Date: Sun, 1 Feb 2009 13:05:26 -0800 (PST)
From: Pete Brown <petebrownuk@yahoo.com>
Subject: It's Not Equal At All, Part Five

IT'S NOT EQUAL AT ALL!

By Pete Brown   petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories at groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part  Five


After Walter and Rory dropped me off at the bus stop - no, I'm not sure
that's right.  I mean, if Walter had been in a car, I wouldn't have said
that Water and the car dropped me off at the bus stop....  I guess Walter's
right, I do identify too closely with the slaves.  But then Rory looked
like a man and talked like a man, and as the old saying about ducks goes,
then he is a man!  Anyway, after they'd dropped me off at the bus stop I
didn't have long to wait, and now there was none of the embarrassment as I
knew how to buy tickets (and I had the money for them, too), and I went and
politely sat at the "Whiteys Only" rear.

When I got home I was so proud as I gave mom four new dollars and told her
that things were going to be a lot easier from now on as she had two men in
the house working.  Still, I did feel a bit guilty about holding on to two
fifty for myself - a guilt that evaporated the moment I thought about how
it would help me pull a couple of bitched that week.  I mean, a man has to
have his pleasures, doesn't he?  And I'd worked hard for that money, and I
deserved a bit of fun.  When I thought about it, I guess I might have been
a bit worried about the sex I'd had with the slave - I'd enjoyed it too
much, and I was worried I might be developing fag tendencies: I reckoned I
needed a bit of proper fucking to set me right.

Dad didn't seem too pleased with me when he came into the room, though.
"Where the fuck did you get to last night?", he snapped.

"I was working...."

"Whoring, more like!"

"No, dad...."

"Don't give me any of your lies, Steve!  You left here at two yesterday,
and it's almost ten now.  There's no job that keeps you working all those
hours!"

"No, dad.... Honest... I stopped work at about two this morning, but then
it was too late to get home, and so I bedded down at the place."

"...with a whore, no doubt!"

I blushed, as dad was so nearly right.  But he'd be really angry if I said
I had been with a bitch, and I couldn't imagine his rage if he knew I'd
been in the same bed as a naked slave!  All Walter's bullshit about it not
being like going with a guy wouldn't wash with dad.

"NO, dad!"

"You'd swear on your mother's life that you weren't with some cheap bitch
last night?"

Well, at least I could be honest here.  "Yes, dad.  On mom's life, I wasn't
with a cheap bitch, or indeed any sort of bitch last night!"

Mom came to my rescue then and said, in that was she has, "Now, Father,
leave the boy alone!  He's doing his best - look, he gave me four dollars.
And after all that work he must be tired, so I'll make him some breakfast
and then he can go and have a little rest."

"It's OK, mom, I've had breakfast."

"Where?", dad snapped suspiciously.

"At the Club, dad.  They gave me breakfast...."

"I don't like any of us taking charity, you know that, Steve.  We may be
poor, but we don't want no nigger charity...."

"It's not like that, dad.  The Club doesn't 'give' it to me.... It's the
leftovers from the big fancy dinner, and it's given to the slaves, and we
joined them...."

"You ate with slaves?  And you ate scraps, leftovers?".  Dad really was
sounding cross now.

"NO, not really... We had to sit in the slave dining hall as the restaurant
wasn't open.  And the food's all there - amazing stuff.  Look, I've even
brought some home for you and mom.... Chicken, beef, ham, partridge, and
pies and cakes, and...."

"So this Club gave all that to bring home?  Why?"

"No, dad.  It's not like that.  It's in the slave quarters, and if it isn't
used, it gets thrown away. There's so much of it....  It was OK... The
slaves wrapped it up and everything...."

Dad grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me over to the couch.  He pushed me
over he arm, and roared "Stealing!  I won't have that, Steve!  And you know
what I said I'd do to you if I ever caught you stealing..."

