Date: Thu, 20 Mar 2003 16:59:04 +0000
From: Susan
Subject: Vignette 11 to post

Vignettes, 1 thru 29. Susan

RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

1. No kids allowed. There's Dr. Seuss for you.

2. It isn't cheap porn, it's literature. If you want the
other, go somewhere else.

3. If you live in a backward, repressive state that doesn't
allow you to read the things you want, move.

4. It's copyrighted.

5. If we can't agree that love occurs regardless of age and
gender, put this down and get a life.

6. Support nifty. Give generously.



Vignette Eleven. Tuesday Afternoon.



It's 5.30 on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. They're late, but
only minutes. It's usual for Kelly's soccer practice to run a
little late. There isn't much left for me to do today. I have
dinner barely simmering in the crock-pot. The lowest setting
is barely warm, just right for the concoction I call
boullibaise. I use a ginger-lime sauce with clams and blue
crabs, and red-fish. It's Kelly favorite, made even more
enjoyable because he caught the crabs and fish himself from
the dock just outside the door on Sunday afternoon. It really
isn't bouillabaisse, but oriental seafood stew sounds so
unappetizing.

I'll water the garden for a while, I think. Kelly's puppy
needs to run around outside as well. Just like Kelly, I can't
help thinking. Always active, always needing attention,
always noisy. I should have known I'd be the one stuck with
cleaning up after it. I shouldn't complain. I've never seen
Kelly so happy. Boys and puppies are made for each other,
just like boys and men.

I water the plants, watch the street and wait, not long
before David's SUV appears. He parks it in the drive. Perhaps
they're going out again. I smile to see the rear door open.
It's always good to have him home again. I've suggested home-
schooling, but David won't allow it. Kelly's grin is
infectious. I smile and wave back and pretend to squirt the
hose at him. He jumps out and runs, not to me, but to his
dog. Its hair is nearly the same color as his, golden. My
blond Adonis and his dog. Laughing, sweeping the puppy into
his arms. I've told him to be careful how he carries it.
Never by its belly. His hand reaches around the dog's tail,
scooping up its rump. He buries his face into the dog's
shoulder and smooches. I'm jealous of that dog.

"Boys and dogs," David remarks as he walks up the drive.
"We'll never get them apart before dinner."

Kelly looks so,... so wonderfully `athletic' is the word.
He's wearing his soccer clothes, black-nylon shorts and a
lemon-yellow shirt emblazoned with his number, `19'. It
doesn't make a lot of sense to me. There aren't nineteen boys
on the team. All I've ever seen is thirteen. They're
beautiful to a fault. All except one or two have long coltish
legs and skinny arms. I love to watch them run. They can
change direction on a dime, darting back and forth as they
kick the ball. The shorts are loose on his thighs, so loose
that I think that with a slightly different angle it would be
possible to see what's supposed to be hidden. He rolls over
onto his back, pulling the puppy with him. For the barest
fraction of a second I glimpse the pale skin of his upper
thigh, the dark-blue of his underpants. It takes longer,
after there is nothing left to see except a boy playing with
a puppy, before I realize why he isn't wearing boxers. His
boxers are bigger than his soccer shorts. I lament that
fashion has caused boys to change to boxers. They do little
to emphasize the boy-part of boy.

There are grass-stains on his knees and a streak of mud along
one leg. One perfect leg, one not so perfect, but easily made
good with a shower after dinner. Such long coltish legs, the
very essence of a boy, I think. He still has something left
of last summer's tan. It won't be long before it will be warm
enough to start using the pool again. I love how his soccer
clothes are shiny, not metallic shiny, but gleaming in the
sun like satin. They make him look so athletic. He's anything
but brawny. He's built for speed, David says. He's sinewy and
lissome, and sexy, oh yes, that too. His position is
especially suggestive, indecent in his soccer clothes where
his sleek thighs are barely covered. I enjoy how the legs are
very loose, offering a gap wide enough to see parts that
should be hidden. Knowing what I know, it's hard to think of
him as ever being innocent.

