I noticed him first in the coffee shop I stopped by most days that summer before heading to the office. He had walked in with four other guys that morning. They were all young, in T-shirts and Levi's, thick leather belts, heavy brown workman's boots with thick gray wool socks with red and white top bands sticking out. They had all picked up coffee and sat at the next table outside talking, laughing, and lighting up Marlboro's, almost like any number of others sitting around most mornings on a work break.
He had noticed my looking and smiled back as he sat down but otherwise paid me no attention. Still, I couldn't help glancing his way although I tried not to be obvious. The others were sloppy in their manner and dirty work cloths, looking like they could have cared less. He had stood out from the others. Clean. Neat.
His hair was light colored brown, a bit curly, hanging down over his forehead. His face was chiseled by high cheek bones and the bluest of blue eyes highlighted by long lashes and thin eye brows. That smile could have melted mountains when he tilted his head slight to the right and acknowledged my presence at the next table. Those teeth were pearl white, straight, perfect, and his face was tan as if he worked outside everyday.
The white "T" he wore was clean and had to be either new that morning or else ironed carefully. It was tight and gave promise of good but not overly muscular development. The arms showed the biceps a young laborer or someone who worked out frequently would sport.
A thick leather belt around his clean, creased Levi's was loose enough to permit him to wear them low around his narrow waist, in a fashion I hadn't seen much of around here any more, but they looked like they would be tight if pulled higher.
I remember thinking he probably was of French descent, but our tables weren't close enough to hear their lively conversation as they joked, laughed, smoked, and drank coffee together. One waitress seemed to know them, but he was the one in which she showed interest. Maybe she was doing him? Or wanted to?
I knew I'd like to meet him, but there wasn't any chance at all. After about a half an hour, one of them looked at his watch, said something, and immediately they all left together.
I watched as his strong back moved toward the door of the shop. No way I could say "Hi," but I would have liked to!
He was the last one out the door and turned and smiled that same appealing smile as he left. He knew I had noticed. Then he was gone. The waitress had also stopped and watched him go.
That rural town was small enough most people knew each other, but I never saw him again that Spring. The town itself was in a transition. The logging mills that had been the main industry on the island were in hard times and the plants were facing layoffs and some closures. It was something that was in the paper most evenings but something not effecting me too directly and thus I didn't pay it a whole lot of attention. Liberals were out fighting to save the forests, all of them, while loggers and the community were out to save jobs. During that Spring, Summer, and Fall, our island community was filled with tourists and groups coming to protest one thing or others. The tourists we needed for the economy. The protesters were having a field day creating confusion for loggers and their families as well as the fishermen and theirs. I was out of the controversy.
Then one especially taxing day after I'd spent eight straight hours with auditors, I stopped by that coffee shop for an early evening cup to stop me from immediately falling asleep. It was a Friday night and I was exhausted. I was looking down, nursing that cup, thinking about all of the issues those auditors had picked at. I was into myself and paying no attention to anything around me when, all of a sudden, there he was standing beside my table.
"Mind if I join you? It's a bit crowded tonight."
That same appealing smile. That same clean cut look highlighting a well built body under similarly a clean white, but this time a little bit tight, T-shirt and skin tight Levi's sporting a well developed basket! I remembered him immediately.
"Why not? Be happy to have your company."
And I meant it!
"I haven't seen you around," he said pulling out a chair, flinging his right leg over the back of it, then stretching out his legs and lowered himself into the chair. "Ah, mind if I smoke?"
"No, go ahead. I'm Cal." I put forth my hand to shake his.
"Larry," he responded, shaking it firmly. "Remember the morning you smiled my way? I thought you looked friendly then, but no way to say 'Hi'," he said, "with the whole crew around and guys I really didn't know and all. But, I've looked for you around here since but never seen you anywhere. Do you live here?"
"Yea," I replied, "All my life. I run a business over on Fifth Street. And you?"
There began a lively conversation turning later into sandwiches dinner and an exchange of phone numbers with the promise to do it again. I'd completely forgotten all problems of the day and spent most of the evening just listening. He turned out to be talkative, a guy born and raised in the next town, village really, just across the bay. He worked part-time at a Mill doing enough hard labor to build his physique naturally. As it turned out, his father worked for the same Mill and had all of his life. There were five younger kids in the family to his father's second wife, a woman only in her twenties. Larry's real mother had disappeared after he was born so the old man had raised him alone until a new wife arrived. Apparently all was not well on the home front between him and his new family. He claimed he was unwanted, though his reasoning was unconvincing and vague.
