Date: Tue, 10 Aug 2010 06:19:49 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: BRIAN'S AMAZINGLY QUICK TRANSFORMATION by Donny Mumford
BRAIN'S AMAZINGLY QUICK TRANSFORMATION
Chapter One By Donny Mumford
Until recently I was living the good life at college: parties, money in my
pocket, a girlfriend, my own car. It was awesome! Oh yeah, can't forget the
academic part; I was good with that too, great GPA. So I was rockin' the cool
carefree ride of a stud in his junior year at an Ivy League college, Brown
University, until, BANG!! it all turned upside down for me and my family. My
mother and little brother are coping okay, and I'm healthy and still getting
good grades, so it's not all bad, but instead of going to parties and cruising
around in my BMW, I'm now using public transportation and thinking about getting
a summer job to help with expenses at home. To make a long, painful story short
and vanilla: My dad lost his job right before Christmas and couldn't get
another one. When the unemployment benefits ran out mom and dad got flustered
and began letting things go, one of the things they let go was dad's life
insurance. The grace period expired and some weeks later my dad had a massive
heart attack; he passed away shortly after that. Mom, me, and my brother were
devastated. Auntie Rose and uncle Mark visited from Delaware to help us get our
lives up and running again, but that didn't change the fact that there wasn't
any money coming in. Mom had to sell our house last month. It was a sad day for
all of us; me and my brother have lived in that house our entire lives. Mom and
Mikey now live in a four-room apartment, which is where I'll be living now that
school is out. My junior year of college is over so I'll be sharing the little
second bedroom in the apartment with Mikey. For me, returning to college next
year will now entail a college loan. It'll be a first-time experience for us
so I've been reading about financial aid, trying to get a handle on it. My
mom's the sweetest mom ever, but she's very fragile right now and never been
real good with financial matters anyway. Our lives are so different now, it's
made me feel something I never before gave much thought to: I'm feeling
some responsibility to do something that will help our situation. Not to be
pretentious, but I feel a responsibility to try and take over dad's role in our
family, or at least some part of it.
There's been plenty of lamenting by my mom about how she and dad recklessly
spent money without a thought for the future. We lived the good life in that
great big house in Dover, Massachusetts; basically the quintessential upper
middle-class three-car American family. We ate out a lot and vacationed on
Martha's Vineyard three weeks every summer, and happily went about doing other
showy stuff like that. Oh yeah, I attended a private school, St. John's prep,
and Mikey's going there right now, but that can't continue. Contributing to our
collapse is the real estate market which tanked, so our house barely sold for
what was owed on the mortgage. What I'm trying to say is, "We're fucking
poor!". Yeah, and get this: I didn't have money to go on spring break this year
and my girlfriend, Diana, didn't care for that at all. She used it as the reason
for breaking-up with me. "We're only young once, Brian. I'm not ready to do
'poor' with you. Sorry, good luck and all that, but I'm outta here!" That was
her classy 'dump' line. No big loss, I never really had deep feelings for Lady
Di anyway. She's a stuck-up bitch to be honest about it, and I only stayed with
her because it was kinda cool being the boyfriend of the hottest chick in our
class. Diana always teased that the only reason she's going steady with me is
because I'm the best looking guy at school. I assumed she was joking, but now
I'm not so sure. And to clear this matter up, I'm not the best looking guy at
Brown; there are some really hot guys there, believe me... not that I'm
interested in guys you understand, I'm just saying. Diana took for granted my
family had money, until they didn't, and then I guess being the best looking
guy wasn't cutting it for her anymore. Oh shit!... none of this is important
now! Why am I even going there? That life is over for me.
Taking a deep breath, I get up and head for the front of the bus. It's been a
long bus ride but we're finally pulling into the Framingham bus terminal. I
can't wait to get some fresh air and hug my little brother. He's picking me up
in mom's car. As I step off the bus I'm thinking, oh my God, this place is
ghastly... ugh! It's new territory for me, riding buses; I've always flown to
and from school in the past. It's dirty and crowded and smelly in here. I'm
not a snob, but come on! This sucks! I fight my way through to an EXIT only to
find that outside the terminal isn't any nicer than inside. Geez, will Mikey
even be able to find this place, or find me if he does somehow get here. It's a
nice day at least, especially for early June in New England. I need to practice
concentrating on positive aspects of things, like this nice day. The sun is
bright and the temperature's in the seventies, so.. uh oh, so why's this
scruffy man wearing two overcoats? Good lord! He's coming over to me. Getting
too close to me, the man asks, "Can ya spare ten dollars, sonny? Help an old
soldier get dinner?" Oh, the smell! I can't even look at this guy, and,
dinner? My ass! He'll have a bottle of booze three minutes after I give him
the money. That's if I had any money to spare, which I don't. My clothes
probably make it look like I'm rich; clothes from before. I mumble, "I don't
have ten dollars myself. Sorry!" and hustle away with him saying, "Have a nice
day." Once clear of the panhandler, I light a cigarette thinking again how I
should give up this expensive smoking habit. That's not something I'm looking
forward to doing though because I'm hooked on cigarettes. I usually light up
whenever I'm stressed-out, which has been a prevalent condition for me lately.
Walking around the outside of the terminal looking for Mikey I can't believe
the run-down condition of this section of town. It's an eye-opener alright. So,
where the hell's my brother? He's a great kid, but I worry about how he'll do
in public school next year. Mikey's shy and artistic and kinda frail. He takes
after mom, while I take after dad. I'm the opposite of my little brother. I
played tennis and basketball all through high school while Mikey plays clarinet
for the school orchestra and he's been in three or four school plays too,
but no athletics. He's always looked-up to me and I love the kid, but he needs
to be a little tougher. His feelings get hurt all the time at St. John's Prep
because everyone asks him, "Are you really Brian O'Rielly's brother?" And they
ask it like they can't believe it's true. That pisses me off! That poor kid is
the nicest person I know; well, him and my mom.
Leaning against a building smoking a Marlboro red my mind travels to that kid I
met on the bus today. He got off at the stop before this one, but sat with me
through the entire ride from Rhode Island. A very youthful looking boy for
nineteen, which is how old he claimed to be. His name's Frank and I'll be
goddammed if it didn't remind me that I once knew another Frank; I was just a
kid at the time. This Frank though, the one on the bus, rubbed his ankle
against mine and looked me in the eyes biting his lip, a nervous expression on
his face. We'd had a nice conversation up till then. Guess, he thought I was gay
for some reason. I can't imagine why, I've dated girls steadily from middle
school on and I've done more than my share of screwing along the way as well;
not that I'm bragging about it. On the bus, with his ankle rubbing mine, I'd
smiled at the kid, and said, "Oh, my bad, I think I'm bumping into your leg."
Why humiliate him, ya know? I gave him an easy out, but he'd looked away
blushing, and mumbled, "Sorry, I'm clumsy." Poor kid. He's was kinda cute too,
just misguided, ya know. I tried staying friendly, but he backed off and wasn't
very talkative after that. Obviously his ankle rub hadn't gotten the response
he was looking for; I guess he felt rejected or something. It made me feel bad
for him. Oh yeah, he had the coolest wavy light blond hair too. I'll bet any
girl would love that shiny head of hair. He also had this amazingly pale, clear
skin and delicate looking facial features; like I said, cute kid. If he were
straight he'd get the girls alright.
Anyway, that was my strange encounter on the bus, but stranger still was my
other "Frank" encounter. I haven't thought about him for years. The other
Frank is Frank Barns. He and me got into some childish behavior in our youth
lasting most of one summer. This was way the fuck back when we were both
eleven, or maybe we'd just turned twelve. The huge event in our lives at the
time was both of us getting our big boy dicks, and then..."let the
experimentation begin". Frank had a way about him that made me think it was okay
for us to do circle jerks together; we did 'em a couple times a day. Well, ya
know, I hung out with him all the time. Now that I think about it, that was kind
of weird because he was actually a bit of a bully towards me. Fact is I was
quite a bit taller and bigger than Frank, but he bullied me. I guess I let him
get away with the bullying because we both got awesome boners during the
circle jerks and our dicks were so much fun to experiment with! Oh man, why
fuck that up, ya know? Ha ha! Well, all boys go through a phase like that I
suppose. Frank was a very cocky kid too; he liked to boss everyone around,
especially me. It's funny how, half the time, he'd get me jerking his dick off,
then he'd order me to jerk myself off while he watched. Most of his ideas, like
that one, he'd get off the Internet. Oddly, back then Frank bossing me around
would get me short of breath, and kinda excited. He was always telling me what I
was to do with my dick, or with his. Sometimes my heart would beat so fast it
was hard for me to get enough air into my lungs. It was like I had asthma or
something, but my dick would get so hard during this period, and feel so good,
that the shortness of breath was a small price to pay. Come to think of it,
since then I've never had climaxes with the intensity of the ones I had when
Frank was telling me what to do. We used to tie each other up and all kinds of
nutty shit. Jesus! The things kids do. While reminiscing I'm walking around the
outside of the bus terminal, wondering, "Where the hell is Mikey?"