"No, dad!  I didn't steal it!  It was just there, going to waste. And the
slaves packed it up..."

"It's stealing, Steve, if the owners didn't give it to you.  Now, drop 'em,
and take your punishment."

It was so fucking unfair.  It wasn't like dad thought.  I stood up, flushed
and angry.  "No, dad, you're wrong... I'm not going to take it from
you...."

"You live in my house, you're my son, and you're only sixteen.  And if I
need to punish you, I will, Steve.  Now, drop those pants, and get over the
arm of the couch...."

"NO!"

Look, I've told you that I'm fit and strong as I do a lot of sport. And I
reckon I'm a bit taller than dad, too.  But dad's a big, heavy-muscled guy
as he works hard in construction, and as he grabbed me I knew I couldn't
win as I'd not yet fully developed a proper man's body.  So it was only a
very short tussle before he had me over his knee, as he used to when I was
a kid.  He held the nape of my neck with one big hand so I couldn't get up
(although I did try a bit, but it's not easy), and his other ripped down my
jeans, and then my boxers.  I knew I was all exposed to mom as I sprawled
there, and I hated the idea that she'd be seeing me like that - most guys
don't show their asses and dicks to their moms once they've sprouted pubic
hair, so they?

He slapped my ass eight times, hard.  I'm not going to tell you it didn't
hurt, as it did: he's strong and tough from all that construction work.
But even worse was the humiliation of being stripped by my dad like that -
I'm a man too, I fuck bitches, and now I'm having my bare ass spanked by my
dad.  I got to my feet, and if I wasn't so angry I'd have cried, I suppose.
I stood there, my hands at my side, my fists clenching as I fought back the
temptation to really pile into dad.  I made a half-threatening move towards
him.

"Come on, Steve! Try it!", he taunted me.  "You think you're a man, but
come and try me - but if you do, expect to get hurt.  I've beaten bigger
men than you to a pulp before now."

I knew he had, too - dad had a bit of a reputation as a tough.  I raised my
fists, but mom grabbed at me.  "Steve, stop it!  And you too, Father!
Grown men, both of you, squaring up for a fight - you're just like two kids
in the playground at school.  There'll be no fighting in my house, either:
I work too hard to keep it nice, to have two oafs like you wreck it!"

Dad looked a bit sheepish, and I was calming down, too - I'd been worried,
I suppose, about actually fighting dad, but a man can't back down, can he,
once he's issued a challenge?  But mom had given us both a way out.  Then
it struck me - I was standing there almost stark naked, and I knew my butt
must be glowing red, too.  My dick had shrunk and my balls had retracted as
I guess they do as a response to a "fight" threat, to keep them out of
harm's way.  I must look like a kid with a shrivelled dick and no balls,
and mom and dad were both looking at me!  The blood flowed to my cheeks as
I blushed scarlet, and I made a grab for my boxers to pull them up.

"That's right, Steve.  You'd better hide that tackle of yours", dad
sneered.  "You may have hair there like a man, but you need to grow a bit
more I reckon before you put yourself on display...."

"Now, Father, stop that!", mom cut in. "But he's right, Steve - pull your
clothes up, as it's not decent for a young man to standing in front of
anyone like that.... Unless she's your wife."

Blushing even more now, I pulled up my boxers and jeans, and fumbled to
fasten my belt.

"Now I want no more of this from either of you two men!", mom said in that
way she has when we both know we've got to do as we're told.  "It was very
good of Steve to think of us after he'd been working all night, and to
bring this stuff back.  Now you're both going to calm down, shake hands,
and then Steve is going to rest, and then we're all going to have lunch
together as a family.  A really good lunch, I think...."

Dad and I glared at each other for a few seconds.  Then dad put out his
hand, and muttered "OK, son. No hard feelings?"

I looked at his hand, that hand that a few moments ago had been spanking my
ass, then I saw mom looking sternly at me, so I muttered "Yeah, dad...",
and shook it.  But I hated the way the bastard had thought he could beat me
like that - I mean, once you're a man, you only get beaten for doing
something wrong if you're a slave.