David laughs. I look away. He's caught me staring at Kelly
once again. I smile awkwardly and try to remember what we'd
been talking about before my attention was distracted.

"It was your idea to buy him a puppy, David."

"Yes it was, wasn't it?"

"Did practice run longer?" I ask to change the topic.

He shakes his head, watching Kelly romping on the grass with
Doofus. It was David who started calling the puppy Roofus
Doofus instead of the name that Kelly wanted. It stuck. Its a
better name than Soleil, which is French and hard to say,
especially when you're angry because there's a mess on the
floor again.

"I took him shopping," David explains.

He smiles fondly, that look of love he always has whenever
Kelly's near to him. Kelly's sprawled onto his back,
giggling while the puppy stands over him and licks his face.
Boys and dogs. I shake my head, deciding to raise the matter
of hygiene at a better time.

"Not more clothes?" I ask.

If I sound sarcastic, it's because I am. David loves to buy
him clothes. Not that I don't like the clothes he buys for
Kelly, because I do. David understands what makes a boy
attractive even better than I do.

"No! Well, that's not quite right," David adds mysteriously.
"It's something that he wanted."

I give him a pretend-I'm-exasperated look. I'm not really in
the mood for guessing games. He laughs again and holds out
the blue plastic bag he's holding. I notice the label first.
I've seen it often enough. Walmart.

"It's something for a dog," David hints.

"Not more dog toys?"

David smirks. "You'll never guess in a thousand years,
Susan. Maybe I shouldn't tell you. You'll probably think
it's weird."

"What is it?"

"A collar."

"Why buy another one?" I ask.

"It's not for Doofus."

I smile, suddenly realizing what he means. It's for Kelly.
Weird or not, I feel strange inside. I swallow. David's
smiling at me, waiting for my response. I'm not sure what to
say. A collar for my son? I can't help wondering how big it
is. I love the gold necklace that Kelly always wears. It
matches the color of his hair. It's so tight around his neck
that it barely hangs down in front. David brought it back
from L.A. I can see it now, above the opening of his shirt.
It makes him look,... exotic I suppose. Most of his friends
from school wear something. Shells or beads, or black cords
and shark's teeth. A few of them have gold.

"David,..."

I pause. I'm nervous. I hadn't expected this. A collar. I'm
excited too, but I really don't know why. I want to see it.
Kelly's pushing the puppy's head away. His cheeks are
flushed because he's laughing so hard.

"Do you think it's too weird, Susan?" David asks awkwardly.

I shrug. I've always trusted him to do the right thing where
Kelly is concerned. I'm not sure I have the right to say what
I think, not now. Not after what they do together at night.
I've thought about it often enough and I still don't know
whether it's right or wrong. But what is right and wrong?
They're philosophic concepts. Isn't it a matter of personal
needs and tastes? I think of what I've seen, of what David's
already told me of their lovemaking. Kelly isn't reluctant
to try different things with him. But a dog collar? I look
from Kelly back to David.

"Kelly picked it out," David says quietly. "It was his idea,"
he adds with emphasis that I can't miss.

He can't know what I am thinking.

"Well then, show me."

Impatience hides the thrill I feel growing deep inside.
David opens the bag, reaches in, takes it out. The collar is
far too large for Kelly's puppy. It's growing so fast,
perhaps in a another month or two it might be the right size.
The collar is too small to fit a full-grown Golden Retriever.
And yet, as I see it lying there in David's hand I realize it
will fit Kelly's slender neck. I lick my lips. I feel it
between my legs, that tingle of desire.

I step back, staring at it, visualizing it around his neck.
It's black with shiny pointed metal studs. The buckle is
silver, as large as the buckle on a belt.

"He wanted to get a chain too," David confides.

Kelly sits up with the puppy in his lap, looks up at me and
smiles. Not his regular happy smile, or that secretive smile
he shares with David before they go upstairs. Nor is it a
knowing smirk about our family secret. It's none of those.
This smile is different. His eyes meet mine, but only for a
second. He glances away again, wrestling with the puppy,
completely oblivious to the water I sprayed on the grass is
now soaking into the seat of his jeans.