Lighting another cigarette, my mind goes back to Frank Barns again. I remember
the shortness of breath I'd get being aroused by Frank, and he'd get pissed-off
when I had breathing troubles; at times he'd actually pull my pants down, put me
across his lap, and spank my bare ass. Oh my God! I'd cum like an explosion went
off in my nuts. Ha ha! Those childish things we did were off the wall at times,
but we had a blast doing them. Back then we never had a guilty conscious doing
any of it... it was all experimentation and quite normal for young boys that
age I would think. Of course, it's a bit embarrassing to think about that stuff
nowadays, but when you're a baby ya don't know any better. Frank was an awfully
good looking kid as I recall and I guess he was sorta like a hero to me. Back
then people kidded us about being twins. What a crock that was, I was much
taller like I said, but at the time I think I was flattered that I looked like
him. Yeah, come to think of it, we did some oral sex together too, but as I
think back, it was me doing Frank more than him doing me. It's possible he
never did me actually; no, I don't believe he ever did suck my dick. He was like
a magician though, he'd get me actually wanting him to order me to do it to
him; you know, to blow him. Geez, that's uber embarrassing to think back on.
Frank did that bum thing to me one time too; that thing where he sticks his
brand-new dick up my butt. Maybe it was more then once, I forget. Near the end
of the summer he drifted away and we somehow lost touch. Whoa, kind of creepy
thinking about all that. As I mentioned, I haven't thought about Frank in years,
but damn, it's got my dick stirring even after all those years, ha ha! Fuck,
this has been a strange bus trip; first the kid rubbing my ankle and now me
going down memory lane with Frank Barns, of all people. Oh, another weird thing
about the bus, it has a subtle motion during the ride that gave me a boner. I'm
not used to buses and I had the boner most of the ride, not that I'm
complaining. What the hell, it always feels good having a boner, but maybe the
kid on the bus saw my erection and got the wrong idea...
Then, ah ha! There's mom's Toyota parked across the street. Mikey's probably
walking around looking for me. Stepping on my cigarette butt, I head across
to check inside the car to be sure it's mom's car, and sure enough, there's an
open bag of Swedish Fish on the seat. Mikey's addicted to that sweet chewy
candy. Something makes me look down the block then, and down there, on the other
side of the street I see Mikey talking to a husky Hispanic kid. Maybe I heard
Mikey's voice somehow. Mikey's got a frightened expression on his face, his eyes
squinting the way he looks when he's stressed. Dodging traffic, I head across
the street and up the block towards him. Getting closer I see Mikey's taking
his wallet out of his back pocket. "Mikey! Mikey! I'm right here!" I yell, and
Mikey stops what he's doing to look in the direction of my voice; so does the
husky Hispanic kid. That kid looks to be in his late teens and is almost as
tall as me, but with a more muscular body than mine. His sleeveless t-shirt's
displaying some serious biceps. As I'm jogging quickly up to them, Mikey tries
to come to me but the other kid grabs him by the arm, saying, "You hold up,
maricon!" and to me, he says, "Don't butt in, we got a little business to
finish..." If he had more to say I never gave him the chance to say it. I
took one last big step and hit him with a fierce uppercut right on the point of
his chin, thinking I'd broke my fuckin' fist in the process. He didn't collapse
backwards, he sat down in slow motion without making a sound. There was a hushed
hubbub all around us because of the unconscious kid on the sidewalk. I got Mikey
by the arm and we skedaddled across the street to the car. He was shaken-up of
course, so I took the keys from him and drove us away.
My brother stutters when he's excited or upset, whatever... he goes, "Brian, you
sa, sa, saved me! He wa, wa, wan wanted my wal, wal, my money." I go, "Calm
down, Mikey. Everything's okay now. Fuck him!" Mikey unhooks his seat-belt and
leans over to awkwardly hug me, mumbling, "Thanks, br, br, bro! I miss you sa,
so much!" "It's fine now, Mikey, and I miss you too. I'll be here all summer.
How much money did ya have in your wallet?" Getting his seat-belt back on, he's
calmer now, he says, "Four dollars." I'm thinking, "That Hispanic kid would
have been pissed to find out his robbery was netting only four dollars! Probably
take his frustration out on Mikey." Mikey's still talking fast, "It's great your
home, Brian! We're sharing a bedroom ya know. The apartment sucks, but don't
tell mom 'cause she's doing her best. She works at Macy's six days a week. She
said it's the first job she's ever had. Damn, Brian, I feel real bad for her...
I catch her crying all the time. She cries 'cause dad died. It's been a bitch!"
Geez, yeah, I'm thinking how it must be hard on both of them... and meanwhile
I'm away at college not helping out with anything. Damn, I gotta do my part!
Mikey directs me to the apartment which is surprisingly small, and right inside
the front door are four UPS boxes full of my stuff from college. It actually
seems excessive to have so much 'stuff' when we live in this small place; it's
all stuff from before, of course. Mikey and I manage to find storage space for
the boxes under my twin bed and I'm startled to find my bed is almost touching
Mikey's, that's how small the room is. Wow, this is gonna be tougher to deal
with than I thought. Mikey and I talked about getting jobs this summer as I
smoked a cigarette outside on the tiny balcony. Finally mom got home from work
and cried as she hugged me, saying she was so happy to see me. She's a pretty
woman who's too young to look as old as she does. It's all the grieving and
worrying I guess. She's thinner now than the last time I saw her. Man, I'm
really feeling the pressure to help out here, but I'm not sure what to do. The
first thing should probably be: display a positive attitude. So I did that by
being real upbeat, telling both my mom and brother that these things, like this
apartment, Mom working as a cashier, Mikey going to public school next year,
everything; they're all temporary. I'll graduate college in a year and get a
great job and together we'll turn our situation around. "Just know there's
better days ahead!" and blah, blah, blah, with other positive comments. Mom and
Mikey were smiling when I was done talking and we all helped put together a
nice chicken dinner cooked on one of the apartment's outside gas grilles.
That night laying in bed, with Mikey breathing eveningly in his sleep two feet
from me, I'm thinking, "I gotta get one of these jobs I'm interviewing for
tomorrow! I just gotta!"
I'm out of college for the summer, but Mikey's isn't out of prep school just
yet so first thing in the morning I drive him to St Johns. He'll live there in
his dorm for another two weeks while finishing-up ninth grade. My mom carpools
to work so I have the use of the car. This year there aren't many summer jobs
because of the economy, but I was still able to set-up four interviews from the
local newspaper mom sent me last week. These are the only job openings I think
I'm qualified to do, and the only ones that pay at least ten dollars an
hour. Three interviews today and one tomorrow. With any luck I'll get hired
today and be able to call and cancel the one scheduled for tomorrow. I eat a
light breakfast and drive to my first interview with a totally optimistic
outlook. Unfortunately, by four o'clock in the afternoon it was apparent that
I have no luck, except bad luck. The first job opening was "tentatively"
already filled when I got there for my interview, at another place the
interviewer said I was overqualified and would therefore probably get bored and
quit in a week and she'd need to do the interviewing process all over again.
She apparently is a fortune teller, knowing what I'd do in the future. Actually,
I didn't argue too much about that because the job did seem unbearably dull. The
third interview was a disaster... the arrogant woman doing the interviewing got
me so pissed-off and flustered I lost my cool and wasn't as pleasant as I
should have been. I also wasn't as nasty as I could have been... this was one
obnoxious lady who does not care for us male types. That's true enough, but just
the same, as I'm driving home I'm chastising myself for thinking I'm too good
to grovel. That's what that last woman wanted; she wanted me to grovel and beg
her for the job and instead I acted too proud. Tomorrow, groveling humbly or
even begging is exactly what I'm going to do because it'll be the last best
chance I have to score the kind of decent paying summer work I need. I gotta
help out mom and set an example for Mikey. In my financial position if I need
to I've got to grovel, beg, lie, whatever... I gotta get a fucking job!
Forcing myself to continue with a positive attitude when talking to mom, I put
the best spin on today's disappointments, and then act optimistic about my
chances for tomorrow. After dinner, to clear my head, I drive around to a couple
of spots I used to hangout at, but didn't run into any old friends. Most of my
real friends were made at prep school or college anyway, and none of them live
in the area. It gave me a lonely feeling. There were neighborhood kids I'd hang
out with during the summer of course, but that was in my old Dover
neighborhood days and I'm embarrassed to call them now that we're poor. Maybe
that's stupid, but right now it's kind of a humiliating situation for me.
Anyway, my main concern needs to be: getting a job! Next morning I'm up and at
'em driving mom's car to the big wholesale complex where there's an opening on
the loading dock. The ad indicated the pay is at least twelve dollars an hour,
more for experienced workers. I'm tall and strong enough to do the work so
that's gotta be in my favor, but what's this about experience? What kind of
experience do you need to unload a truck I wonder? It's hard to imagine they'd
want some experienced little guy unloading trucks, or whatever else it is one
does on a loading dock. Pulling into the parking lot I realize I've never been
here before in my life. No problem finding the place though. They've got this
huge sign you can see a half mile away... it reads BJ's WHOLESALE CLUB in red
letters the size of cars. Parking was a problem; the large lot was nearly full
with the shopper's cars, many more than I'd have thought would be here on a
weekday. Jesus, I had no idea so many people bought in bulk. I Googled this
place last night so I shouldn't be surprised it's so busy, except seeing it in
person is kinda shocking. People filing out of the place with big shopping
cart full of stuff: electronics, office supplies, sports and toys, health and
beauty items, seasonal items, and the most popular supermarket products like
forty rolls of toilet paper, or gallon jars of peanut butter, or a whole case
of orange juice... all kinds of things bought in large quantities. Jesus, these
people must be from awfully large families. It seems stupid to me, but I don't
give much of a shit how dumb it is to buy in bulk, all I want is the job.