The lunch was good, though, and we were like a proper family as we tucked
in.  Mom insisted on saying grace as she does on a Sunday, and as usual I
just stared down at the table and didn't take part as it's ridiculous to
thank some mythical ju-ju for the food I'd worked for.  But Mom's a really
good cook when he has the chance, which is not often as we're so short of
money to buy stuff most of the time, after we've paid the rent our nigger
landlord charges, and the taxes and everything.  Then afterwards I went out
on the prowl as I'd got the money to go into the local cafe, and I'd only
been there surveying the scene for about ten minutes before I'd made eye
contact with an OK-looking bitch. I'd got the money to buy her a coffee
now, and it was easy to chat her up.

It wasn't a really good fuck - I could hardly take her home and use my bed,
could I?  So it was the usual thing of her riding my cock as I mostly
supported her weight, as we fumbled around in the alley behind the cafe.
All over in ten minutes.  Not all that different from jerking off,
actually.

As I sauntered home I was kind of disappointed - all the time I'd been with
that slave at the Club I'd been thinking it wasn't proper sex, wasn't as
good as fucking a bitch.  But the reality of what I'd just done didn't live
up to my expectations of proper sex, and the more I thought about it, the
more I realised that the way the slave had gone about it was so much
better.  I felt my dick getting hard as I replayed the feeling of his body
against mine, his mouth on my dick, his hands....  I stopped, and shook my
head.  This couldn't be happening - I wasn't gay, and yet I was thinking
that a bit of messing around with a slave was better than fucking a bitch.

_______________________________


I was at the Club early again the next Saturday, and some time after four
Walter strolled out to join us valets.  He came over to me and said in a
low voice so that the others couldn't hear "I've been in the gym this
morning, and Brad's looking forward to tonight."

"Who's Brad?"

He grinned at me.  "Don't be coy, Steve!  Brad - the personal trainer slave
- the slave who serviced you last week."

I realised I hadn't actually known the name of a guy I'd been more intimate
with than any other guy on the planet, and it made me think!  Although I
didn't hold with slavery and stuff, it was surprisingly easy to start to
treat them as if they weren't men.  I mean, even if you have a drink with
another guy you exchange names, don't you?  And this slave had sucked my
cock and jerked me off, and I was just thinking of him as "the slave", as
if he didn't matter, as if he were some sort of object rather than a real
guy.

"No, Walter.  I reckon I'm going to walk home.  I don't want to mess around
with slaves. I keep telling you I'm not gay, and I know you say that it
isn't gay to go with a slave, but I still don't think it's right."

"Suit yourself, Steve.  It's your loss.  And maybe my gain - I had a good
look at the butt on him this morning, and I reckon I might switch from my
waiter in favour of rather more rugged delights...."

The guests had started to arrive by then and Walter didn't have much time
to talk - well, not to me, at least, as I was kept so busy going to and fro
to the holding place: I think he had a lot of time to talk to the other
Class A valets, as I was doing most of the work as I had been the previous
week.  I was kept pretty busy most of the evening as apparently it wasn't a
big "thing" that week, so folks started to leave in ones and twos from
quite early on.  And when it started to rain about eleven and they all had
to move indoors from the terraces, a whole lot more decided to leave then.

I felt pretty sorry for the ponies - I had a waterproof poncho with the
Club's logo all over it to keep dry, but they had nothing.  They had to
wait around in their bare skins with the rain hitting them, and I wondered
why the Club didn't provide at least some minimal shelter for them -
something to keep the rain off, and to provide protection from the fierce
summer sun.  That talkative pony Jack was standing there, his arms wrapped
around his body as he tried to keep some of the rain off him, and I told
him how badly I felt about this - after all, some sort of simple shelter
would hardly cost a fortune.

