit horny, but if I was... What the hell? He's probably not gay, so I'm not missing out on anything. 

Telling the guys, "I'm going for a walk," I head down the breach admitting that there's no way around it; I've got to think of a job we can work together because he's not happy unless he's paying his way. After fifteen minutes, I realize I'm ogling guys on the beach again, so I walk back to the boardwalk, where there are fewer guys to gawk at. When I see Markie's rental booth, I take the next steps to the beach. Markie's busy with customers as I walk by, so I don't bother him. 

I'm not horny, thanks to Dickie, and that's a blessing. Approaching the boys, I see Cowboy sitting on the blanket with Henry kneeling next to him, a hand behind Cowboy's head. What's he doing? I hear Lee's saying, "Wait, Henry! Um, that might detract from Cowboy's natural gorgeousness." 

Henry says, "Be quiet, Lee," and Antoine says, "Cowboy looks too macho without a little eye makeup. Wait until you see how he looks when Henry uses his eyelash curler and then adds mascara." 

Jesus!

When I sit down, Antoine asks me, "How was your walk?" I shrug, "It was okay, um, what's going on?" He moves his limp wrist on which he's wearing many thin metal bracelets, and, making a prissy face, he goes, "Henry's adding to Cowboy's beauty. He's an expert at applying just the proper amount of makeup. When we go to clubs, drag, I look so hot. Don't I, Henry?" 

Henry mumbles, "Shut up, Antoine. I need to concentrate." He uses a gadget to close on Cowboy's eyelashes. When Henry releases it, Cowboy's eyelashes now curve up dramatically. Lee giggles, "Ya know what? I'm starting to like this, Henry." Henry nods, mumbling, "And you're next, Lee," then he does Cowboy's other eyelash. Antoine is still sipping water from the bottle I bought an hour ago. He says, "Now mascara, right, Henry?" 

Uh-huh, there are so many negative things I could say about this, all of them swirling around in my head, which is where I leave them by resisting the urge to say them out loud. Looking around, I don't see anyone paying attention to what's going on, so I'm not going to either. It's so like Cowboy, though. He goes along with nonsense just to see what it's like. Sort of like me with the pussy boy stuff. It's none of my business anyway, as Markie reminds me frequently. 

They fuck around with the makeup bullshit for another ten minutes, and then when Henry is satisfied, Cowboy looks at me, fluttering his eyelashes, "What do you think, Zach?" I look over and say, "Hmm, I think you looked better without makeup." 

Cowboy mutters, "Who has a mirror?" Henry goes into his 'murse' or man's purse, that he probably calls his shoulder satchel, and hands Cowboy a mirror. Cowboy laughs out loud, then says, "Holy shit, Henry. Now do my man, Lee. I can't wait to see him with makeup." 

Henry sternly says, "You're a cowgirl now! Okay, move your ass over so I can do Lee." Cowboy gets up and sits on his beach chair, mumbling, "You'll need to do us all over again after we shower." Henry says, "I can't wait to 'do' you for real, Cowgirl," leaving the double entendre hanging in the air.

I've had all I can take of this, so I ask, "Would you guys be interested in pizza?" That's pretty much a rhetorical question as I already knew the answer. Trudging up the sand to the boardwalk, I'm patting myself on the back for not saying anything negative to put a damper on their gay makeup party. During my days of bar pickups, I'd hook up with an occasional guy wearing some eye makeup, but I like guys, not girls. The closer to girls a guy looks, the less interest I have in him. That's just me, though; others feel differently, and that's okay too.

Waiting for two cheese pizzas, a perfect mid-afternoon snack. I spot my mentor/trainer, Jon, walking the boards in his pussy boy uniform. He's not approaching guys, just wandering around near the locker rooms, getting some fresh air. As I've said before, Jon and almost all pussy boys look like legal-age clean-cut teens. Many gay men want a gay man, though, with emphasis on 'man,' so they're not interested in clean-cut teens, and then there are gay guys like me who are interested in them. That's the beauty of online dating; you can choose your type. Random bar or street cruising is a different ball game altogether.

For one thing, how do you tell if a guy is gay? You can't tell from looking at Jon unless you make eye contact, and you're taking a chance there because if the guy is straight, that usually ends up with the guy asking snottily, "What the fuck are you looking at?" That, of course, leaves him open to some snotty retorts. It's a different ballgame, that's for sure.

It's nice not being horny, but even if I was, Jon has made it clear he can't service me. He's my trainer blah, blah, blah. Otherwise, I'd be talking with Jon right now... haha. 

I'm pretty sure my choice of younger guys for sex partners is me trying to relive my prep school days when other than this summer, I had my hottest sex. That's probably a pretty good guess. That, and me trying to make up for what I stupidly missed out on in college by being Ronny's flunky, ironically thinking I was a badass. Ha, the joke was on me!

I passed the cafe going for the pizzas, and now I pass it again as I'm carrying the pizzas back to the steps to the beach. Both times passing the cafe, I wanted to go in and gawk at Bruce for a minute or two. Heh heh, he probably wouldn't like me doing that, though, so I won't. I need to respect his decision, we're just friends now. 

When I'm walking down the beach with the pizza boxes, Cowboy sees me and jogs up to meet me, taking the boxes, saying, "Hey, thanks, Zach. Antoine bought big cups of Cokes for all of us." Nodding, I go, "Excellent."

Cowboy's still wearing the very noticeable eye makeup, his eyelashes curved, thick with mascara, and looking like shit, but I hold my tongue. As I walk to the chairs, I see Henry finishing Lee's makeup, and Lee asks me the same thing Cowboy asked. He says, "Hey, Zach, how do I look?" 