My interview is for ten this morning and it's three minutes of ten right now so
I try hurrying except I don't know where to go and the place is enormous, plus
the hordes of people are in no rush to get out of my way. I finally see
someone wearing a BJ's vest and asked directions. Sweating, I arrive at the
reception office at ten after ten only to find the reception desk empty
except for a nameplate reading Stella Percoskie. Six men of various ages are
sitting on folding chairs against the back wall filling out forms by resting
clipboards on their laps. Something tells me these men are after the same job
I'm after, and they'd managed to get here on time. To my left I see a heavy set
woman looking through a big drawer in a file cabinet; she has an extra large
buttocks in back and extra large tits in front which seems to be keeping her
balanced and upright. I did a quiet, "Ah hem," clearing of my throat and she
turns to me with a friendly smile. "What can I do for you, cutie?" she asked,
looking me over with a grin on her chubby face. I politely reply, "I've an
appointment with Mr. Junior at ten this morning, ma'am." She shakes her large
head, and says, "I'm sorry, sugar, but you're late and Junior don't interview
anyone that's late. He runs a very tight ship on the loading dock." I bite my
bottom lip to keep from screaming, and then humbly say, "Please, please! I
need this job really badly!" Her face softens and she walks over to stand
behind her desk, still looking me over. She grins, looks around, then says,
"Junior ain't called for the application forms yet so maybe I can help ya. I
must say, you got the most beautiful eyes I think I've ever seen. I do believe
I'd like to have you around every day as eye candy." I try to look cute while
opening my eyes wide at the same time. It made her laugh, and say, "Oh boy! You
got the girls falling all over you, don'cha?" She picks up a clip board, and
says, "Okay, green eyes, what's your name?" I tell her and she writes it on the
top line, then writes something in the upper right-hand corner, explaining, "I
need to put the time of your arrival here for Junior to see." She looks up and
explains further, "By the way, Brian, Junior is his first name; it's not "Mr.
Junior" like you said. I put the time of your arrival as nine fifty-five 'cause
if I put ten-after-ten he wouldn't even pick your application up. He's a
pill, that Junior! A serious pill!" I smile again, although I have no idea what
she meant by that "pill" comment.
Still smiling my best smile, I'm babbling, "Thank you so much! This is
wonderful of you! Thank you!" and I hold out my hand to shake her hand. She
waves at me, and goes, "Oh, get going now, you cute thing; he probably won't
even get to you before he hires one or two of the others 'cause he takes the
interviews in order of when ya' all got here. Now, you fill those forms out and
let me get back to work." She's smiling as she's talking and I know damn well
that if she were doing the hiring, I'd be in. She's not though, so I sit down
and conscientiously fill-out the forms putting emphasis on my extra-curricular
activities at prep school and my GPA in college. At the bottom I write, "You
won't find a harder worker than me, Sir!". I've decided to go the"Sir!"
and "Ma'am" route with this interview. Sucking in and being humble, that's my
approach! As I'm filling out my forms the other six applicants finish filling
out their's and are now silently sitting back to await their fate. When I
finally hand my completed clipboard to Stella, she holds up a finger like she
wants me to wait so I stand in front of her desk while she glances over the
forms, then she whispers, "Honey, ya gotta put that you worked at a loading
dock some place or Junior won't hire ya." I'm like, "Oh, okay... ah, where..?"
She says, "Maybe you worked for Home Depot last summer; he won't check on it.
I'm suppose to do that." She winks at me and I take the clipboard back to add
the lie that I have experience on a loading dock. Stella nods her head when I
turn it in, and just then her phone beeps. She picks it up, nods her head
again, saying, "Okay, Junior, I'll bring them right in," then to me, "Ya
finished in the nick of time. Junior wants the applications now. Take a seat
'cause, like I said, you'll surely be last." She carries all seven of the
completed forms, sans clipboards, through an office door and I sit down to
wait. Two minutes after Stella returns to her desk, and almost immediately her
phone beeps again. She picks up and listens, looks startled, then motions for
me to come to her desk. "This is a first, sweetie! Junior never interviews out
of order, but he just called for you. Good luck, green eyes!"
"Do I just go in, Stella... or should I knock, or what?" She's like, "Oh my,
knock first, by all means knock first. That's one of his no-no's, ya don't
knock he feels you're not respectful of his position." I nod at her and smile,
thinking, "This guy must be insecure... I mean, he's the boss, what's not to
respect?" But he's obviously a stickler for doing things his way so now I'm
even more nervous then before, as Stella can see. I'm walking by her, biting the
inside of my cheek, when she grabs my wrist to stop me, and says,
"Brian, Junior's just a kid, he's going into his senior year at Natick high.
You don't need to be so nervous; just be yourself. You're the right size for the
job, maybe you'll get picked. He needs two, actually." As I'm walking toward the
office door I'm trying to process that remark about Junior being a high school
student, but it doesn't compute by the time I'm knocking on the door. "Come!"
is the stern response from inside the office, so I open the door and step into a
small office with, sure enough, a boy sitting behind an old desk. He looks
like a high school student alright, except I'd think maybe he's closer to a
freshman than a senior. He has a choirboy's innocent face, very clean cut and
attractive. I'd guess he's about five foot eight inches and a hundred and
thirty or forty pounds. Slim body, but muscular too. Sitting against the wall on
a folding chair is a younger, smaller, version of the boy behind the desk. The
one sitting against the wall has a blank expression on his face and the one
behind the desk, still seated, has a pleasantly surprised look going for him, he
says, "Stand there a second!" He gets up and walks around the desk to stand in
front of me, eyeing me up and down, without saying anything. It's like I'm
standing inspection or something, and it's damn annoying so I need to remind
myself, "Don't forget to be humble... grovel if necessary!" I needed the
reminder because, to tell ya the truth, I've got the urge to tell this little
kid to go fuck himself before we even get started.
Obviously I'm totally confused with what's going on here. Is this boy
actually doing the interviewing? It's what Stella intimated so I guess he is.
Fuck it! I want this job, what do I care if this kid wants to play grown-up.
As the boy looks me over he's getting into my space, if you know what I mean.
His face is too close to mine... it's not normal, but what the hell, I'll play
it out 'cause I'm desperate. Finally the boy nods his head as if confirming
something to himself, and then says to me, in a rather arrogant manner, "Can I
believe this shit?! You're the same Brian O'Rielly I met once. Do you remember
me? I'll never forget your name." I go, "No, sorry." He stares at me, still
standing real close, and it's getting awkward. Finally, he says, "You seem
uncomfortable. Are you?" I shake my head, and say, "Na, I mean, no! I'm good."
He makes a face, like, "I'm so sure!" and says, "My names Junior Knight. I was
on the grass cutting crew last year at Dover country club." I shake my head
'no', like I'm not getting the connection, and then say, trying to seem
interested and upbeat, "No, I'm sorry... wish I did remember you, but I can't
say that I do." He goes, "Huh? Where you a member at the country club?"
Wondering where he's going with this, I say, "Ah, well, yeah... last summer we
had a family membership there, but not anymore. We're not members now." "Why
not?" he bluntly asks, as if it's any of his business. I'd like to wipe my neck
'cause he sprayed saliva on it speaking so close to my face, but I stay still
and try to keep my voice level. There's a cockiness about this kid, a
confidence that belies his age and it has me off balance. Junior might be the
most intense and serious seventeen or eighteen year old I've ever run into.
He's definitely making me feel uncomfortable, but I'm not going to admit it to
him... and he's still too fucking close to me, right in front of me, almost
touching. I say, "My dad died and we had to drop out of the club," and as I'm
saying that, it's almost like a whine. The last couple of words hardly get out
loud enough to even be heard. I can't believe I'm being intimidated like this
by a high school student. Junior cocks his head to the side and looks at me,
then he says, "My condolences. Do you remember reporting to the club manager
that members of the landscape crew had helped themselves to left-overs from a
buffet luncheon?" My face turned red 'cause just like that, a memory of that
pops into my head and I stutter like Mikey for a few seconds, "Wha, ah, tha,
tha, that is, I didn't mean to get anyone in trouble." His mouth is level with
my Adam's apple, if I leaned my head slightly forward my nose would touch his
forehead. He appears to be completely relaxed being this close, also he has a
very pleasant natural aroma coming off of him; not an after-shave lotion or
something like that, it's a natural body smell. He wouldn't have a use for
after-shave anyway, his face is so close I can tell there isn't even peach fuzz
growth yet.
Abruptly he turns around, nods his head again as if he's confirming something
else to himself. His back to me, he says, "Stay there, please," and sits back
behind his desk. 'Little Junior', the one sitting against the wall, hasn't moved
and continues staring at me with his head tilted slightly to the side, giving
off an arrogant, superior air. Boy would I like to kick both their asses, but
that probably won't help me get the job. Junior says, "You claim you didn't
mean to get us in trouble by telling on us, so why'd ya do it." The real reason
is I was mocking them and having a good laugh with my girlfriend at the time.
It was Lady Di, who, as I mentioned has since dumped me. I can't tell him that
though, so I mumble, "I don't know! It was stupid of me, I'm really sorry I
did it. I wasn't thinking..." His eyebrows go up, startled, as he says, "Oh, so
you weren't thinking and we all get fired from jobs we badly needed. That's
just great!" He goes back to reading my application, then says, "You wrote here
you worked at Home Depot last summer and we both know that's a crock of shit
because you were hanging out at the country club last summer. Correct?" He's
looking me right in the eyes, and I start stuttering again, he's so damn
intimidating, "Ah, um, oh yeah, I man, I mean, I meant to write 'I tried to get
a job there'." Junior rolls his tongue around in his mouth, then uses it to
poke-out his cheek, then he rolls his eyes, and utters, "That's another lie!