"That's not the point really, Steve.  There's never a shelter for us guys
anywhere, and I reckon it's because our owners like to see us suffer a
bit."

"You can't be serious....."

"Think about it: You're an owner, and you do well in life.  You've got the
trophy wife, the two little picaninnies, the nice little demesne out here
in the suburbs, and you're the lord and master of some slaves.  But all
your friends are like that, too, and I guess it starts to get rather boring
- life's good, life's easy.  But if your pony is suffering a bit - this
rain really stings the bare skin, you know, and being wet, even on a arm
day, makes you cold as the water evaporates - or if in the summer you can
see him sweating and panting in the heat - then it reminds him of how
fucking good life is for an owner.  The owners need us as a contrast to
themselves."

"Aw, come on!  No-one would treat another guy like that!  I mean, I can see
you're shivering...."

Jack gave a little shrug.  "Not another guy, maybe.  But a slave?  You'd be
surprised how us slaves get treated, Steve.  You know, some owners even
fuck us, or make us have sex...."

I felt a bit uneasy as Jack said this, as I knew Walter fucked the
waiter.... And I wondered just how willingly the gym slave - Brad, I must
call him Brad, he was a man after all - had agreed to show me the ropes.  I
was going to ask more, but one of the other valets came up and told me to
stop fucking around and wasting time, and to take number seventy around to
the front at once (we gave the owners numbered tickets when they arrived,
and pinned the other half of the ticket to pony's harness or pouch so we
could identify them).

The rain got heavier and heavier as the night went on, and by the time we'd
finished and I was thinking of the long, miserable walk home through the
downpour, I was pretty damp already as a lot of it had penetrated the
poncho.  I still hoped one of the other valets might offer me a lift, given
the weather, but they didn't seem at all concerned about me as successively
they were driven off - charitably I thought that perhaps they just assumed
I had a ride; but on the other hand, being a whitey, perhaps they simply
thought of me as a slave, so I didn't matter.  Anyway, Walter saw me
standing here and slapped my ass playfully.  "Come on, Steve!  You're not
thinking of walking in this weather, are you?  Come on up to the slave
quarters with me - there's a nice warm bed... And a nice warm slave....."

"Look, Walter, I don't like this sex stuff.  I don't think it's right...."

"You seemed to be enjoying it last week, judging from the noise coming from
your bed."

I blushed as he said that, and felt so ashamed that at the thought that
other guys could hear when Brad and I had been doing.

"Still, if you're chicken....  If you don't feel that you can manage a
slave...."

Well, I couldn't let a nigga like Walter taunt me like that, could I?  I
was bigger and stronger than him, and there was no way he should suggest
that I couldn't handle a slave if he could.  So I gave a big shrug, as if
to make it clear that it really didn't matter to me.  "I guess you're right
- this dammed rain is pretty hard, and it's a long way home.  It would be
better to wait until the morning.  Come on, then - lead the way!"

All the way up the stairs I was in a real dilemma - one part of me wanted
to simply take the slave's bed and get to sleep.  And the other half of me
was worried that if I didn't sleep with a slave Walter would think I was
some sort of wimp.  All kinds of compromises ran through my mind - perhaps
I could actually get into bed with the slave but then absolutely refuse to
let him touch my dick, or maybe I could keep my clothes on so our bare skin
wasn't touching..... By the time we'd gone onto the dorm I was still
wrestling with it, totally unable to decide what to do.  Fortunately Walter
didn't make all the slaves line up as he had the week before, and simply
said to me "Do you want Brad again, or do you want to try something
different?  The waiter I had last week was hot stuff and he can hardly wait
to start riding your dick, and I quite fancy that Brad's meaty ass...."