He's wearing the baseball cap Henry had on when I left for the pizzas. Henry has done a full-face makeup for Lee. Eye makeup like Cowboys, pale lipstick, and blush on Lee's cheeks. It's starling, but to me, not in a good way. I grin, saying, "You look like a tough girl, but, um, you look good too." 

Why bust his balls? He's looking at a mirror, mumbling, "I thought makeup would look better on Cowboy than me, but this is a hot gay look, Henry." Henry says bossily, "Give me the mirror. Tonight, I'll pluck your eyebrows, too; they're too thick." 

Cowboy opens the pizza boxes as I say, "Thanks for the Coke, Antoine." He does something with his shoulders and head, saying sweetly, "Well, you couldn't be more welcome, handsome."  Henry, who I'd already decided is the boss of Antoine, says to Lee, "Bring your boy, Cowboy, to the motel we're staying at, and I'll do both your makeups before we go on the rides." 

Lee picks up a pizza wedge, saying, "Okay, Henry, we'll be there. What time are we going to leave tomorrow for Wildwood." Henry says, "I haven't decided yet. I'll let you know tonight."

Uh-huh, Henry has taken over being in charge of Cowboy and Lee, too. Well, in charge of Lee as he's already in charge of Cowboy, who couldn't care less. As I said, Cowboy goes along with any and everything as long as it's fun. He's happily eating pizza and letting others decide. That's all fine and dandy, but those guys being made up like girls will attract the worst kind of attention on the boardwalk at night, and none of these guys are tough enough to do anything about it. I'll talk to Cowboy and Lee about that very thing at dinner.

Fortunately, a half-hour after eating the two pizzas, the boys go in for a swim, and ninety percent of their makeup gets washed off. Antoine and Henry remind me of that loser, Joe, and his boyfriend, Ricky, who also dominated Cowboy and put makeup on him, minus the curved eyelash ridiculousness. Fuck!

Now, after swimming, Antoine and Lee are on the beach blanket, giggling about something as Henry says to Cowboy, "How 'bout you joining the guys on the blanket so I can sit in your chair out of the sun." Cowboy goes, "Sure, Henry," and when he gets up, Henry gooses his ass, both of them smiling at that. Yep, Henry is another Ricky. 

He settles in under the umbrella next to me and, crossing his legs the way girls do it, then he taps my arm, saying, "Cowboy tells me you're his guardian this summer. Um, after his brother got himself killed and all." 

"That's a boorish way of putting it." He looks confused, Huh?" I shake my head and add, "Cowboy's pulling your chain. I'm not his guardian; he doesn't need one." 

"Oh! Um, well, do you find me attractive? Just wondering 'cause I couldn't help notice you looking at me all the time." I snort out a laugh, then say, "You must have me confused with someone else, Henry. First of all, you're too young for me, and even if you weren't, sorry, but you're too, um... let me say simply that I don't think we'd hit it off. No offense intended. And, for the record, I've barely glanced at you."

He mutters, "No offense taken. So, if not me, what is your type? Would it be macho tough guys like yourself?" 

Shaking my head again, fighting off an urge to smack him, I go, "Not necessarily, um, it varies." He purses his lips and hits my shoulder, murmuring, "Lee says I remind him of your ex-boyfriend, Bruce. So, I thought perhaps you'd be interested in you and me having a go at it. You're a bottom, right?" 

Wow, he has a large set of balls! I grin, "No, um, no thanks." He says, "You say no now, but I've handled bigger boys than you, and you're missing out on a great time. My boy, Antoine, and I will only be here for two days. Monday morning, we'll be heading back to Florida to get ready for college, so you need to make up your mind quickly... think about it."

Grinning, I say, "Sure thing, Henry." He gets up, saying, "You know what? I can see in your eyes you want me to do you. Heh-heh, you'll come around, and when you do, it'll be just between you and me. Keep your mouth shut about it. It'll be our secret, and all I need is ten minutes. Ten minutes with me, and you'll be following me to Florida... haha," and he rubs my head, adding, "And I like your boyish haircut." 

Oh, man, what an ego! And he said all that while exhibiting every gay affectation imaginable. Obviously, Henry misinterpreted what Lee said, and he's thinking Bruce is a swishy gay like he and Antoine. When Bruce gets here... Henry's in for a surprise. Sure, I could easily have dumped on Henry, but what would be the point of that? He's arrogant, obnoxious, and too full of himself but I don't need to be like that, too. 

Oh, Christ, though, what if I was super horny? I'd be susceptible to playing the submissive role with Henry because he's dominant, small, and young. It might be oddly fun, um, assuming I didn't bust out laughing at him. Hmm, something tells me I wouldn't be laughing. 

He's on the blanket now, talking about a gay club he and Antoine were at last night... the three guys are listening to him as if he's their leader. Some guys, obnoxious or not, just ooze confidence and leadership qualities. Yeah, under different circumstances, Henry would make for a very different sub/dom experience, so I shouldn't be so smug about rejecting him. Now I'm wondering what kind of equipment he's got, so I look at his crotch. Yep, that's quite a bulge. I squirm in the chair... ten minutes, huh?

Then, Bruce rubs my shoulder, "It's only four thirty, and I'm on the beach... sweet! How you doing, Zach? I smile, "I'm always good when I'm with you, Bruce." He opens his beach chair, setting it up next to mine, saying, "What a nice thing to say to a friend." I mumble, "Uh-huh," and he says happily, "You won't believe the size tip this good-looking, sexy hunk left me at lunch. I've got enough money to take you out to dinner tonight."