Isn't it?" He's beyond intimidating and he's caught me again, and it didn't take
him long either. I meekly mumble, "Yeah, it is a lie, but please, I really need
this job. I'm sorry about lying, I'm sorry about telling on you boys last
summer, it's just that..." He holds up his hand to cut me off, and says,
"Look, for some reason I'm inclined to overlook the lies this one time, but no
more. Do you understand me?" I say, "Yes, Junior!" He stares into my eyes until
I look down.
As Junior's reading more off my application I try remembering if there are any
other lies there. He looks up after a bit, and says, "You went to that ritzy
St. Johns prep and now you're reduced to scrounging around in BJs sucking in
with a seventeen year old trying to beg your way into a manual labor job. How's
that make you feel?" I shuffle my feet awkwardly 'cause he's asking the damnest
things! "Ah, I'm humbled, I guess." He goes, "Yeah, and why's that?" I'm
looking down again because it's hard to keep eye contact with him. Trying
desperately to sort my thoughts, he snaps, "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
My eyes dart up to meet his, I meekly reply, "Sorry. I guess I feel humble
because back then I didn't consider that there are so many people in life who
have it so tough, who are barely getting by... and now I do." He goes, "You mean
guys like me who need to cut the grass of Country Clubs during the summer while
you play golf or sit on the veranda and do nothing except mock us workers. Is
that it?" I looked down again, "Look at me, and answer me!" Looking up, I
quietly mumble, "Yeah, but I didn't know any better then." My eyes are misty,
it's like I want to cry. The poise and mature manner Junior exhibited impressed
me tremendously, which actually made it easier to accept the way he's treating
me. I'm feeling funny... funny about him in a weird way. Funny-weird because
he's so fucking "in charge" and confident, and he has all the power here, and
mostly he has what I need and want which is the say-so about me getting a job
here. And, in addition to that, if I didn't know better I say he's the reason
my dick is moving in my pants and my stomach is buzzing way down low, near my
balls. He's also apparently mocking my humble answer by smirking over at the
smaller version of himself and silently mouthing the words, "He feels humble!"
The kid against the wall doesn't change expression, just shifts his eyes from
me to Junior, and then back to me.
As I'm taking quiet quick breaths, Junior reads more from my application, and
after a bit, asks, "What time did you show-up here this morning?" I try to
remember what time Stella wrote on the form, then thought about Junior's
warning against more lying, and croak out, "It was ten after ten, but I was in
the building before ten. I just couldn't find this office. I really tried hard
to be on time. I'm always on time!" He's nodding his head now, nodding it the
way you'd nod when listening to a little child lie about why they went into
the cookie jar... or, maybe it's more of a condescending nodding to mock me
again. He does the tongue against his cheek thing and then takes a deep breath
and signals for the younger version of himself to come over. Their head are
together whispering for maybe ten seconds, then the younger kid sits back in his
chair, and Junior says to me, "Okay. Here's the deal." He's holding up his
index finger lecturing me as if he's much older than me, instead of much
younger, which he is. He leans back in his chair and speak in a lecturing
manner, "My father supervises the stockroom for BJs and the loading dock is one
of his responsibilities. In the summer when he's got the full garden section
going there's simply too much else to worry about so he gave me the job of
loading dock boss from June until September. That's when the workload is
heaviest, thus we put on part-time help. Dad showed me exactly how he wants the
job done and that's the way I do it. Obviously I'm a kid, but I take the job
seriously; I'm not about to let my father down. So, anyone who wants to work on
the dock, including the full-timers, has to understand and accept the fact that
from June till September their boss is a kid. Got it? You got a problem with
that?" This is sounding encouraging, so I go, "No, Sir!" and he says, "Don't
call me sir. My name's Junior." He flicks his thumb over his shoulder in the
direction of the kid against the wall, and adds, "That's my younger brother,
Brett. He's my assistant and therefore he's also your boss. I'm gonna be
eighteen pretty soon and he's gonna be sixteen pretty soon. You good with all
this?" I nod eagerly, and say, "Absolutely! Yes, thank you!"
His eyes open wider, like he's surprised how agreeable I am. Then he bobs his
head a few times like he's confirmed something else to himself and I think I
almost saw a grin, but instead he shrugs, and goes on, "So now that we got the
age thing out of the way, let's move on to another topic: personal
appearance. This is a labor intensive job, but we're still going to look neat at
all times while we're doing it; that's my way of keeping everyone on par with
everyone else. We wear a uniform that you're required to pay for. Khaki shorts
and a red BJs short sleeve shirt and vest, and white Converse sneakers on your
feet, just like Brett and I are wearing. That's the uniform; we deduct the cost
of it from your pay. Everyone on the crew gets a short haircut, so that means
your pretty pile of blond hair has got to go. Look at Brett and me, we're neat
and squared away. You need to be too. Any problems so far?" I've had longish
hair for as long as I can remember. I think it looks good on me and the girls
like it, but I say, "No, no problem, Junior. Thank you for taking a chance on
me." He says, "I like what you wrote on your foam about being a hard worker,
so we'll see how it goes." He writes something on the form as I'm starting to
relax and feel relief.
Done with the paperwork, Junior looks up, and says, "To be honest, initially I
brought you in here, not to interview you, but rather to piss all over you about
that Dover Country Club issue, and then not give you the job, but you fooled
me. Brett's not convinced about you yet, but I'm the boss. You seem decent
enough to me, sincere and, as you say, humble, so I'll give you a try. But this
is just a trial period. I need to see how you follow instructions from Brett,
for example. Also, you're not officially hired until you take the strength test
and so forth, but you're a step closer. Do you understand?" I'm so anxious for
this opportunity, I gush, "Oh yes! I'm very excited about this! And, thanks
again!" He glances over at his brother and they exchange looks that I can't
decipher, and then Junior says to me, "It's too soon to thank me. You don't have
the job yet. I need to interview some of the others out there; I've two
openings. Two part-timers were fired last week for goofing off, one was fired by
Brett here, the other by me. There's no second chances for goof-offs." My eyes
glance at this kid, Brett, who's still staring at me as he sits against the
wall. I'm thinking, "That baby-faced kid fired someone?! Jesus!" Junior's not
done, he goes, "Okay, here's what you're going to do." He writes something on a
scratch pad, tears it off and holds it in my direction. I take the piece of
paper, and he explains, "To expedite things, go here for your haircut. My uncle
is the barber, tell him you're one of Junior's rookies and he'll give you the
rookie haircut. You can let it grow out as long as mine after the first one.
Okay?" I nod my head with a sinking feeling in my gut because I gotta get this
haircut without being sure I'll even get hired. He says, "Be back here for your
strength test, which I wouldn't imagine you'll have any problem with." He
stands, then says to Brett, "Show him around a little; you know, where to meet
us at noon, and all that kind of thing." Looking back at me, he goes, "You'll
have no excuse for being late now, will ya?" I say, "No, I'll be on time."
Picking up the phone, he snaps at me, "Try being early!" and then he tells
Stella to send in the next applicant. Back to me he says, in a dismissive
manner, "No more fuck-ups like being late or lying about anything. Follow
instructions from Brett and me, and do what you're told, that's important! You
got that?" I go, "Yes, Junior." He motions with his hand toward the door, Brett
and me go out it with me having hope in my heart that things are going to work
out okay. Yes!
As I'm following Brett out the door I feel a respect for Junior. He's a tough
customer alright, but serious and he seems to know what he doing. It's hard to
match that youthful face with his toughness, but there it is. Being bossed
around by him somehow seems okay to me. Actually, I think his bossy manner is
what caused that buzzing in my nuts near the end there, you know, when I totally
accepted he's my superior. Truth is, I'm damn glad he's giving me a chance,
and what the hell, why wouldn't I want to please him. It's weird, but it's the
second time in two days that something's made me think of Frank Barns. First
the kid on the bus, and now Junior. He has that same superior way about him
that Frank had. Hey, maybe it's called leadership. Maybe both of them are
natural leaders. Brett says, "Keep up with me, O'Rielly!" That snaps me out of
my musings and I hustle to catch up. Brett's maybe five foot, four inches tall,
and slim like his brother. He also has an arrogance about him like Junior, but
it's not hitting me in the same positive way I feel about Junior. This sounds
nuts, but I wish Junior had insisted I call him 'Sir'. That was my plan, to call
my boss "Sir" to show respect, it'd be kinda cool calling a high school
student 'Sir!'. That sort of thing happens routinely in the military, of
course. Kids right out of college become officers and the old crusty career
enlisted men, sergeants for example, need to address the young officers as
'Sir'.
Brett leads me into a room that looks like a gym. There's a basketball backboard
and rib, some bar bell weights, a lifting bench, a chin-up bar, and so forth.