I almost panicked at the thought that the waiter might spring on me and
start to ride my dick - I simply couldn't think what it would be like to
have him astride me as I lay there, working himself up and down, just as I
usually have the bitches do as I don't much like doggy fucking or the
missionary position.  It would be awful - either I'd have a rock-hard boner
an then he'd slide it into his ass, and I'd be ass-fucking a guy; or I'd
have a terrible, embarrassing failure and my cock would lie there all limp
and he'd think I wasn't a real man as I couldn't keep it hard.  This was a
lose-lose rather than a win-win situation.

There was only one way out, so I whispered as I didn't want to disturb the
other guys, "No, I'll stick with Brad.", and then in a fit of bravado, to
show Walter I was just as sophisticated in these matters as he was "There's
a few tricks I want to try out on him this week."  How easy it was to say,
and how ashamed I felt that I was even thinking of bragging about sex with
another guy.

Brad must have been waiting for me, though, as the moment I was near his
bunk he leapt out, showing that amazing lithe agility that he had,
especially for such a big guy - I suppose that comes from being a personal
trainer.  His cock was jutting straight out, and it bobbed around a bit as
he moved - and I suppose that comes from being excited about sex!

I've never had anyone else undress me (well, not since mom did it when I
was a little kid) - it was usually me who was fumbling with the buttons and
zippers and the bra fastenings and all that stuff as I was so keen to get
started with a bitch.  Brad seemed smoothly practised at it though, as he
unbuttoned my shirt and teased it out from my jeans even before I could
think of stopping him or telling him there was to be no sex and I was not
going to sleep naked.  And as soon as my chest was exposed his big head
bobbed down and he started to suck at my tits!  I gave a little yelp of
surprise and would have pulled away had his arm not snaked around behind my
body and held me to him, his naked flesh hot against mine.

He alternated working on my nips with bringing his mouth up and sucking and
gently biting that soft area at the base of my neck, and I couldn't help it
- I was moaning gently as it was somehow, in spite of my general view on
this stuff with guys, so amazingly sensual.  His other hand ran over the
front of my slacks, and I knew there was no use trying to disguise it - my
dick was so hard it was almost painful.

"Relax, sir", he whispered, his face so close to mine that I could feel his
hot breath.  "Just take it easy, and let me give you a good time...."

Before I could say no, he dropped away to fall to his knees, and he was
deftly unbuckling my belt and pulling down my zipper.  It was somehow both
brusque and professional the way he pushed my slacks down and off, slipping
my trainers off as he did so.  Then his hands came back up, and before I
could say "no" his fingers were under the waistband of my boxers.  I was
conscious of him looking up at me and smiling, and the next instant there
was a rush of cooler air to my ass as he slipped my boxers down..... And
the next moment I gave a really audible groan as his warm wet lips closed
around my aching dick.

Well, what can I tell you about the rest of the night?  It all seemed to
rush past, as my senses were so overwhelmed with what he did to me.  His
fingers, his lips, his tongue, were everywhere, all over me.  My body
convulsed and arched helplessly as he nibbled t my tits and then probed my
navel with the tip of his tongue.  I moaned with the sheer pleasure of his
mouth as he slurped at my dick, and found myself thrusting up and down as
he worked away, as if I was trying somehow to fuck his face.  And all the
time the hand that he wasn't using with his mouth was teasing at my asshole
and that bit right underneath - protests were useless, as he just kept
pushing and teasing until I gave up trying to clamp my legs together to
stop it, and after a few minutes, when he'd sucked at his fingers and
drooled a big glob of spit onto them, he finally slipped one inside me!

I don't think I've ever shot so much cum before, as the combination of
Brad's mouth on my dick and his finger massaging inside me was simply
devastating.  And afterwards he cradled me to him, and we lay together so
totally intimately close with our breathing still laboured and sweat
soaking both our bodies.

Had I known it was coming, I'd have tried to stop it.  But Brad's lips were
suddenly on mine, and in total shock I guess I opened my mouth as his
tongue battered at me.  It was so utterly strange to have a tongue in my
mouth, probing around, playing with mine - I mean, that's what I usually
did (even if some bitches said they didn't like a guy's tongue in them).
And now, to have someone else making the running, to have him doing this to
me....  It was at once sensual and somehow totally exciting - but then that
awful thought ran through my brain that the excitement might be because it
was forbidden: two guys kissing and making out!