"Oh, wow, a date! Sure!" Then he goes, "No, not a date. Friends don't have dates! Haha, we'll have dinner together is all. I owe you ten thousand times that." I mutter, "I know that," and Bruce asked, "Um, who are those two," pointing at the blanket. Shrugging, I'm like, "A couple of gay guys the boys hooked up with. They're, um, a bit on the swishy side of gay."

Bruce shrugs, "Nothing wrong with that," and I go, "No, not unless they're obnoxious as well. Henry, the blond, is slightly annoying." 

Henry gets off the blanket and interrupts, lisping, "You're Bruce, right? I see what Lee meant, saying you and I are alike." 

Bruce frowns, "And who are you?" Henry holds out his limp wristed hand, saying, "Henry Coyle." Nodding at the blanket, he adds, "And that's my boyfriend, Antoine Wheater. Cowboy introduced himself to us, and now we've bonded like girlfriends, and we're hanging out together." Shaking hands briefly, Bruce says, "I think you've been misinformed, Henry," then he calls over to Lee, "What have you been telling Henry about me, Lee?"

Lee gets up all smiles, "Just good things, Bruce. Why?" I say "Henry thinks he and Bruce are alike." 

Lee snickers, "I just meant they're the same size and both a tad bossy, but in a nice way." Bruce asks, "Are you wearing lipstick, Lee?" Lee's hand goes to his lips as he mumbles, "Most of it washed off in the water. Henry made up Cowboy and me." 

Henry says, "I've decided we're doing the Steel Pier partially in drag tonight." Bruce mutters, "That's a fuckin' terrible idea." Cowboy yells over, "I'm starting to think the same thing." Antoine goes, "Hey," and playfully gets Cowboy in a headlock, his many bracelets jangling, and he goes, "Ah, c'mon. It'll be fun."

Henry pushes Lee, mumbling, "He's not like me," and they go back to the blanket as Bruce rolls his eyes, muttering, "Jesus..." I mutter, "Yeah, I know, but whaddya gonna do? They're leaving Monday to go home." 

Shrugging, Bruce says, "Well, luckily we're not Cowboy's and Lee's parents, so... whatever." I'm like, "Oh, that's right, we're not! I forget sometimes." We both chuckle. Bruce mumbles, "Anyway, I've already got my hands full guiding my best friend in life, don't I?" 

"For sure, but let's talk more about going out to dinner tonight. What'd you have in mind for us, if you don't mind me asking?"

Henry and Lee are sitting in Cowboy's and Lee's beach chairs now talking about who's boyfriend's hotter in bed, Henry saying, "No comparison, your Cowgirl is so much better looking than my Antoine it's not even close, but other than that, there isn't any way he can be as sexy as Antoine is in bed. Just not possible..." Lee goes, "Maybe to you, but Cowboy and I are in love, so, to me, no one could be hotter in bed than Cowboy."

I roll my eyes at Bruce and ask, "How about a swim?" He nods and, we walk down and tentatively go in water testing the temperature, stopping in waist-deep water, I say, "The water is warm, how about if we go out further and do our swim? We continue wading out further to begin swimming where there are no people. The lifeguard stands in his booth waving at us and blowing his whistle but we ignore him and swim away.

It's not easy for me to swim as slowly as Bruce swims, but that's what I do and after a little more than two hundred yards, I nod back at the way we came, "Let's start back." He gasps and says, "I need to float for a couple of minutes first." I nod, and he asks, "Did we do a half mile?" I go, "Not quite." 

It's closer to one-eighth of a mile, actually. As we float, I look in at the beach that's crowded with sunbathers and wonder why people gravitate to beaches all over the world. Maybe it's that the water induces a mildly meditative state of calm and gentle awareness of... of what?

Bruce says, "I'm ready," and off we go, swimming back to where we started. The lifeguard has lost interest in us by the time we're walking up the beach to our chairs. Our four companions are walking to the chairs from the street holding snow cones of shaved ice and sweet syrup. We meet at the chairs and Cowboy asks, "Do you guys want one of these? I'll go back and get you one before the guy leaves." 

I shake my head, "Not for me, thanks," and Bruce goes, "No, thanks." Henry says, "We don't need lipstick now. Look, you all have red lips." Antoine says, "You've got lemon-flavored ice so your lips are yellow." For some reason, they all giggle at that.

Cowboy is like a chameleon in that he changes to fit in with his surroundings. In this case, mimicking the two swishy gay boys. He did the same thing in our early travels by acting like Rickie the days he hooked up and slept with him. And, Lee had a touch of girlishness in him, to begin with. Just a touch, though, before coming under the influence of these two. Yeah, but I've come to think of Lee as my little brother, so he can do no wrong in my eyes, and I have even stronger feelings along those lines for Cowboy. The other two can take a hike, and the sooner the better. 

After Bruce and I dry in the sun, he says, "Ready to go, Zach?" I'm like, "You bet, boss," and get right up. See, lately, Bruce has been asking if I'm ready to do this or that when before, he'd tell me when we're doing this or that. Either way, it's okay with me. Bruce says to Cowboy, and Lee, "We'll see you guys back at the house." 

Lee comes over and quietly asks, "Can we invite Henry and Antoine for dinner?" Bruce looks at me, then says, "I'm taking Zach out to dinner tonight," then he asks me, "What do you think?" I shrug, "If it's okay with Cowboy. I mean, he is a one-third partner in the apartment." Lee says, "We'll clean up afterward, thanks."

Bruce and I put our shirts on, step into our sandals, then take our chairs to the rental booth where I say, "Markie, dude, we saved you the trouble of collecting these chairs but we left the umbrella, so," and I slap a ten-dollar bill on the counter. He says, "You don't need to do that, Zach." Ah-ha, that's the second time he's said my name! I grin, "Yes, I do," and I shoot him with my finger and thumb, mumbling, "See ya tomorrow, hotshot."