As Larry talked on, I discovered I had over estimated his age. He would enter his junior year in high school although given his build and more mature composure, I would never have guessed it. He had to work when school was not in session and full time every summer to contribute money to his family. He said his father "forced" him to do so and seemed ashamed of it. That other day had been a "teacher's day" and he had been assigned to a crew taking out a tree from someone in management's yard, someone who lived in the estates behind the coffee shop. I had been right, they had been on a morning break.
I don't think I had ever met anyone who just talked that much and that personally before. He seemed to need to talk and I was sufficiently taken by him in general to just listened. Why not?
Over the next weeks or so, he called periodically "just to talk" and soon seemed like just a friend, a high school boy who occasionally started to drop by with books and homework he would pour over as I did my own paper work. Then we would talk more. That was it and that was OK with me. Sure, he was very appealing, especially the _s_e_x_y way he dressed showing off his tight body and all, but a high school boy is just that, nothing more.
That September the paper announced a major slow down at the Mill where he and his father both worked, and Larry phoned to ask if he could drop by that evening. I knew how much his part-time job meant to his family by then and only hoped his father wasn't also one of those laid off. As it turned out his dad had been cut to part-time in management's offer to help men keep their jobs, but he had just bee told his own part-time job was over.
He was agitated, afraid, and concerned about how to tell his father he had lost his job, something he assumed that night his father wouldn't already know. I listened. He said he didn't want to go home that night, but I told him he had to. Probably just his over reacting but he was sure his father would have been drinking with the other men and discussing their own fates together all afternoon.
"And I know him," he said all of a sudden becoming a bit emotional. "I know what he's like after he's been drinking. I've lived with him all my life, remember. Bet 'ya anything he's gonna come home screaming at his wife. Then he'll sit there in the kitchen drinking more beer to drown his luck, and when I walk in and tell him my part-time job's history too, I know what it's gonna' be like . . .."
He stopped talking, dropping his eyes down almost as if he was embarrassed, but I was still surprised by what he said next.
". . . he's gonna' slam down his bottle, probably break it if he's drunk enough and give me his same old lecture how I haven't worked hard enough and don't understand the cost of feeding all these mouths. If she's there, she'll agree how I must'a done something wrong to lose my job too and then she'll snare while I lean up against the sink, like she always does, and give me her stupid lecture about my not being responsible enough again and egg him on until he finally flies off in a rage and yells at her about how I'm his responsibility and he'll handle it and then he's gonna' grab me by the arm and drag me out the kitchen door again and down into his old shed and do his manly thing and whips me until he finally gets it all out of his system and goes to sleep it off."
"Really?" I was surprised and showed it I am sure.
"It's been that way all my life only just more so since she came around. Can't I camp out here for just a few days?"
"Hey, Larry, I'd like to help you, but I can't let you do that. You're a minor, you know, and he's your father; but you can stick around for awhile and maybe he'll be asleep before you return or go stay with one of your buddies. Or why don't you phone him?"
"Please!"
I'd have liked to have volunteered my couch, but I didn't. About a hour later, an obviously upset Larry drove home -- or at least that's where he said he was going -- and I went to bed. I couldn't sleep though. I couldn't stop thinking about this teenager with his tight jeans and well packaged ass and what might be going on at his house while I was comfortably in bed. The father, his wife, the kitchen, some kind of a shed, and his dad whipping his ass! Wow! What kind of a shed is it? What's the old man using to whip him? "Again?" How often does he get it? Hell, he's only a high school boy. Maybe he gets it a lot. That speaks well of his father in these days! Certainly nothing wrong about that. But, the old guy whipping his ass? Belt? Strap? Suppose he actually has a whip and strips the boy down? Hell, with the body he has, I'd like to see that! My imagination was working overtime.
But, a couple of hours later, I didn't have to wonder. Larry was pounding on the door. His Dad had kicked him out. His cloths were ruffled and his eyes blood shot. He was upset. This time I offered my couch and went to get a blanket and a pillow.