Somehow it seemed right when Brad guided my hand down to his dick - it
oughtn't to have, I know, as I wasn't into touching other men down there.
But once I had my fingers around the long shaft and could feel his skin,
and the little veins and things, I was intrigued.  I just couldn't help
starting to stroke it gently, feeling him stiffen even more as my fingers
excited the prominent flange around his cock head.

"Don't stop", he murmured as I pulled my hand away once I realised what I
was doing.  "Please, please, sir....".  And somehow it seemed churlish to
do so, as it was pretty harmless really, and somehow felt so right.  I
suppose if he hadn't been so constrained by Victorian morals, Darwin would
have told us that the human hand and the human dick have evolved together
so that one is so perfectly suited to the other!  I also didn't care when
Brad's stream of cum shot all over my belly as we lay there so close.  And
when he pulled me tight up against him and again pressed his lips to mine,
I could no longer resist - it was if the waves of cum smell coming up from
the bed had acted as some sort of aphrodisiac.


In the early hours of the morning I was half awake - I guess I was still
not used to all those little ways that two people evolve so that they can
move a bit in bed without disturbing their partner - and as my eyes opened
Brad saw me as he was awake too and our heads were together so we were
expiring our hot breath over each other.

"OK, sir?"  He whispered.

"Yes."

I saw a serious look start to play over his face, and thought I'd done
something wrong.  I mean, are you supposed to say "Fabulous!", or
something?  I'd never done any of this with a guy, remember, and perhaps
the rules are different than when you're with bitches.

"It's OK, Brad... Fine... It was...", I paused, surprised at the word that
came bubbling up to the top of my brain "....fantastic."

He sensed that I was somehow awkward or embarrassed, and stroked my hair
gently.  He moved a bit so we were positioned even more comfortably, our
legs intertwined and our dicks touching, and went on "I'm glad, sir.  It
was good for me, too."  There was one of those long pauses that add layers
of meaning to conversation, and he added "I was such a fool!"

"What do you mean?"

"Master Walter said you were new here, you were only just able to start
work as you were sixteen, right?"

"Uh huh."

"I mean I was such a fool to fuck things up.  I fell out with my wife big
time as she found out I'd been putting it around a bit - only a bit, once a
month or so, nothing serious.  Then she wouldn't let me have free access to
my son, so I stopped paying the alimony in return.  And the next thing I
knew, I was enslaved for debt - the lawyers she hired to make me pay up
tripled the bill, and it was more than I could afford.  And if I hadn't
done that, hadn't thought I was a big man who needed to use his dick around
the town, I wouldn't be you here now, Steve.  I'd be at home, in my own bed
- and, who knows, my own son might have been with me.... He's a few months
older than you."

"So how old are you, Brad?", I asked, not really wanting to hear the
answer.

"Thirty six.  I've been a slave for eight years, as all this stuff happened
when I was twenty eight and ought to have known better."

I lay there not wanting to say much - I mean, dad was thirty seven, and
here I was having sex with a guy who was about the same age as him.  I
didn't know what to say or think, really - I remembered some stuff I'd read
on the internet when I'd been doing a history project on ancient Greece and
it went on about how it was considered that older Greeks had a "duty" to
train youths in the manly arts.  But dad had never done anything like this
with me, and yet Brad seemed to be saying that he'd happily be with his
son!  Actually, I couldn't even imagine dad being naked with me - I'd seen
his big dick once or twice but it was by accident, and I decided that
Brad's relationship with his son must have been very different.  And
although I liked Brad very much, when I thought of him and dad.....  I was
so confused, and fortunately I was saved from further troubled thoughts by
drifting into sleep.