"What good is a collar without a chain?" I say.

Did I say that? My mind is running at full speed, picturing
Kelly. Dressed only in his jeans, or in his loose satiny
soccer shorts, bare to his oh-so-slim waist and wearing that
black collar around the house. My Kelly.

"You don't mind?"

His voice is distant. It takes all my strength to shrug. I
can feel my panties clinging to my crotch, pulling into the
slit. I need to, long to, have to touch it. I take a deep
breath. All I can think of is Kelly with a collar, of going
inside and rubbing until it hurts. Vaguely, I wonder if it
affects David the same way. As surreptitiously as I can, I
look down at him. I can't be certain, but unlike me, he's had
time to get used to the idea.

"I,... I'm not sure." The words are hard to say.

"I didn't let him buy one. I thought we should take it a step
at a time, Susan," David says as he walks up to the house.

I agree, of course. I finish watering, turn the hose off,
tell Kelly to take the puppy inside. I can't clear my mind of
what I'm thinking. That slender delicate neck, so
beautifully rising from his bony narrow shoulders, adorned
with a brutal leather collar. I imagine him from behind, his
shoulder blades like little angel's wings, and in front, the
flattened shape of boyish breasts, the lines of ribs, the
contour of his tummy. And that belt, tight of course, but not
so tight that he can't swallow. I need to go to the bathroom,
but dinner is almost ready. I put the plates and cutlery out,
still thinking of Kelly and the collar.

I check the bouillabaisse, adjust the temperature but half-
a-notch, and end by stirring in the final ingredient. Huge
pink Gulf shrimp. It won't be long, just a few more weeks
before the local shrimp are running. They taste so much
better. I hear them talking in the next room, voices lowered
so I miss every other word. Kelly's homework is already done.
Except for his assignment on European geography, and he
needs help with that. He couldn't ask for a better teacher
than David on that subject. Kelly giggles loudly. I miss what
David says. I'm sure Kelly's being tickled. But where? I can
only guess. David's always tickling him. It's often a
preliminary, like an invitation to something else more
interesting. There's another subject that David knows a lot
about as well, perhaps too much for a boy who's only ten.

Finally, I can't stand it. Kelly's giggling doesn't stop. I
reach between my legs. It's wet, just as I expect. After
dinner, I promise myself. I walk slowly, quietly to the
doorway. Their backs are facing me, but I can tell exactly
what they're doing.

David's arms are wrapped around my son, his hands where I
can't see them, but they are low enough that he can reach
Kelly's thing if he wants to. Of course, he wants to. So do
I. I fantasize about it, touching Kelly's private parts,
making his thing big, bigger at least. He's still a boy down
there.

David's head lowers, resting on Kelly's head. His nose is
burrowed into Kelly's hair. The smell is overpowering him.
It overpowers me too, those few times when I get to hug my
son. Kelly giggles again, softly, dreamily. I know he's
thinking thoughts that he probably shouldn't have. He
wriggles against David slightly. The way he's standing, his
lower back is pressing up against David's thing. It has to
be, given the way he's rubbing himself against it. I hear
David sigh. It's beautiful to watch them. Just standing
there together. A man and boy in love. Kelly's head just
comes up to David's chest. I breath out and wish I was
standing there instead. Empty dreams, but I can't help
wanting to be part of it. I call them in to dinner because I
can't stand to watch a moment longer.

They come in together, sharing secret smiles that leave
little for my imagination to digest. I feel left out. Without
thinking, I notice that Kelly's soccer shorts are sticking
out in front. Not far, but far enough that I can guess what's
hiding underneath. David says it's normal for a boy to have
what he calls spontaneous erections. When I look up again,
Kelly notices my downward glance. He awkwardly turns away
and moves towards his seat. Usually, he helps me carry the
serving plates from the kitchen counter. I say nothing.

"Kelly, would you like to put it on before dinner?" David
asks once everything is on the dining table.