"Do you have any cream?" He asked when I returned.
"Cream?" I wasn't sure I'd understood him.
"I need some to rub over my ass." He said looking embarrassed. "I told you he'd whip me when I got home, didn't I? Why didn't you believe me?"
He seemed about to cry.
"I'm sorry. I did believe you, but there's nothing wrong with your father whipping you. He must have thought you needed it. You seemed to be going off the deep end before you left here." I said as I got him some vitamin-E skin cream and left him alone in the living room while I went to bed. He looked shocked at my words which, I'll admit, might have sounded a bit harsh, but he wasn't my responsibility and I saw nothing wrong with his father whipping him. After all, he was his father!
The next morning when I came into the living room, he was still asleep, on his stomach, his left leg half on the floor beyond the blanket. His back half bare. He looked good lying like that!
After a few days, Larry went home and patched things up with his old man but continued to drop to do homework. I tossed him what odd jobs I could and even had some of my friends hire him when they could for extra work. It wasn't much, but it was something and he seemed grateful. I liked the guy, but I had my life to live and it didn't include a teenage boy.
Several weeks later, I agreed to drop by his place to meet his father. The house was a small wooden box with stuff and kids everywhere. Through the kitchen window I could see an old shed standing there and wondered. Larry saw me looking out there and blushed.
We went out for a beer. His father was nice, about my age, and thanked me again and again for helping his boy get work and "helping him with his homework," something I hadn't really been doing, but I didn't say anything. Then, when Larry went to use the can, the father slid closer to me at the Bar and spoke more directly.
"I thank you for helping my boy get work and keeping him working on his homework and stuff. I do. It's hard, ya' know, raising a boy like that alone and then when the misses came and the new family arrived an' all, no one wanted him anymore. I can't help the way the misses feels about him, but you're giving him good direction and I think he's really lucky you are."
"It's nothing. Forget it." I tried to not show my discomfort with this conversation.
"No," he said, "No, it is something, I know that. You don't have to help him none, but you are and I appreciate it a lot. You know, I'm old fashioned, I guess. I'm not one of those modern educated people either, but I've always tried to bring up Larry right and many's the night I've whipped the boy real good like and that's why he's as responsible as he is today, you know. Larry's got a lot of and respect of a healthy whipping and well he ought to."
He laughed to himself. He seemed a little drunk now.
"And I want you to know that so you won't hesitate a minute to pull his pants down and whip the hell out of his ass real good anytime he needs it either. Sometimes the boy, he just goes off the handle and needs pulled down firmly to reality. Don't matter none about his age. It's how he's brought up by me. You whip 'em and they respect you; you don't, and they don't."
I started to say something.
"No, never you mind now. I know what my boy needs and I know nothing keeps him on the straight as well as a good hard strap across his bare ass. . . and a regular one at that. My misses don't like him around, says he's a bad influence on the young ones, you know, way he dresses and all, so I'm real thankful you're helping him some, let him stay with you some, but don't you hesitate none to haul him over and whip the hell out him when he goes off on his tangents and needs it. Do it any way you want to. You'll be doing me a favor. Man to man like, ya' know."
He stuck out his hand, like he planned to shake on a deal, but before I could respond, Larry was back standing there, looking as appealing as ever. I smiled at him, took one look at his father with his hand still stretched out, and shook the old man's hand firmly.
"As you say." I said to him as Larry sat down beside us.
"Thank you," he replied. "I appreciate all you've done for my son and me."
The topic changed quickly as the three of us sat talking and drinking for another hour or so, having a good time as sports' replays flashed from the TV suspended in the corner.
About an hour later the old man stood up and started to slip into his worn jacket hanging on the side of his chair. He looked old, showing evidence of his hard life at the Mill and probably too much alcohol. Larry and I stood up as well.
"About time to head home to the little Misses," he said chuckling to himself. "I'm glad we talked. Larry's lucky you've helped him out 'cause I can't much no more. Just remember what I said." He smiled and walked out.
"What'd he say?" Larry immediately asked.
"Just forget it." I replied, not wanting to discuss it here.
But after that when Larry asked to stay over, I'd let him. Maybe it grew to where he was at my place about half the time, especially evenings after he had been working on the small jobs I lined up. The spare bed room became his. I liked having a good looking, _c_o_c_k_y stud around - especially this one!