Brett says, "Report to me here at noon today, at the latest!" I mumble, "Okay,"
and he says, "Don't mumble. You heard Junior, I'm your boss, pal! For now, stand
up straight." What the fuck? Being a little goofy, I stand like I'm 'at
attention', trying not to grin at how silly little Brett seems. Jesus, this
kid does not look fifteen-going-on-sixteen. Like his brother he looks very young
for his age, he looks about thirteen actually... cute kid too. Brett checks my
posture, then reaches up to put his smallish hand under my chin, saying, "Keep
your chin up! I don't want to have to tell you that when you're lined-up for
calisthenics. We do calisthenics every morning before work to loosen-up. It
prevents muscle-pulls and gets everyone awake and ready for a productive day's
work." I can't believe a fifteen year old is acting with such authority. These
two brothers are unique alright! Brett's probably not looking for me to say
anything to that last statement, so I nod by head and he lifts his hand to poke
his finger under my chin again, saying, "Chin up, goddammit!" I comply, and he
murmurs, "Good, but you need to follow directions better." Whoa, this kid is as
tough as his brother, maybe tougher. He lectures, "Okay, I have your attention
now. Listen up! I lead the exercises each morning and you need to be aware that
if I deem you're not enthusiastically participating I'll send you home for the
day and your pay will be docked. Three strikes and you're out of the job. Got
it?" Just for the hell of it, I say, "Yes, Sir!" He nods, and adds, "Good! You
might just work-out after all. I had my doubts that a former rich kid would
accept our disciplined way of doing things, but you seem to have learned how to
do it." It's so goofy, I know, but I felt kind of proud to have won Brett over
already; I'll bet it was the ,"Yes, Sir!" that did it. He seemed like such a
prick at first, but now I kind of like him.
Not knowing if I should go for the haircut now or what, I stay in my 'at
attention' position, if you will, until Brett says, "Okay, you'll be getting
your rookie haircut, after which you're to go home and change into shorts for
your strength test. Be back here no later then twelve, noon." He's standing
behind me as he's speaking and just when I'm about to follow his orders he
shocks me by getting a fistful of my butt cheek, goosing it tightly, adding,
"But first, hold still for a second!" He grabs my other butt cheek with his
other hand pulling up with both hands. This kid is strong; it hurt the way he
yanked my ass upward. Letting go of my buttocks then, he murmurs, "Stand where
you are," and then presses and wipes the palms of his hands all over my ass,
then the palms of his hands slide around in front, his fingertips almost
touching my cock, "Easy..." he says. I take a stuttering inhale and bite my lip
as my dick starts getting hard. The fucking nerve of this kid! But it's so
completely unexpected and off the wall, I just stand here trying to make sense
of it. He blows a lot of air from his lungs, as if he'd been holding his breath,
and says, "The kind of lifting you'll be doing requires strong gluteal muscles
and yours are a bit on the weak side. Like here.." as he re-grabs my left
butt cheek low and under my thigh, near my balls, and massages there getting my
dick to firm up even more. "And here, see?" he says, as he grabs the other
buttocks and squeezes making me gasp and go up on my toes. "Stand still!" He'd
snapped-out that command with such authority I froze. The side of his hand
traces the crack between my buttocks; first up, and then down under to bump my
nuts, the tips of his fingers pushes my sack of nuts forward, then holding it
there as he quietly asks, "Have you ever done exercises for these three muscle
groups in your buttocks?" My cock is now poking out the front of my pants, which
he's sure to notice, but what can I do. I croak, "Ah, no, Sir. I haven't." One
last squeeze, and he says, "Well, you'll need to. Stay after your strength test
today and I'll show you how to do them, if I have time. I've been studying
exercises for the human body since I was nine years old, plus I've a black
belt in karate, so I know what I'm doing." Jesus, these two Knight brothers are
remarkable! Brett pats my ass, and then one last squeeze before saying, "Okay,
O'Rielly, you're excused. Be back here before twelve! When you're just on time,
you're late!" I put my hands in my side pockets and get my boner over to the
side, mumbling, "I'll get here early, Sir." He actually giggled then, and it
was so out of character for him, but maybe he saw me adjusting my boner. It was
a giggle sort of like he couldn't help himself, it just blurted out. It's the
first thing he's done that's been something of a normal nature for a fifteen
year old boy. Obviously the ass grabbing had me wondering if he's gay, but for
some reason I rejected that idea as ridiculous. There's just something about him
that convinces me he's straight and since I am too, it's a relief to recognize
that.
Outside I hurry to my car then take a few minutes to have a smoke. My dick's
still buzzing from that strange encounter of grab ass. Then sitting inside the
car checking the address of the barber shop, I'm thinking, "Forget about the
grab ass and concentrate on what you need to do!" The barbershop is sort of out
of the way; the corner of Alston and Main Street in downtown Framingham. I
know Main Street, but I've never been to Alston Street. Following Main Street
almost to the end I find the shop, "Knight's Barber Shop." It's the last small
shop in a chain of eight different businesses on Alston Street. Parking, I walk
down feeling a odd churning in my stomach. Getting this so-called rookie
haircut is such an unexpected requirement, but what the fuck... I've never had a
job before, maybe it's not so odd. Still, no one's ever told me what kind of
haircut to get, not even as a little kid. This haircut is obviously going to be
real short denoting I'm the bottom guy on the totem pole as far as seniority
on the job goes. Looking in through the window I see there's no one in the shop
except the barber, a middle-aged balding man barely five feet tall. He looks
up when I walk in, and says, unnecessarily, "You're next!" Resigned to my fate,
I sit in the old barber chair, which he has cranked down as far as it will go.
"How you want this mop cut?" he asks. Another aggressive member of the Knight
family, apparently. This is nerve racking and I find myself answering like a
dork, "Ah, it's a... That is, I need a rookie haircut for my boss, Junior, at
BJs. Or, you know, he wants me to get it. He said you'd know, right?" The
barber got the cape around me as I'm babbling, and he's already got the
clippers running. He grunts, "Yeah, I know." Then he demands, "Sit up straight!"
It must be a Knight family trait to insist everyone sit or stand straight. I sit
up straight and without hesitating he runs the clippers all the way up the back
of my head and does it repeatedly all around the back and sides until there's
just stubble left there. I gulp, feeling dizzy. Jesus! A huge amount of blond
hair cover the cape on my shoulders and a pile of it is in my lap. The hairs on
top don't last long either... he combs-up a load of hair from front to back and
runs the clippers along the comb leaving hair at the front of my head a half
inch long; the hairs taper shorter and shorter until they're about a quarter
inch at the back. Forehead to crown all over the top, and then he does some
blending of the sides to the top and outlines around my ears and he's done. It
took him about five minutes.
Looking at the mirror in front of the barber chair, I gasp at my changed
appearance. The barber takes the cape off to shake a pile of my hair onto the
floor, and demands, "Ten dollars," which thankfully I had. After paying him,
there's four dollars left in my pocket, the same amout Mikey had in his wallet
when he picked me up at the bus terminal two days ago. It hadn't occurred to me
I'd need to pay for this, which is dumb of me, and only now do I think of how
embarrassing it would have been if he'd said, "That will be fifteen
dollars!" for example. Walking to the car I feel a little sick to my stomach;
sorta like I've turned myself over to Junior and Brett, and I guess I have, but
I need this fucking job. Feeling my hair, it's mostly bristles. Oh, what's the
difference, who cares about a haircut? The breeze feels odd on my scalp though.
Oh well, hair grows back pretty quickly. Still, I feel strange about this, it's
kinda weird... those two teens, with all that confidence, and me meekly doing
what they say. What else could I do though? Fuck it! Driving home quickly I go
into the apartment and put on cargo shorts, then get hung-up looking at myself
in the mirror. I look so fucking different! I feel different too, like I'm
almost not myself anymore, or like I'm entering an entirely new life, or
something. Oh balls! I think I got the job so I should stop my whining!
With a cigarette between my lips, puffing on it like crazy, I drive too fast
back to BJs and by the time I park the car it's already quarter to twelve.
Finishing my smoke while running through the parking lot, then running through
the crowded building, I arrive at the gym only to find it empty. At least I got
here on time, actually I'm early. Okay, a good start. Funny, but all the way
through this building I felt self conscious about my military-style haircut,
like everyone was staring at me. They probably weren't, but it felt like they
were. Obviously that doesn't do anything to bolster my confidence. While waiting
I lift a few of the weights wishing I had another cigarette and then realize I
haven't seen a single person smoking in BJs, or on the grounds, and somehow it
doesn't seem likely the Knight boys would smoke themselves, or tolerate their
workers doing it. What the hell, that'll help me quit an expensive habit. My
wristwatch indicates it's noon and sure enough Brett walks through the door at
that exact second. Moving briskly he nods officiously at me, and I grin back;
then, trying to be funny I point at my nearly bald head. Maybe I was looking for
approval from Brett, I'm not sure. In any case, he makes a dismissive face at
me, and with a shake of his head he seems to indicate, "We've got more important
things to think about than a haircut!" It makes me feel childish somehow, like
I'm goofing around and he needs to shape me up. I take a deep breath and tell
myself to get serious 'cause Brett certainly is.
Putting a clipboard with my application papers on the small desk, Brett says,
"In the future, be at attention when I come through that door. That way we're
not wasting time! If you get hired you'll see how to do it properly at morning
calisthenics." With a serious expression on my face, I stand-up straight, then
remember to jut my chin out, as he's asking, "Where are your shorts? I told you
to wear shorts for the strength tests." Well, I've got shorts on as he can
plainly see, so these must be the wrong kind of shorts. Okay, but why does he
have to be so fucking abrupt about everything? It intimidates me, so I meekly
reply, "Whaddaya mean, these are my shorts." Brett shouts, "Gym shorts, nitwit!
We're in the gym for your strength test, so gym shorts would seem obvious."