Bruce is chatty during the twenty-minute drive to the apartment telling me cafe tales from today's experiences. Some of the things customers do and say that Bruce thinks are humorous would annoy the shit out of me. A job dealing with the public means dealing with some decent people as well as some humongous assholes. It doesn't appear to bother Bruce, but then, when compared to his previous dealings with the public, restaurant customers probably are cupcakes to him.
 At the apartment we get beers and have a smoke on the balcony before both taking showers. With fresh beers, I ask, "Where are we having dinner?" He says, "I'm taking you to our restaurant, and we're going to get a little bit drunk to celebrate the new direction our life has taken." 

Swallowing beer, I mumble, "I could take that the wrong way." He nods, "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean celebrate that we're not boyfriends, um, but I see how you could think that. I just meant we're both happy with our lives, um, right? Celebrate that." 

"That's okay, Bruce, I know what you mean. Um, and I know the restaurant you call ours. It's the little Italian one, right?" He goes, "Yeah, where we've eaten together before. Near that hotel, the one we stayed at." Nodding, I go, "Uh-huh, good choice."

When we're just about ready to leave, Cowboy and Lee burst in the front door. Lee says, "You too look all dressed up." I ask Cowboy, "Where are Joe and Ricky?" 

Cowboy says, "Henry didn't want to come. Um, and he is sort of like Rickie, although Antoine isn't as bland as Joe." Bruce asks, "Who are Joe and Rickie?" 

Cowboy tells about those two leaches and Bruce goes, "Jesus, you two had quite the time traveling from Florida." Cowboy mutters, "Mostly it was a very cool time. Zach is my hero. He helped me get past, um, well never mind that." I give him a hug, muttering, "Cowboy is the hero. Everything that developed positively for me this summer never would have happened without him."

He mutters, "Yeah, he's right," and we all chuckle at Cowboy's modesty deficiency. Bruce goes, "Well, it's time for our shot and beer." Lee goes, "Oh, no..." and Cowboy says, "Yes, let's do it, then my main man is going to send me around the world." Lee mutters, "If I don't hurl from drinking the shot."

Lee doesn't hurl, instead, he mumbles, "Gastly, but I can handle it okay now." Cowboy goes, "You da man, Lee," and we go out on the balcony to finish our beers and three of us smoke cigarettes. I'm feeling special love for these guys. A brotherly-type love and friendship. I could almost burst with happiness. 
Lee, waving his hand at the cigarette smoke, says, "Cowboy told me he doesn't want to do the drag-makeup thing tonight, so we're not doing it." 

I mumble, "Good thinking. I was going to try talking you out of it because you'd just be inviting an altercation on the boardwalk and nobody needs that." Cowboy goes, "And I've already sort of done the makeup thing with Ricky." 

Lee says, "I've heard all I need to about this Ricky asshole." Bruce asks, "Um, so why aren't those two guys having dinner here?" Shaking his head, Lee shrugs, "We invited them, but when they found out we live twenty minutes from their hotel, Henry said fuck it." 

Oh, another good development!

After Cowboy finishes his beer and then Lee's, he flicks his cigarette butt off the balcony and says, "Oh boy, now my hot boyfriend is gonna send me to the moon." 

Lee puts his arm around Cowboy's waist, mumbling, "Or maybe further." Cowboy winks at me, I nod my head, flick my cigarette butt, then mutter, "You better not get pregnant because I don't want to try explaining that to your parents." The boys do some snickering as off they go. Bruce and I exchange eye-rolls, then he goes, "Hungry?" Nodding, I say, "Yep, I'm ready."

It's a top-down pleasant drive to the restaurant. Bruce is recalling the two other times we ate at the little Italian place. He remembers details that seemed so routine to me I've forgotten them, but they seem important to Bruce so I'm like, "Oh, yes. That's right, I remember that." Gee, he doesn't take anything for granted.

It's seven o'clock when we walk inside the restaurant and get seated right away. This is okay and maybe choosen because it's hardly a romantic spot with the big plate glass window along the front like you see in shops; a barbershop or UPS shop, or whatever. We're seated right next to the big window looking out at the sidewalk and parking meters. 

Bruce doesn't seem to notice as he excitedly says, "When you first took me to a restaurant I was very uncomfortable not knowing how I should behave, you know? It wasn't something I did, but it's great eating out at real restaurants. Before, I usually ate at sub shops or pizza joints, not fancy restaurants like this." 

Does he think this is fancy? 

An overweight Italian-looking waitress, chewing gum, comes over and drops menus on the table, saying, "Hello fellows, what can I get you to drink?" Bruce says, "We'll have Manhattan's on the rocks." She snaps her gum and goes, "I'll need IDs." I'm like, "Seriously? I haven't been carded in three years." She says the bullshit line, "I need to card anyone who doesn't appear to be at least thirty, hun." It's Bruce who she's actually carding. When I met him I thought he was nineteen. 

We show our licenses, which she barely glances at, then says, "Bourbon or rye for the Manhattans?" Bruce says, "Um, huh? Oh, I know what you mean, yeah, Jim Beam." She snaps her gum and says, "We don't have Jim Beam." Bruce frowns, then looks at me, and I go, "Wild Turkey then." She says, "Coming right up, hun," and off she goes. 

Bruce chuckles, "Do you see what I mean? I didn't know what to say." Shrugging, I go, "Who the fuck doesn't have Jim Beam?" He goes, "It must not be an Italian bourbon." 

I don't know if he's serious, so I pick up the menu, asking, "What'd you say we had last time we were here?" He says, "Chicken parm. It was the first time I've ever had it, and it was delicious, but I wanna try something different."