I sense the change in Kelly even before David has finished
speaking. Perhaps they've planned this, but he's suddenly
nervous. He lifts his eyes and looks at me. All I can do is
smile. It's not much, but the decision must be his.
Awkwardly, he nods his head. David walks behind him, stops
and lovingly rubs his head. Kelly looks up at him side-on,
watching as David takes the dog-collar from the plastic bag.
I lick my lips. I swallow. Part of me, the part that reasons,
argues that it can't be happening. But it is. Again, that
strange feeling has come back. I draw my legs close together.
Behind the kitchen counter, no one can see. I try to squeeze,
slightly moving my hips to increase that slight sensation. I
have to stop. My body's moving. I have to think to breath.

David's already removed the tags. I watch him unbuckling the
strap. When it's open, it looks too long to go around Kelly's
slender neck. I inhale, gazing, staring at what they're
doing. I swallow again, gulping to get air into my lungs.
Kelly's eyes are bright with excitement. Between my thighs
the glistening slippery film is gathering in the fold. I
squeeze again, longing to touch, but unable to. Not in front
of them.

David reaches down. He puts the thick black strap around
Kelly's neck, and from behind, he begins to buckle it up
again.

"It's not too tight, is it?"

Kelly's head barely moves. He swallows, testing the
tightness for himself. The collar is an inch or so below his
Adam's apple. The black, studded leather contrasts sharply
against his skin. It looks wider now it's on him. David tests
the fit by moving it around a little bit. It could be tighter
by a notch, I think. He makes the adjustment and refastens
it. Again, Kelly swallows. It's tighter, but not enough that
he's uncomfortable.

"How does that feel now?" David asks.

I can hear the love in his voice, love that's entirely
focused on my son. His fingers gently brush Kelly's cheek,
then slide back down to carefully rotate the collar so that
the buckle is in front instead of at the nape of his neck
where the hair will cover it. The fit is perfect. The end of
the strap just passes through the second loop. They could not
have tried it on while they were in the store. David must
have measured Kelly's neck along the way to know what size to
get. I visualize them using a tape measure, perhaps in the
fabric section of the store, both barely able to keep from
showing their excitement. If someone asks, they'll say they
need the measurement in order to buy a shirt or some such
thing.

"It's good, David," Kelly squeaks.

He glances at me. I smile. He looks away quickly now that he
has my approval, lifting and turning his head to see David
from the side. The collar of his soccer shirt is less than an
inch away from the black band. It's impossible to think of
anything more erotic. It's lewd, yet obscenely appropriate
on such a beautiful boy. It's depraved in a way that I'd
rather not think about, except that Kelly's smiling
wickedly. He's happy and that's what counts. He has exactly
what he wants. It shows who he belongs to. Not to me, but to
David. His fingers reach to touch it. I watch enviously, yet
entranced by what I'm seeing. He's thrilled as he runs his
thin fingers across the line of silver studs, then around the
sewn leather edge, finally back and forth across the large
metal buckle.

No one speaks. What can anyone say? A collar suits you,
Kelly? We should have bought it sooner? Let's buy them in
different colors? I need to close my eyes and block the
thoughts that form inside my head. Thoughts of them
together, having sex upstairs, lying on their bed. Both
naked, except for Kelly's collar.

"Take your shirt off, Kelly. So we can see it properly."

It's as if David has heard my thoughts. I glance at him, then
although I know I should look away, I continue to watch as
David peels off Kelly's soccer shirt from behind. He's pale,
I think, at least compared to summer's golden hue. I can't
see his navel because it is hidden by the his soccer shorts,
but there is a tiny fold that ripples the skin just before
it. His nipples are tiny, just a little bit darker than the
surrounding skin, a shade of brownish pink that would make a
wonderful color for lipstick. As the shirt comes past his
head, Kelly lifts his arms up. His unblemished armpits are
hollowed out. They are much paler than the rest of his body.

Seeing him undress is unquestionably arousing, not only to
me but David too. I stare from across the counter, oblivious
to the food on the table. The meal will be cold before we
eat, but everything waits as Kelly is exposed before us. Bare
the way he is, the leather collar becomes even more
conspicuous. He gazes up at David with unequivocal lust.
It's startling in one so young. It's almost depraved, yet the
thrill I feel is beyond my dreams.