Hands on his hips, he's frustrated. Jesus! I don't want to fuck this up at this
late stage, so I quickly apologize, "Sorry, I thought... I mean, I didn't think
about gym shorts. I feel so stupid." He shakes his head, disgusted at what an
idiot I am, and then sticks two fingers inside the waistband of my cargo shorts
and pulls it away from my belly. My mouth drops open as he leans his head over
and looks down my shorts, bumping his forehead against my stomach in the
process. A quick look and he declares, "Okay, you've got boxers on. We'll make
do with them. You can wear them as your gym shorts this time, but have gym
shorts for the morning exercises!" I say, "Oh, sure! Thanks! I'll definitely
buy some gym shorts for that. Thank you!" Brett rolls his eyes, like I'm the
biggest nerd ever, and asks, "Okay, what's the hold-up? Drop the cargo shorts,
and while you're at it, take off your shirt, sneakers and socks too. First we'll
measure sizes for your work uniform and sneakers... then the strength testing
which should be just a formality for someone your size." Relieved, I say, "Yes,
Sir!" and get busy taking everything off except my white POLO boxer shorts. I
really am relieved he's allowing this exception; he could have sent me off to
get proper gym shorts. He's not so bad, I guess.
As I'm undressing, Brett's lecturing me again, "If you want to work for me you
need to understand this: When I tell you to do something and your not sure
exactly what it is that I'm telling you to do, ASK ME! Make sure you know
exactly what I want! Are we straight on this?" I say, "Yes, Sir," but I'm back
to being pissed-off at him again, thinking how I'd like to kick his skinny ass
all around this fucking room. My feelings about him change from minute to
minute! He shouts in my face, "Get in the 'at attention' position!" and I snap
to it thinking, "Is this the fucking Marines I'm joining?! Fuck!". He gets me
so furious but makes me feel so vulnerable at the same time... vulnerable, and
sorta naked, and yet, I do need to admit I have this growing respect for him.
He's not looking to make a friend here, or have me like him. He's doing the job
the way Junior and his dad want it done. It's amazing a kid his age can handle
himself in this manner; I couldn't do it now, never mind when I was fifteen!
He's looking me over as I stand at attention, my eyes straight ahead. Sure I
feel stupid doing this, but I'm committed to following through since I've come
this far with the bizarre haircut and everything else. As I'm standing here like
a fool, at attention, in front of this little kid, I get that buzzing in my nuts
again; the same buzzing I got from Junior bossing me around. It has something to
do with the way they control the situation... and my total lack of control. I
am actually at their mercy where this job is concerned and, anyway, the buzzing
isn't unpleasant; it feels good.
Brett's eyes move over my almost naked body, from head to foot. I have a pretty
good body so I don't mind him looking at it; it's not like I'm fat or something.
Well, I'm a little on the slim side actually, but there's some definition in
the right places too. Brett's apparently the touchy/feely type; he's touching me
again. He puts the palm of his right hand on my bare belly and his other hand
grasps my hip, clutching at the material of my boxer shorts. It increases that
funny tingling sensation in my balls and then the feeling spreads out all around
my groin area. It's not normal to be touched so blatantly like this, there's
been so much inappropriate touching this morning I should complain, yet it
increases the pleasant, dare I say, sexy feeling I'm getting. What the hell's
happening here anyway? Brett somehow seems to know he can get away with whatever
he feels like doing to me. He's so young looking, and small too, but what choice
do I have except to do what he says? After he feels me up, he asks, "How much
does POLO underwear cost?" I go, "Gee, I think about twenty dollars, something
like that." He puts his forefinger inside the waistband of my underpants now,
the back of his finger rubbing against my belly very near the top of my pubic
hairs; pulling out the elastic waistband a little, then a little more, as he
looks arrogantly into my eyes, like, "What are you gonna do about it?". I gulp
as cool air swirls down the opening and surrounds my dick and balls. Still
staring at me, he slowly says, "Seems like a lot to pay for underwear. Don't
it?" I take in a quick breath and let it out slowly, then say, "Yeah, I guess
so." Brett pulls his finger out and my waistband snaps back in place. "Follow
me," he commands.
I need to take another big lung-full of air as I follow Brett across the room.
There's so many unique aspects to this fifteen year old kid. He's really pushy
and aggressive and confident, making it hard for me to know what to think. He
points to a section of wall that has measurements marked-off for heights
beginning at four feet and going upward to seven feet, inch by inch. I back up
against the wall and stand up straight. After checking the mark at the top of my
head, he mumbles, "Seventy-four and a quarter inches," then marks it down on a
form. Next he pulls out a strip of measuring tape from his pocket and wraps it
around my waist; leaning in to read the measurement the top of his head is just
under my chin. I immediately notice a pleasant natural scent wafting up from
Brett, the same scent I noticed from Junior. Both brothers are very neat and
clean, and quite good looking. Their dark brown hair is short, combed down on
top and flipped up in front; preppy style. It's weird, but the more they boss me
around, the more attached I'm feeling to both of them and I haven't a clue why
that is. I'm not fucking gay, if that's what you're thinking. It's just, well,
they are attractive and I guess I'm impressed with their confidence and apparent
competence. Authority figures have always been a bit of a turn-on for me anyway
and this goes all the way back to my Frank Barns days. I mean a turn-on as far
as respect goes, not a sexual turn-on. I admire people who handle authority
competently, and these two seem to qualify as competent. Their father trained
them to lead others, be stern and insist it's your way, or the highway! Come
to think of it, I usually get this nice buzzing in my balls and stomach whenever
I'm in the company of particularly authoritative people; especially young male
authority figures and. like I said, this goes all the way back to my Frank Barns
days. I've always thought my admiration for these guys was an off-shoot of me
hoping someday to be like them, ya know.
Brett's now holding the end of the measuring tape at the top of my leg, inside
near my groin, the back of his hand pressing against my cock and I gotta
believe he realizes that, but he leaves it there just the same and stretches the
tape down to my ankle, determining my inseam. After that he says, "Bend down
a little," I do and he measures my neck size, his face so close to mine I feel
his moist breath on my nose; it smells like Spearmint chewing gum. Up close he
looks no older than twelve. Using the measuring tape as a rope, holding my head
in place, he takes me completely by surprise again by running the fingers of his
free hand slowly through the short stiff hair on the top of my head, as he asks,
"What did you mean by pointing at your head when I first came in? You don't like
your rookie haircut?" Still bending down because he's tightened the measuring
tape around my throat, I shrug a little, and mumble, "I'll get used to it, it's
very different than I'm used to; that's all." Again he rubs through my very
short hair and this time his nose touches my forehead and he leaves it there for
maybe two full seconds while he rubs my hair. I can't help but feel this is
demeaning to me somehow... it's the kind of thing you might do to your dog,
rub him saying, "How ya doing, boy?!" or it's maybe like an uncle might rub his
nine year old nephew's hair right after the boy's gotten a buzz cut. It's
certainly not what a fifteen year old does to a twenty-two year old, I know that
much. Brett tightens the measuring tape around my throat further, and says, "For
your information, this is Uncle Leo's version of a burr haircut, very close on
the sides and back, and at the longest half an inch of hair on top. I think you
should keep it this way. I might even insist that you do, if ya know what I'm
saying." Again, I can't believe the gaul of this kid, but I find myself
complying just the same, saying, "Oh, okay, I guess I will keep it this way
then." He takes another big breath, and says, "See that you do. I'm writing on
your papers, "Uncle Leo's burr haircut every two weeks!" I'll be including that
in my inspection of you before exercises. Ya got that?" I feel my face get red;
this is so humiliating, but I croak out, "Yes, I got it." He pulls on the tape
and the sides of our faces rub for an instance, "You can afford twenty-dollar
pairs of underwear, you can afford a haircut every two weeks. Right?" I try
unsuccessfully to nod my head, feeling so inferior to Brett now. He's too much
for me, I give in to his dominating behavior. Needless to say, I've never run
into anything like this before. He snaps, "Right?" and I say, "Yes, Sir. I'm
to get a burr haircut every other week." A very smug nod of his head, like, "I
got him right where I want him!".
He looks at me as he's nodding his head slightly, then reaches up to get some
short hairs in front of my head between his thumb and forefinger and pulls at it
roughly. I do a quiet, "Oww," and he lets go of the measuring tape then.
Mesmerized, I watch the tape slide off my neck onto the floor. One more yank on
my hairs, just because he can, and he lets go allowing me to straighten-up,
rubbing my neck and adjusting my crotch 'cause I felt a strong, deep, pleasant
buzzing down there again. I have an unbelievable urge to jerk myself off, which
is definitely the first thing I'm going to do as soon as I get home. Man oh man,
this kid's so intense! Turning away from me, Brett finishes recording the
measurements on my papers and then, in a calmer voice, says, "Well, enough of
this haircut talk. Listen up, I'll be doing most of your testing 'cause
Junior's busy supervising a big unloading project." Surprisingly I discover
I'm disappointed Junior won't be part of the testing. I thought both brothers
would participate. For reasons I can't fully articulate, Junior really
impressed the hell out of me earlier and, I don't know, I sorta thought he'd
taken a kind of special interest in me too, but now that he's assigned his
little brother to do this, I'm probably mistaken about that. Oh well, Brett's
not that bad. Like I said, it's weird, but even though at times I want to punch
them both out, overall I don't mind being bossed by these two kids, and that's
just one more truly surprising fact... go figure! If I wanna be honest with
myself, I kinda like them bossing me around... ha ha! I know it's weird, but I
do. It's more like a game than anything else, I've never taken myself too
seriously anyway. I'm easy going in most cases.