We look at the menu and Bruce asks, "Do you know what chicken piccata is?" I nod and tell him. He goes, "We'll have that," then he goes, "Oh, sorry. Um, I shouldn't order for you and I did it with the drinks." 

"I like you ordering for me, and chicken piccata is a good choice." He grins, "You're so nice," and we chuckle about the 'nice' thing. He goes, "Let's get a starter," and he reads the menu, then he says, "Haha, Italian wedding soup. Is that too suggestive?" 

He likes chicken dishes obviously. I say, "It's basically chicken broth with round dumplings."

Our drinks arrive, Bruce orders two more and we give the gum-chewing waitress our order. She says, "You boys are easy. You both get the same thing, huh?" Bruce says, "Just a coincidence," and, not really giving a shit, off she goes. Bruce lifts his glass, and says, "Thank you, Zach." I tap his glass saying, "Ditto, Bruce." 

Manhattans are basically all liquor, bourbon and sweet vermouth with a cherry. This is a good one too, but small. Good thing Bruce ordered another.'

Bruce talks about buying the cafe, and I slide in some facts I learned online, such as the unfortunate truth that sixty percent of new restaurants fail within the first year of those that make it past the first year, eighty percent of those fail within five years, then reselling a failed restaurant isn't an easy thing to do. Finished our second Manhattans, Bruce goes, "That's startling. I had no idea. So, what are we going to do?" I tell him about my old man's varied businesses and about JoJo running them, and finish with, "And JoJo is my Godfather who thinks I walk on water." 

Bruce goes, "Okay then, we've got options. To hell with my cafe idea." I go, "No, it was a good idea, but risky. Your UPS Store is a more likely to succeed idea." 

He goes, "There you go again, not embarrassing me... always being nice."

When our soup is served Bruce says, "We'll have a glass of, um, Italian wine with our entrees, please." 

She asks, "Which one?" Bruce looks at me and, wanting to keep the cost down since Bruce wants to pay, I mumble, "Ruffino Chanti Classico." She nods and scribbles something on her little pad, "Good choice," and off she goes. If I ordered Mateus she would have said the same thing. 

The soup is very good, then so is the chicken piccata! This place lacks a romantic atmosphere, but it has something better, an excellent chef. For dessert, we have cannoli with sweet ricotta cheese and pistachios. We're both very pleased with the dinner, and it cost less than eighty dollars including a tip. It's eight-thirty when we get back from the restaurant, and Bruce is yawning. He's been up since five o'clock this morning without the nap I've had.

I'm off to bed, Zach. I mumble, "Damn, I haven't been gambling much. I'm going to make it a late night and do some gambling. Tomorrow morning I'm still driving you to work, though." 

Bruce is already pulling his shirt off, "We need that second car, Zach."

"I know, I know. Thanks for that great dinner, Bruce, See you later, bro."

As I'm walking down to my car, I get a pang of regret that I could have made Bruce happy as his boyfriend. That failure is not on me as much as it's on the terrible experiences he's had involving sexual situations and prior to that a home life that resulted in him being homeless as a teenager. He can't love and he hates sex, so far he does. He's been the happiest I've ever seen him since we became best friends. I have this thing about taking care of people, being compassionate and I love Bruce and can't turn that love off because he can't love me back, so I'm looking out for him and maybe some years from now best friends can be lovers... it wouldn't be the first time.

For now, I need to take care and look out for me, too. At lunch I was not the least bit horny, but this is past dinner time, never mind lunch and I'm horny. I'm so horny I wish I'd run into Henry, haha. That's a ridiculous long shot but hooking up with a pussy boy is far from a long shot, so I'll see what's available.

I've still got a buzz on from drinking at the apartment after the beach and the drinks at the Italian restaurant, so no more drinking tonight. The buzz has lowered my inhibition enough that almost anything goes tonight. I need to get my ashes hauled tonight and I will do that. Why does getting ashes hauled mean having sex, though?

Parking at my usual parking lot, I go up on the boards because I don't know where the pussy boy street walkers are located. So, first, I'm going to see if anyone is lurking around the locker room. Okay, no one is, so my next move is going into the hotel bar Richand hangs out in. Not to see if I can hire him, which I would gladly do, except he doesn't do hired sex. He has sex with guys he's recruiting but that's all.

He already recruited me. It's crowed in here because there's gambling plus the bar. After ten minutes, I need to give in to the conclusion Richard isn't here tonight and there are no pussy boys here. I'd know from their uniform.

Dammit. I call Jon expecting to get yelled out for calling him this late. It's almost ten o'clock. Jon answers after the fifth ring, saying, "Zippy, this better be that you're in trouble and need my help and not about anything to do about sex."

I studder, "Oh, no, it's that I wondered if you wanted me to practice, um, with one of your recruits or even Elie's. Jon says, and I could hear a chuckle in his voice, saying, "Get to bed, Zip. I'll see you at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Remember... do not go to Eli's! You're done with the paddling." 

He ended the call. Nobody says 'goodbye.' Well, fuck! All I can do is ride around looking for a pussy boy or a non-pussy boy prostitute. When I'm thinking I can't get fucked, I get even more horny. Wait, I'll drive to Dickie's apartment. It's not far, so I get my car and go there. No lights are on and I don't want the wrath of waking somebody up knocking on the door.

Smoking a cigarette, my car in the lot again, I'm walking the boardwalk aimlessly, getting more and more pissed off when I hear, "Zack! Wait!" It's Cowboy's voice, so I stop and look around. There are a million people on the boards tonight. I see Lee first and then Cowboy, both boys are eating that horrible funnel cake you can get at fairs, the circus, boardwalks, wherever. Fried batter sprinkled with powdered sugar.