"It's sexy, don't you think, Susan?" David says, again
voicing my thoughts aloud.

At first, I don't answer, but my expression says what I'm
thinking. `Sexy' does not even begin to describe a young boy
like Kelly, but with the collar around his neck, I can't
think of any other words. My mind is blank. The collar has
transformed him, from an innocent young boy to something
else. Yes, it's sexual; powerfully, unsettlingly so, but he
isn't depraved or immoral. It's who he is. His eyes are
innocently blue and clear. Absently, I press against the
counter before me.

"Yes, he is," I say quietly.

I swallow. I can't say more, although I want to shout out
that he's very sexy. The sexiest boy alive. It's difficult
enough to say anything, but to voice it aloud, is daunting. I
almost turn away, but David smiles at me, a look that tears
my mind. His hands are resting on Kelly's slender bare
shoulders. Perhaps it's reassuring to Kelly, but to me it's
exactly what it is. It's intended show ownership. He wants it
to be distinctly possessive, so that I can have no doubts.
Kelly belongs to David and not to me. I try to pretend that I
don't care, yet I feel my heart sink. Kelly is my entire
life.

I watch them, standing so close together, David's hands
rubbing Kelly's shoulders. I'm jealous. I feel it in my eyes
that cannot look away, and in the heated flush of my face.
It's embarrassing to be unable to conceal my feelings.

"I think we need some rules for when you wear this," David
says slowly. "You might not like what I'm about to say, but
if you want to wear it, Kelly, you'll have to agree."

His eyes meet mine. He wants me to go along. Perhaps it's all
a game, but then again his expression is very serious. I nod
slightly.

"Huh?" Kelly asks meekly. "What sort of rules?"

There is a nervous quality that I find very amusing. He's
excited by it, that wearing the collar will require
something of him beyond merely acquiescing to some rules.

"Well, for one thing, you certainly can't wear it to school."

David isn't asking more than what should be obvious to all.
Still, Kelly giggles in relief. His fingers touch the collar
again. Can he feel the power that it exerts over all of us?
It's a symbol of control, of authority, of his subordinate
status. A psychologist would reduce his inner feelings to id
and super-ego and completely fail to understand the complex
workings of a young boy's mind. He swallows and his Adam's
apple bobs against the buckle. The leather strap seems
tighter now.

"Second, whenever you wear it, you'll address me as `sir',"
David says distinctly.

Kelly nods, less certain, yet it is hardly an onerous rule.
He smiles and waits, suddenly appreciating that David's
rules could turn out be fun.

"And I think,..." David pauses. His eyes meet mine, seeking
my accord. "You'll address your mother as,..."

"Madam," I say softly. Not mother, or mom, but he must call
me Madam, like a servant would, or worse.

Kelly nods again when his eyes meet mine. He quickly looks
away. I brought him into the world, nursed him, and raised
him. Now, whenever he wears the collar, he does so not as my
son. I wonder if I crossed a line, yet David acknowledges me
with a smile.

"Do you agree?" David asks in a stern voice.

"Yes sir," Kelly announces boldly.

Is David finished? Not from the expression on his face, still
serious.

"Good. There's something more, Kelly," he says slowly.

He licks his bottom lip, watching Kelly closely, just as I
do. Can he understand what I am feeling? My crotch is
uncomfortably wet, and that's just from looking at my son's
bare chest, at the collar around his slender neck. I cannot
look away. His nipples are nothing like mine. Pale tiny dots
on a ribbed chest. His face is slightly red.

"Whenever you wear it, you will," he says quietly. He pauses.
"Be naked."

Kelly gulps. Like me, he had not expected that final
condition. His eyes reveal shock, not surprise. A moment
later, excitement fleets across his face. He swallows,
glancing from David to me, then back again.

"What do you think, Susan?" David asks. "He's a very sexy
boy. I've always said if you have something worth showing
off, then flaunt it."