Brett says, "Pay attention! This is how I want you to do jumping jacks," and he
does three with effortless, graceful moves. I do some, and he's like, "No, no!
Watch me," and I do, thinking that the way he moves is really special. "Now
you," I try again, and he says, "Be light on your feet, let the motion flow."
We do that a few times, then he goes, "You're tall and awkward, but it'll have
to do. Now some sit-ups." He demonstrates, and then I imitate him,
satisfactorily this time, "See how many you can do," he orders, as he kneels
down to hold my feet. My legs are bent, knees in the air; I pull my torso up and
touch my knee with my nose and then back down. Brett's squeezing my bare feet
as he's helps hold them down. He instructs, "Touch with your fucking chin, like
I did. I don't want to have to tell you to pay attention again!" What fucking
planet is this kid from? I do a few sit-ups exactly the way he did his as he
continues squeezing and sort of fondling my feet. He says, "You have big feet
and very long toes. Junior and me don't have big feet, but our toes are long."
I'm thinking, "What an odd thing to be talking about," but by now I'm on my
twentieth sit-up and near my limit, grunting with the effort to do number
twenty-one. Brett goes, "You're joking, right? You can do more than twenty
sit-ups I hope!" Not wanting to expend energy answering that, I struggle to get
to twenty-five then collapsed backward on the floor, breathing hard. "This
might be a problem," Brett mutters, as he records the number.
I lay there catching my breath as Brett retrieves an instrument that measures
feet. He looks down at my nearly naked body for a few seconds. I stare up at
this little clothed fifteen year old boy, then he stares at my big feet for a
while before saying, "Lift a foot up to me." I do and he measures it, "Size
twelve. That's a lot of foot! Lift up your other one." I do, and he measures,
"Size twelve alright," he mutters, and then holds my foot and massages it.
Another unexpected development... who the fuck wants to massage someone's sweaty
foot? After a bit, he rest my foot against his stomach, near his crotch, and it
appears he's smelling his hand and blinking a half dozen times real fast. When
he lowers my foot to the floor it rubs right across his dick and I'm pretty sure
his penis is boned-up. He's standing over me now, looking down on me again,
this time with a superiority smirk. I'm hooked onto his blue eyes, bright blue
with dark blue highlights. I can't help thinking, "Any girl would love to have
those eyes and those long curvy eyelashes!" It's like I'm hypnotized for a few
seconds, then he breaks the spell to order, "Put your legs down flat on the
floor," and when I do he sits on top of my thighs with a knee on either side of
me. Adjusting his position by sliding his ass off my thighs and onto my crotch
causes me to gasp. He seems so small and I do a second quiet gasp when he cups
my sides with his hands and does some kind of massage action there, saying, "You
need to work on the sit-ups; we do anywhere from twenty-five to fifty each
morning. I'm massaging your oblique muscles now, getting more blood circulating
so you don't cramp up." His butt cheeks are muscular and hard, and as he moves
forward and back while doing the massaging his butt cheeks are rubbing against
my cock, getting me hard for the third or forth time today. The palms of his
hands feel good and strong, and the way he grabs, pulls, and rubs deeply into my
skin and muscle tissue creates a warming sensation that's very nice; then he
drags his fingernails lightly down my sides and the warmth gives way to chills
and shivers as goose bumps rise on my arms. I shudder and shiver under him. He
stares into my eyes the whole time this is going on, and it's all so surreal.
When he finishes massaging me, he stands up to look down on me again, the front
of my boxer shorts pokes out noticeably. My boner's as hard as a pipe
Brett looks like he's holding back a grin or a smile, not that I've seen him do
either one to this point. Relaxing his expression, he points at my lap, and
asks, "Do you get erections easily? I ask that question because there's a lot of
bodily contact when the crew is loading and unloading together in the small
space of the dock. Also, some of the exercises are interactive because that sort
of thing builds a strong team, good esprit de corp ya might say. So, you might
be embarrassed springing a boner all the time" I shake my head, and say, "Na,
na no, not at all! It just happened now, it doesn't mean anything." Why am I
stuttering like my brother? Brett goes, "Oh, it don't bother me none... erect
all ya want. Push-ups are done like this," and, just like that, he moves on and
demonstrates how he wants push-ups done. When I do mine he sits on the floor at
my head with his hand under my chin, saying, "Keep your chin up and hit the
floor with it instead of your nose. And keep your back straight!" My boner
recedes quickly as I huff and puff trying to do perfect push-ups. When he's not
cupping my chin with the palm of his hand, he's running the palm of his hand
over my burr haircut again. He seems enthralled with it. It feel nice to have
my head rubbed and, in general, I guess I'm getting used to being touched by
Brett. After a bit he moves to sit near my ass and holds it down with the flat
of his hand, "Stay flat!" he orders. I'm sweating up a storm by now and, as I
said, I'm getting used to him touching me so as a consequence I don't even give
a second thought to him massaging my ass again, even though my dick once more
begins to get hard. Okay, I'm aware there's something going on here, something
I don't understand yet, but frankly I don't give a damn about it. Squeeze my
ass all you want as long as I get the job.
All the exercise results are recorded, of course. Brett says, "Before we
continue, you need to hydrate. Be sure to stay hydrated on the dock too." I
hurry off to drink a lot of water from the sink in the locker room feeling a
little bit refreshed afterwards and beginning to think I've won my boss over.
It's his demeanor of late, he's not hollering at me as much and he seems to be
petting me, like maybe he sees me in the same way he sees his pet cat. He sounds
less bossy now too, saying, "Before the weights, I want to see a series of leg
thrusts. They're done like this," he kneels down with his hands on the floor
and throws his legs out behind him and then bring then back and stands up, then
immediately repeats the exercise. "Now you," I start doing them and because I'm
tall it's a more clumsy looking procedure for me, it's exhausting too. The
sweat has my boxer shorts stuck to my body, they're soaking wet and during my
second leg thrust my penis comes out the pee slit in front," Brett says,
"Forget that, continue!" so my cock flops around with each leg thrust. I'm past
being self conscious around Brett; he's groped me and fondled me and pointed at
my boner... so just forget about it! I'm sweaty and tired and this is
ridiculousness, but I calm myself down and remind myself this uncomfortable
experience has to be almost over; then it'll simply be a matter of working eight
hours a day. Such a relief to just work after all I've gone through today. "Five
more," he casually says, as the door opens and Junior walks in. "How's it gone
with O'Rielly, Brett?" "Oh, he's borderline in many areas, but I like his effort
and he follows directions well," reports Brett. I'm feeling proud to hear that.
Junior's looking at my chart shaking his head, mumbling, "Borderline alright."
Then to me, "Don't you ever workout or exercise in any way?" I can hardly talk
I'm so wiped-out from doing the thrusts, but I manage, "No, Sir. I know I should
and I'll start tomorrow. I can do better." Brett's like, "See what I mean about
the good attitude, Junior?" Junior goes, "Yeah, I picked-up on his
cooperativeness early on," and then, if I'm not mistaken, they make a face at
each other about my "cooperativeness"... they exchanged a smirking look, like,
"Can you believe this piece of work?!" Ya know what, fuck 'em... I don't care!
Done with the last five leg thrusts, I'm sitting on the floor breathing heavily,
my dick forgotten as it lulls outside my boxers. Junior, looking at Brett, nods
at my exposed cock, his hands held palms-up, like, "What's up with that?" and
Brett casually leans over, picks up my cock with his thumb and forefinger,
squeezes it a few times, and then pushes it back inside my shorts. I watch in
shocked amazement. Will I ever stop being surprised at what these two do?
Junior's telling me, "You need some more water and then we'll begin the
strength testing." I'm thinking, "Begin the testing! What the fuck we been
doing?" but of course I muttered, "Yes, Sir,". Junior hasn't objected to me
calling him 'sir' the last few times so apparently he's joined with Brett in
allowing me to reply to him in this respectful way. Isn't it crazy that it
gives me kind of a charge to call them "Sir"? Ha ha! I don't understand it
myself, except I've never meant teenagers anything like these two and, like I
said, I kind of respect the heck out of them. If I can continue looking at it as
a game more than anything else, then putting up with all this bizarre stuff is
bearable.
Anyway, while I'm hydrating, dripping with perspiration, Junior and Brett
whisper for a minute or two, then Junior sends Brett to check on dates for next
week's shipments, and finally, he says to me, "Over here, Brian. We'll start
with some curls. He got me going on the weights by showing what he wants me to
do. The fucking weight lifting went on forever... lifting and jerking and
curling and doing pull-ups. Oh my God, I don't know how I held up through it
all but my determination to get this job somehow motivated me to do more
than I ever thought I could. With all I've already gone through, I'm
determined not going to blow it now. Junior's relentless though, "Do another
set with ten more pounds on the bar, and use your arms more and do less jerking
with your lower body." Doing the curls with a full bar I'm throwing my hips out
to help get the bar up. I tried to stop doing that, but shortly I'm back to
thrusting my hips out and my dick flops out the pee slit of my shorts again. I
don't give a shit anymore, but Junior does which is probably why he told me to
stop using my hips. For the record, I've got a nice looking penis. It's average
size, five-plus inches of pale pink flesh that I'm quite fond of. I might as
well be naked now anyway, my boxers are so wet with sweat they're plastered to
me like another layer of skin. I can see the shadow of my pubes through the wet
material in the front of my boxers. Junior goes, "That's enough. Put your dick
away and relax."