Cowboy asks, "Where's Bruce?" I tell him he's in bed because blah, blah, blah, then ask, "So, did you hit the rides with those two guys from the beach?"

Nodding, Lee says, "Oh, Bruce is working Sunday. Um, yeah, we just left the pier because Antoine threw up and Henry was taking him to their hotel room. It's a hotel around here." Cowboy says, "And we're going back to the apartment. We'll be quiet and won't disturb Bruce. What are you doing?"

"Oh, gambling. I just came out of there," pointing at Richard's hotel. Well, not his hotel, but it's where he always goes. Then I add, "Getting some fresh air." It's embarrassing admitting I need to get fucked two or three times a day, so I lie.

Cowboy finishes his fried dough and pat's my shoulder, leaving a powdered sugar handprint there, saying, "Good luck with the gambling. We'll see you tomorrow." Lee mutters, "G'night, Zach." and pats my other shoulder. There's probably powdered sugar there too, but I can't see it. "I'll see you tomorrow, guys!"

Lee has his motorbike. I hope he drives because he's much more experienced. Okay, what do I do now? With no better idea I walk around the lobby of nearby hotels and in fifteen minutes I see Henry. At first, I'm not sure its him because he has a stupid straw lifeguard hat on, his long blond hair hanging almost to his shoulder and big sunglasses hiding his big dark blue eyes. It's him, though. He's small sized, like Lee. What the fuck is he doing, though?

I don't even bother try lying to myself. I'm excited at the thought of getting fucked by that little arrogant, taker charge, dominantly obnoxious nineteen-year-old. He's perfect and thinking that makes me grin and mutter, 'You need a half dozen psychiatrists working around the clock straightening you out.'

Okay, I'm thrilled at the chance I never really thought I'd get. He was perfectly unbearable, an oxymoran if there ever was one, propositioning me on beach when I wasn't horny. My pride, what smidgen of it that left, won't allow me to approach him. I'll walk by and hope he recognizes me.

Acting as if I'm in a hurry, I quickly walk right by him, but he was looking away. Balls! Coming back the other way, he puts out his hand and grabs my arm as I'm almost by him. He says, "I saw you walk by the first time, Zach," and nods at the mirror around matching support beams in the lobby supporting the first-floor balcony dramatically hanging over half the lobby.

"Excuse me! Who are you?" Henry laughs, muttering, "Pathetic try, Zach. You wanted to catch my eye so you pulled this hurriedly walking by me horseshit. I saw you walk in looking around."

"I was looking for the casino. You're Antoine, right?"  He laughs a good rolling laugh that sounds real, not faked. My face is getting hot and red. Goddammit, this sucks! He's got me figured out. Way too embarrassing."

Henry, still chuckling, says, "We can't do it in my room. Antione's sick. Do you want to rent a room here or at another hotel?"

What the fuck? I nod, "This hotel. Let's go, Henry." He grabs my arm again, stopping me again. "Not yet, buy me a few drinks first." 

"Huh? You won't get served." He pulls my arm, "Come on, do what you're told. You're either going to, or I will have no time for you." I've come this far, "Okay," and I follow him to a small bar right outside one of the casinos. There are only six bar stools but four are empty so I sit beside Henry and he tells the bartender, "Two shots of Tequilla." The bartender puts two shot glasses on the bar and pours the Tequilla, not my favorite alcoholic beverage.

Henry taps his shot glass to mine, muttering, "To us," and he swallows it without making the face I made. Shots of Tequilla? Really? The bartender politely asks, "Shall I run a tab?" Henry looks at me and I shake my head putting a fifty-dollar bill on the bar and Henry mutters to the bartender, a sixtyish old man with a thin mustache, "We'll do it again." This time when we tap shit glasses, Henry nods and says, "Thanks," and flashes down the Tequilia.

I swallow mine, it burning all the way down, and ask, "How do you get served?" He says, "The hat and dark glasses in combination with complete confidence when talking to the bartender. An arrogance confidence, the kind submissive girls like you appreciate."

"Oh, fuck you!" and I start to get up as Henry sternly says, "Sit down. Stop that nonsense." I stifle a gasp at the shocking curtain of submissiveness the covers me in a startling manner, completely unexpected. I sit and shiver deliciously, not saying anything as Henry says, "Bartended, two beers, and take everything out of the fifty. Keep the change."

I'm getting that submissive little boy feeling that I haven't experienced since Richard brought it out of me a few months ago. He did it just as quickly as Henry. It's something I embrace and grovel in, extending it by not speaking. I take it very seriously because he did. Henry takes this and himself, and probably everything very seriously and it rubs off on me because I encourage it to rub off.

I've gotten so quickly into deep submission I'm afraid to breathe for fear it'll be gasping for air, so I inhale slowly through my nose as Henry says, "Finish your beer quickly and register for a room. I'll wait here. Go ahead, drink up." I chug the beer, my dick hard in my pants. This is so much better than I expected it's more than worth all the troubled I've gone through. And to think I was ready to give up on the night and deal with horniness sleeping with Bruce... with my best friend, Bruce.

Can I believe I'm registering at another hotel in Atlantic City for my prostitutes? Money, money, money!  The idea of how horny I'd have been at my training session tomorrow morning with Jon Scheyer sends a chill through me. That would have been a living hell, and I get a feeling of gratefulness that Henry is going to take the trouble to dominantly fuck me. That puts me more ridiculously submissive to him, and in my brain somewhere I acknowledge it's ridiculous, but somewhere else in my brain my deep addiction to this form of gay sexual activity easily overrides common sense. Does a drug addict who looks all night for someone to sell cocaine, when he finds that guy, say, 'No, never mind'? 