He sounds awkward to my ears. It is unlike him to be
uncertain in anything, especially when it comes to matters
involving Kelly. Perhaps he is wondering if he has gone too
far this time? He's ten years old, old enough to have
inhibitions about being seen nude. Kelly shuffles his feet.
His fingers still touch the collar, reassuring that it is
still there around his neck.

"Um. I don't see why not," I struggle to say.

Can David even begin to understand the effect that his third
rule has upon me? My legs suddenly feel weak. I need to sit,
to hid my crotch beneath the table. I take a deep breath and
slowly let it out. I hope that Kelly will agree.

"It's entirely up to him." David smiles. "It's your choice,
Kelly. If you want to wear the collar, those are the rules."

Kelly blushes to deeper shade of red, yet I sense that the
idea is already taking hold. Still, he doesn't answer. He
trembles, the thrill growing quickly as the shock begins to
dissipate.

"Naked?" he says uncertainly. "Whenever I wear it?"

David gives a disdainful shrug. He's made the rules quite
clear.

Kelly asks anxiously. "In front of her?"

He says `her', not `Mom'. It makes me feel unloved, as if my
presence somehow holds him back. I close my eyes and block
out the pain I feel inside. He's become David's boy, no
longer mine.

"She's seen you naked before hasn't see?" David asks
patiently.

He's always so patient with my son. David smiles at me
knowingly. I'm certain that Kelly has told him about the way
I used to bath him, before he insisted on taking showers by
himself.

"Yes, b-b-but,..." Kelly stammers. So unlike him. "B-b-but
what if,... you know,... if it gets big?"

"Unless you changed your own diapers, your mother's seen
your penis lots of times, Kelly. If it gets hard, so what?
It's supposed to do that. It's nothing for you to be ashamed
of."

Kelly nods slightly, still thinking it through. "Even now?"

"Yes. The rule is in effect beginning right now. You either
take the collar off or you take your clothes off. It's up to
you."

"Everything? Can I leave my undies on?"

He knows if David answers his question, the answer will not
be what he wants to hear. Naked is naked. No underpants. Not
even socks. Nothing on his body except the collar. His
fingers still stroke the studs on the collar. He's
captivated by it. It's become part of him. It's who he is.
Perhaps it's my fault as his mother? I've waited so long for
this that I've all but given up hope.

His hand moves away. Both hands move to his hips, pluck away
the waist of his soccer shorts from the bony ridges, peel the
satin cloth down. At first it's just an inch, then another.
The cloth creeps down slowly together with his dark-blue
Tommy Hilfiger briefs. he's holding nothing back. I stare.
His lower belly seems to form into two bulges where it nears
his groin. That's lean muscle. There are bluish veins just
beneath the surface where his thighs begin. Another inch.
He's teasing David. That's the reason why he's smiling and
looking directly at him. I cannot look away

Another inch and the acorn tip of his thing pokes past his
shorts. It's puckered on the bell-shaped end.  He doesn't
stop there. I take a sudden breath. Hold it in while his
hands jerk slightly so that all of it appears at once. I
feast my eyes about his thing. It's not as small as I
remember it to be. It's grown somewhat from when I used to
see him every night in the bath tub. However, it's not big
enough to be of any value to a woman. Just a man. It's hard,
of course. It's very much a boy's thing. My son's thing is
sticking straight out. It is so very obvious on his body, so
much a part of him that I cannot conceive of him in any other
way. Beguiling. Intriguing. So very much a boy, I think
again. Enticing too. I want to touch it. Unless it has
changed in recent years, the skin is softer than my eyelids.
I resent that I am burdened by my gender. If I was male, I
could be his lover.

Still, his hands continue to pull his shorts down further.
His shame has gone. He's showing himself off to David. I'm
ignored, even though I'm staring at him. One more playful
jerk of his hands and his puppy fat pubic area comes into
view. It's barely noticeable at first, but he's completely
hairless, like a little baby. One final awkward push. His
things are tiny compared to the fat pink ball on the end of the
plastic dildo. Suddenly, his soccer shorts slide down his
legs. He leaves them on the floor and hurriedly sits down in
his chair. Another breath. My face is red now instead of
Kelly's. I carry plates to the table and try to keep my hands
from shaking.