Often, I admit, I looked at his ass real carefully as he paraded around in those tight jeans, but although I thought about it and wanted to, I didn't act upon his father's open invitation to pull them down to spank his boy's ass.
At times I fantasized about what he would look like, how he would react the first time I tell him he was in for a spanking over my lap? What would he be like with his pants and shorts clumped down around his ankles, turned up bare over my lap about to be spanked "real good," as his father had said he needed "regularly?" It wasn't that I was shy about doing it. No way! I was anxious to spank him, but he just hadn't done anything to deserve it. . . yet!
But he would and soon! I'd wait for a reason to make his first trip over my lap one he'd never forget! No rush! It was coming!
Now, around me Larry was modest, a perfect gentleman. I never saw him without jeans and a shirt on and he did nothing anyone could object to. We talked about community college, his school work, everything, and when I got too _s_e_x_ually frustrated, I'd call Paul over and take him down to my basement. Paul was a few years older and in college, but he lacked the youthful, fresh build of a teenage boy with a body built in the log mills.
Paul became a little concerned when he glimpsed Larry and testy when I didn't introduced them. Instead as soon a Larry left the house, I'd strip Paul down and spank the hell out of his pretty college boy ass for asking questions about Larry. It was none of Paul's business; but his natural curiosity was so strong, I used it regularly as a reason to correct him for prying.
Paul was an interesting guy. An art student, a bit exotic, but also a gymnast with a smooth, nice, hairless body and a pleasant personality to match. He liked being around an older man who wouldn't hesitate to correct him at any time or in any place. Paul knew he needed structure with the ever present threat of discipline in his more flaky artist-style life. I provided direction, ordering him to stand in front of me while I unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants, then his shorts before yanking his tight buns over my lap and spanking them until tears and promises flowed freely. When I'd ask, "Do you think you need your ass spanked for that?" No matter what "that" had been, his reply was, "If you think I need it, Sir" and he'd wait looking at me with eyes hoping I'd not do it.
Although Paul hated being spanked, detested the paddle, and feared my razor strap, he also recognized afterward and admitted he profited from whatever punishment I choose to give to him.
If anything, I paddled Paul more frequently now. I'd been giving it to him for over a year now anyway and felt a sense of closeness with him. In addition to our friendship, I liked the way he squirmed, pleaded and tried to avoid it when I stripped him down and took charge of him. He was _s_e_x_y, young, ideal -- and I knew what he needed and made sure he got it regularly! No matter what developed with Larry, I had no intention of neglecting Paul. I scrutinized his actions and spanked him often now.
Other friends were equally interested in who Larry was. Don, an older long-time friend with silver gray hair and a serious gentleman's manner, salivated every time Larry came in and he was there. He couldn't contain his comments on the boy. I knew Don wanted me to strip Larry down and spank him with him in he room. Don liked to take a young stud under his own hand and train him right. But I didn't respond to questions about Larry or our relationship. I said only that Larry was not into the scene. And, Larry wasn't!
I knew things continued to be difficult for Larry at his Dad's place, however. He would tell me when his father had whipped him and talk about being taken to that old shed where he and his father had split wood for the winter and where his father would make him pull down his jeans and bend his bare ass over a wooden work bench for a whipping with an old leather razor strap, the same one his grandfather had used on his father, until his ass became crimson, his body racked with pain and tears. He said he knew why his father whipped him sometimes -- for poor grades or other things he'd done wrong -- but sometimes he just felt his father hated him and he could tell by the look in his eyes and the smell on his breath he would get whipped if he didn't get out of there. Typically his father would see through his excuse to leave for the library or some other reason, meet him at the door, march him to the shed, and whip him anyway "just for the hell of it," as the old man put it. "A kid your age needs it," he said his father kept saying, but Larry felt he shouldn't be whipped unless he had actually done something wrong. What did I think?
I never expressed an opinion and would only remind Larry his old man was his father and if his father felt he needed to be whipped, that was his decision and showed his concern.
In my own room, late at night, I knew one of these days I would spank him myself, but for the moment, his own father was doing a good job of keeping him in line. I had no reason at all to take it further. Anyone would have been happy to have a well built stud like Larry around. That was enough for me.
To Be Continued