Walking back to the small bar with the room key card it occurs to me how confident Henry is sending me on my own where I could come to my senses and keep going. Putting the key card on the bar in from of Henry, he puts it in his pocket, mumbling, "Don't sit! We're going up to the room."

He's not a pussy boy, and he says he's never herd of pussy boys as a male escort company. Come to think about it, I never heard of them, either. They've been so prevalent in my life this summer I'd forgotten what a tiny part of the world they are.

Waiting for an elevator, Henry smiles at me and pitches my nose, muttering, "Stand on my left side, Zack." I do that, knowing he's fortifying that he's dominantly in charge. There are three other men ages forty and up who witnessed me doing that which almost made me cum in my pants with submission. This is, to me, like winning the gay submissive/dominant jackpot. Henry is unbelievably perfect for what I need tonight. I'm not surprised as he exhibited some of his arrogant over-the-top dominant attitude talking to me on the beach, but I wasn't horny then and he came across as repugnant. Horny, I don't see him as repugnant in the least.

I watch him for any instructions the way a fog watches his master. The men around us frown, exchanging raised eyebrow 'looks.' I only know that from my peripheral vision because my eyes were on Henry. Getting on the elevator car, Henry says, "Hit nine, Zach." I do that and he pats my arm, murmuring, "You're doing fine."

Everyone gets off before the ninth floor, but that barely registers. What registers is Henry saying in a pleasant conversational voice, "In our room, get undressed and on your knees. I'll have my pants off sitting on the side of the bed. Suck me all the way off and swallow my cum. We'll have a drink from the courtesy mini bar, and since I haven't had a climax before the one you suck out of me, I'll fully reload in less than an hour and fuck you with you lean on the bed, your feet on the floor, your legs spread as wide at they'll go." 

He stops, looking at the floor-lights indicator,, as the sign indicates where and mumbles, "Here's our floor." We get off and go to the right as the sign indicates room 905 is located. Henry continues, "I'll fuck a good climax out of you, but then you'll either need to stay the night or come back tomorrow for more. I'll need to see how Antoine is doing and take care of him, too. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course I do, Henry." 

"I'll only tell you once to watch your tone of voice when talking to me. If I don't like it, I'll walk out on you."

I admire so much these small dominant 'tops' being so confident that they've analyzed me enough to know they can get away with treating me like an obsequious underling who will not lay a finger on them, although with one arm tied behind my back, I could kill him in ten seconds with my free hand. Henry can't even imagine that happening after what he's seen and heard of me this afternoon and tonight.

He opens the room and puts the key card in his pocket. It's his room until eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. I'm undressing as he goes in to piss, which I need to do, so when I'm naked, I ask, "Do you mind if I take a leak, too, Henry?" My voice sounds like it's coming from an eight-year-old boy a mile from here. Henry shrugs, "Why would I mind?"

I do that quickly and come back into the bedroom seeing Henry, as he said, sitting on the side of the bed, his short legs hanging over. My eyes bulge seeing his big seven-inch cock. Trying not to smile,  I get on my knees staring at his penis. It's not only long but t's fat too, his balls appearing small compared to his big cock.

He has a normal looking dark blond pubic patch, but no other hair on his body. A body that;]'s very attractive in a smaller package. From the muscle definition in his biceps and his stomach muscles I'm guessing Henry has helped what Nature provided him with a lot of weight lifting, sit-ups, pushups, and whatever.

Henry says, "Stop staring at me dick and do something with it." I pick it up and tentatively lick the head, taken aback a little by his natural scent. It's strong as if he hasn't showered since leaving the beach. I take a deep inhale through my nose and my cock tightens up. Gasping, I put his cock in my mouth and enter a trance world where everything is sensitized ten-fold in my head. 

Henry, sounding pleasant enough, says, "I recognize your condition, believe me I do, and ordinarily I'd take it up a notch or two for you but we're on a time constraint here. I need to get back and check on Antoine, okay?"

I don't know how much later, the next thing I'm conscious of is Henry's balls in my mouth and what looks like an almost eight-inch fat boner in my fist as I suck on his nuts, then watch precum drool down the shaft. Spitting out his nuts, I put his long, fat boner in my mouth and go down on it, and over four inches slides tightly down my throat, then out it comes, me gagging like mad.

More precum, but without any taste. His strong body scent in my head. Not BO, a human body scent that's been on the beach for hours. It's a distinct male scent that makes my dick get hard as I go down on that sloppy big boner again, and Henry hops up and down on the bed, making a breathy sound blowing his load. A big climax that shot his entire load down my throat, directly to my stomach. He lies back on the bed, his cock sloppily pulling out of mt throat and mouth as I stroke the hard six-inch boner, I didn't know I had; squealing like a child, I climax so hard I blacked out for two seconds, coming to with my face against the side of the bed between Henry's knees.

It must have been a spectacular climax, but I missed most of it. Taking my face off the side of the mattress, I sit back on my heels, looking at Henry, who is holding his softening dick, sighing. Taking a deep breath, he sits up, pulls his legs over, and gets off the bed, mumbling, "Why can't Antoine suck cock like that?"

I just sit here, slowing coming out of my submissive trance, mystified by the depth of it, but I don't answer Henry's question assuming correctly it's a rhetorical question. He's naked from the waist down, wearing a colorful button-down shirt that's shirttails are covering his dick and ass. Without commenting directly to Zach about how good the blowjob was, Henry asks, "What do you want to drink from the minibar?"