Junior lets me cool off with a cup of water, me sitting on the lifting bench.
I'm so relieved these tests are over. Junior's recorded all the results and is
looking them over when Brett comes back in. Brett nods at me, then looks over
Junior's shoulder to see the results, and says, "Just barely qualifies, huh,
Junior?" Junior says to me, "Congratulations, O'Rielly, you made it!" I was
psyched! I pump my fist, and yell, "Yes!!!" Both Junior and Brett maintain their
stern expressions so, in a calmer manner, I added, "Thank you so much. I
really, really appreciate you hiring me." Junior writes something on my
application, and says, "I'm starting you at thirteen dollars an hour. That's a
dollar more than we advertised the position for, but Brett likes the way you
follow orders and he recommended a higher starting salary, so you can thank him
for the extra buck an hour. Seven o'clock Monday morning we start the
exercises, be here well before that. See you Monday, I gotta get going 'cause
I've still got a lot of work to do. Brett will finish up with you here." I
stand, and say, "Yes, Sir! Thank you again!" and the brothers smirk at one
another and sort of nod their heads, like, "Yeah, we were right about him!". At
least I hope that's what their silent exchange means. Before leaving Junior
wrote some more notes on my papers, then gets up to leave, saying to Brett,
"Give him a quick check to be sure he didn't hurt himself with the weights and
then send him on his way." Brett says, "You bet. See you in a little while,
bro." As Junior's leaving, Brett's all business again. "On your feet, Brian,
and stand over here." He's pointing right in front of him. I'm beat, really
tired but I know the drill by now so I stand at attention in front of this short
fifteen year old boy, and say, "Yes, Sir!"
Brett's reading what Junior wrote on my papers, smiling, then chuckling to
himself. He looks up at me, and says, "Drop your underpants, I need to check for
signs of a hernia." I hesitate and he snaps, "Now, O'Rielly!" and I pull my
boxers down to my knees. "All the way off!" and he seems exasperated again, as
he's saying, "It's been a rough day already, and I still have a couple of hours
to go so don't fuck around with me. Do what I say, when I say it! Are we clear
about that?!" I go, "Yes, Sir! Sorry!" as I'm stepping out of my underwear, then
I stand naked, at attention, in front of this ninth grader. Believe me, it
entered my mind that I'm going to be a senior in college and yet I'm acting very
submissive to these two much younger boys, but my determination to get this
job requires pleasing them and that's what I intend to do. After this summer
I'll probably never see them again, so what do I care? The end justifies the
means, and like I said, I respect them, I'm grateful for the job, and I get a
buzzing in my nuts being so submissive; it's part of the game. This might even
be fun if they weren't such hard-asses and I don't give a fuck if that's a
blatant rationalization! But really, seeing a couple of young, small-sized boys
playing drill sergeant, or hard-ass boss, or whatever isn't something you see
every day and if one has the proper attitude, it can be a bit of a hoot!
Facing me, Bret casually takes my cock and balls in his right hand and pulls
them to the side. He's got small hands and his fingers barely reach around my
package. Pressing two of his fingers at a spot on my belly near my thigh area,
dangerously close to the root of my cock, he says, "Turn your head and cough,"
which I do, but it's not much of a cough because he's tightening and loosening
his grip on my cock and balls, then pulling down slightly, followed by upward
pressure. I don't know what it is, maybe it's that he's so serious, but it
strikes me as very sexy and my uncut cock begins firming up for about the
hundredth time today. As it gets harder and harder it grows a little longer and
gets a little fatter and it's easier for Brett to stroke the foreskin on an off
the knob. He seems oblivious to my growing boner, saying, "Cough again!" and I
get a good one out, but my hips involuntarily hump against his hand; he casually
strokes my cock a few more times. Then, saying to himself, "Okay," Brett
switches hands with my package, but this time he only grabs my firm dick leaving
my nuts swinging. Stroking my boned-up cock with another three quick strokes
brings on a full-blown hard-on. I go up on my toes gasping, then grab hold of
Brett's shoulders for balance. Ignoring all my activity, he pressing on the
other side of my belly, and orders me, "Cough!" which I do as best I can. Three
more full strokes with his fist tight around my boner, and I go, "Ahhh, oohh,".
When he lets go of my cock it points straight up at me, a glistening pearl of
wetness at the pee slit. There's been sexual overtones to this entire process
and it's finally caught up with me. Brett's blase as hell when he says, "We
already spoke about erections, which you seem to get a lot of, but don't worry
about it 'cause I don't give a shit. Now, get dressed so I can get back to
work." I mumble, "Yes, Sir!" All I can think of is: I want to whack off so badly
I'm not sure I can even wait until I get home. Why am I so aroused? I'm totally
exhausted, but turned-on like I haven't been for a long time... I can't even
remember when I've been this hot. It's this whole process I guess. Jesus, what
an ordeal! On the other hand, it does feel good.
After washing his hands Brett sits at the small desk writing some more notes on
my application. He looks up, pulls a dollar out of his pocket, and says, "I need
you to run down to the employee's vending machines and get me a Coke." I
snatched the dollar, mumble, "Yes, Sir," and take off running. The employee's
vending machine is right next to reception so I'm running by Stella's desk and
she shouts, "I like your haircut, Brian. Stop at my desk before you leave!" I
yell back, "Thanks, okay!" and keep moving, but wonder if she got in trouble
writing the wrong time for my arrival on the application. At the vending machine
I find that the Coke is a dollar and a quarter so thank God I have a quarter in
my pocket. I get the Coke and run back to the gym. Brett's like, "Put the Coke
on the desk and run these papers to Human Resources, then get your ass back
here." Running through the crowds I can see these aren't my papers, he's still
going over mine. I feel like an asshole running, saying, "Excuse me, excuse me,
excuse me..." the whole way, but that's what I do. There's an in-box so I
dropped the papers there and run back to Brett. Sweating again, and pretty much
out of breath, I say, "I put the papers in the "In Box". Do you have anything
else for me to do?" Brett's drinking the Coke while making sure everything in
the gym is in the exact same spot it was in when we started, he looks over
his shoulder, and says, "You stay here, if Junior calls tell him I'm in the
lavatory and I'll be down to the dock in five minutes. You may leave after
that." I shake my head like, "Sure!" and mumble, "Yes, Sir, thank you," as he
leaves.
Thank God this day's almost over, it's sucked but I have this glow about getting
the job too, and for thirteen dollars an hour no less... yowl! Figuring in my
head how much eight times thirteen is, I glance at the desk and see the notes
Brett and Junior wrote to each other. Okay, I shouldn't look, but I slide the
top papers a little to the side, and read: "He could be the perfect replacement
for Victor!" From Junior, I read,"No shit! That's what I thought too. Bet he
isn't the badass Victor was. Five bucks says he'll be seeing things our way by
the end of day one! This is gonna rock, bro!!" Then, in the weight testing
section, Brett wrote: Junior, this is better than I thought. He's a natural...
oh man, how fast ya gonna move on him?" The last response, in Junior's printing,
was: "Ha ha ha! You're a riot, Brett! Let's give it till the end of the week
anyway... don't get impatient!" This is gonna be hot fun!" What the fuck do I
make of this? Is this good, or bad? Maybe I'm not the only one who's having a
bit of fun doing all this dominant and submissive shit. It's hard to say what
they mean, but fuck it; I'm going to take it as a good sign 'cause there ain't
nothing I can do about it if it's bad. Okay, they seem to like me, I'll leave it
at that. And I don't know who the fuck Victor is, but I'll bet he didn't work as
hard as I'm going to!
Putting the papers back the way they were, I sit on the lifting bench again
and bask in the glow of success. I got the job, and at a higher hourly wage
than advertised, and both brothers appear pleased with me. I'll keep
brown-nosing them and try getting a raise in pay next month too. Oh, I better
thank Brett for recommending my higher wage. He was back a minute later, "Did he
call?" I go, "Ah, no, but I want to really thank you for recommending the extra
dollar an hour. Thanks a lot, really!" He's like, "Yeah, but if you fuck-up I'll
drop it just as fast... so, don't fuck up. Now get outta here!" I thanked him
on my way out and walked on air to my car. Before starting home I had a victory
cigarette congratulating myself on acting humble, submissive, respectful,
sucking-in, or whatever you want to call it. That posture got me what I wanted,
the job, which is all I care about. So what if they humiliated me a couple of
times, I can take it. They obviously like being the boss and bossing older guys
like myself probably adds to their fun, but like I said, I don't care!
Smoking my cigarette I'm thinking that there aren't a lot of guys who would put
up with the shit I did, but the job market is tight so there are those, like me,
who will be submissive in order to get what they need. Probably Junior and Brett
do this bossy routine on everyone they interview, and if the interviewee happens
to says, "Fuck you", they say, "Fuck us? No, dude, fuck you! You don't get the
job!!" Yeah, probably. I wanted to kick their ass a couple of times myself, but
I'm mature enough to subdue my ego and absorb the embarrassing situations.
Bottom line: I got the job, so who's the winner?! I can't wait to tell mom and
Mikey the good news!
to be continued....
It won't surprise you when I say, "Feedback welcome". I appreciate it actually!
You can check me out on a free website, if you'd like: boys4boys.com
Thank you for reading my story.
Donny Mumford thinat20@comcast.com