Shaking his head, Zach mutters, "Nothing, thank you." His voice almost sounded normal. Henry gets two beers from the little refrigerated minibar, walks over to Zach and says in a very authoritative, loud manner, "Get off your ass and act your age! Here, drink this."

I jumped up and took the beer, "Yes, um, thank you." I almost said Thank you, Sir. Henry's bare ass sits on the upholstered chair and says, "This is a nicer room than Antoine's and mine, so I'll move him here after fucking you. That was good cock sucking, but I imagine you have a lot of opportunities to perfect your technique. "No, Henry, it's a recent thing."

He rolls his eyes, quietly mumbling, "Bullshit," and chugs half the can of beer. I'm standing holding the beer, not sure what to do, while Henry is no help, talking about how beautiful Cowboy is and how if he lived in this area, that little twit, Lee, would be taking a hike, and Cowboy would be Carson Coyle."

The four gay boys were screwing around with girl makeup and talking for hours, so I'm not surprised Henry knows Cowboy's real name, but I wonder why I have no interest in asking Henry anything. Maybe it's because I don't like Henry. I love his dominance, it's a casual, natural,  dominance, but Henry can turn it up in a second, like when he yelled at me to get the fuck up.

Henry's not asking me anything either, maybe for the same reason I don't ask him.  Whatever, Henry keeps talking and then getting another beer explaining how he was valedictorian of his high school in Florida. Laughing he does the first part of the speech he gave at graduation, then says, "That was my best day so far."  

Taking a deep breath, I test how submissive I am and realize Henry bored the shit out of me, and I'm not the least bit submissive now, but I'm still horny. I ask, "How is the reloading coming along, Henry?"

Henry laughs, "You hot shit. Zach! Have you been conning me with the submissive act? No, you haven't, and the reloading is complete. Do you remember what I told you?"

Getting that itch in my rectum, my balls squirming in their sack, anticipating getting fucked, I lie on my chest on the bed, looking back and moving my legs as wide apart as I can get them. Henry grins, ripping open a condom packet, but doesn't pull out the condom yet. He gets behind me, mumbling, "I'm glad you came looking for me, Zach. I'm horny too, and I like fucking big studs like you."'

He rubs his flaccid dick across my buttock a couple of times, then up my short ass-crack, and I get a semi-boner. I watch Henry stroke that big cock and roll on the condom, then he feeds the head in my anus, pushing, rubbing, pushing as his cock gets harder than harder still, and then I lose it and yell into the mattress, 'Motherfucker, OW..." but Henry isn't a considerate guy when fucking. He's the dominant top, and he apparently feels his submissive sex partner will either learn to like taking it hard, or he'll learn not to play with guys who have a big cock.

The condom has extra lubricant, or else it would have been much worse because once Henry's boner opened my anus enough to get the head in, he pushed the whole thing in all the way until his pubic hair hit my buttocks. It had to have hurt Henry's cock too, but nothing compared to the early thrusts and withdrawals in my ass, with me moaning in pain. Still, a minute later, all is forgiven because Henry plowing my now wide-open asshole, slippery with lube, has got it swarming with pleasure vibrations sending chills all over my body. 

I can look back and see Heny has a look of determination, holding onto my hips, humping his big sex organ back and forth with me now tightly closing my eyes. It's so intense I'm unable even to moan with pleasure. I'm overwhelmed with the glory of being fucked perfectly. All the nerve endings inside me are singing with pleasure as the huge cock is turning every nerve ending into a bell ringing out sexual pleasure, and my impending climax is at the controls now. It's almost scary, the power is, and I start groaning, "Oh, oh, oh, ah, ahh, ahh!" and then my steel cock spews out cum like I'm taking a piss of cum, and then another shot of cum. I can't think straight as I shudder and shudder, mumbling, 'Yes, yes..."

Making a weird exhaling sound, Henry pulls his cock from my ass, smacks it, and mutters, "Good, very good." Then he bends forward, muttering, "Holy shit... well, okay." Straightening up, he says, "Whew, that was good. How about getting dressed now, Zack? I couldn't do you again for a couple of hours, anyway, and I need to get my boyfriend over here, so you need to go.' He's pulling on his underpants, "How was I, Zach."

Still dizzy from that out-of-this-world climax, I drag my chest off the mattress and stand. Taking another deep breath, I look for and find my underpants. Picking them up, I mutter, "One of the best fucks I've ever had, that how you did."

I get dressed as Henry's using the room phone trying to call Antione. Giving up, he says, "I'm glad you appreciated my effort, Zack. Antione is too afraid to answer the phone. I love how he needs me so much."

What a jerk! I check my horniness and don't say anything, but Goddamn, Henry fucked all horniness out of me. He watches me finish getting dressed, then opens the door, and tells me, "As I say, I'm glad you found me. I wish it were on a night when my girlfriend wasn't throwing up because seconds are better than firsts. Don't you agree?"

We're in the hall, walking to the elevator, and I feel another cool shudder. Boy, Henry fucked me good!  Nodding, I mumble, "Yeah, seconds are great." I'm trying to act normal, but right now, I'm not sure what that is. I just want to get away from Henry. I don't hate him or anything. I need a reality check and some fresh air. 

Well, that's no problem because I think Henry is just as anxious to get rid of me. That works; there are no hard feelings. He gets off the elevator on the fourth floor, and I sigh—a sigh of relief going down to the lobby and right outside to the fresh air and smell of the ocean. We did one another a favor and then... get lost on both sides.

It's not late, so I walk the boardwalk for a while just for the hell of it. I'm feeling good again and ready for Jon Scheyer tomorrow, but I am not as excited about that as I used to be. Things were more perfect when Bruce and I were fucking, but he doesn't want that.

To be continued...