The next morning Brad and I didn't do anything, as I must have been
exhausted as I slept on and on.  I was brought out of a deep, deep sleep by
Walter dragging the sheets off us and slapping my butt.  I thought it was a
nightmare at first - you know how it is when you wake very suddenly like
that - until I realised it was reality and he was indeed there laughing at
us, and pointing at Brad and me - or, rather, at our dicks, as we were both
rock hard.  I ought to have been embarrassed by another guy seeing me like
that, but somehow I wasn't.

"Sorry, Steve!", he laughed.  "No time to do anything about that now.  If
you want to catch that bus, you'd better get moving...."

"I'll skip a shower, and have one at home...", I muttered, still half
asleep.

"I think not!  It's pretty obvious what you and the slave have been
doing.... There's dried cum all over you...."

I sat up with a start and got to my feet, kind of trying to hide my dick
that was bobbing around as we all know they do when they're erect and
there's sudden movement.  I heard and faintly felt Brad glide out of bed
behind me, and he stood so close to me that I swear I could feel the heat
of his body radiating out at me.  It made my dick jerk even harder.

All four of us showered - Brad attended to me, and the waiter to Walter,
and if I thought about it, I suppose I was surprised at how I was losing my
inhibitions.  The previous week I'd been shocked at the way the waiter had
ministered to Walter in the shower and hadn't wanted Brad to touch me,
really.  Now, as the big man ran his soapy hands all over me, knelt down so
he could clean between my toes, and finally slid his hand down my ass
crack, I actually relished it.  I began to think that if I ever had a slave
I'd use him in the showers as especially in the mornings all that soaping
and stuff is really boring.  And, of course, Walter and I drove the waiter
and Brad into the shower in front of us, so they could stand there under
the icy water, hopping around, as they tried to get it to the right
temperature for us.  It was comical, really, to see the slim young guy and
the big chunky older one dancing around like that as we had ordered them in
first.

__________________________________

If I'm to move on with this tale of my life, I am going to have to condense
things a bit.  So suffice it to say that over the next three months I
really worked at being a valet at the Club, and really looked forward to
being there on Saturday evenings - I didn't mind missing the parties that
my class mates were giving, as I was making money, and getting really good
sex without any of the effort that usually accompanied it.  I didn't need
to spend hours in smoky rooms, the music too loud, drinking myself into a
half stupor to keep up with the other guys, and expending endless time and
effort trying to persuade some bitch or other to put out for me.  I didn't
have the worry of "will she, won't she", I wasn't held up to ransom by
bitches only letting me go so far until the next date, and I didn't have
all that discomfort of a quick in-and-out as it's hard for sixteen year
olds to find somewhere where they can fuck undisturbed. And unlike my
classmates, I wasn't worried that I might have torn the condom or something
and be anxiously waiting for "that time in the month" so I could know I was
safe.

That did happen to one guy, actually: he got landed with a kid to support
at sixteen, and most of us knew what was going to happen to him eventually
- he had to quit school and take rubbish jobs that didn't pay a lot but
which were considered unsuitable for slaves, like being a barristo in a
cafe (it was considered that slaves might spit into the drinks so this
low-grade job was for free whiteys).  There was no way he was going to be
able to support a wife (they were made to marry by their parents) and the
kid, and slavery for debt was not a question of "if" but only of "when".
Back in the start of the century I'd read that guys like me didn't have to
worry about this stuff, as all the bitches would take contraceptive pills,
but of course the "new morality" that came in with slavery insisted that we
"save ourselves" for marriage, and so such things were only available to
married women who wished to limit their families.  They kept saying that
sex was a sin, so we shouldn't be doing it, and so contraceptive pills
would be doing the "devil's work" by encouraging fornication.  When I
fucked and my dick was numbed by some vile plastic, inhibiting the
sensations, I felt like screaming at the politicians to get a life - it's
natural to fuck, and people are going to do it anyway.  But of course he
politicians were in the pay of the church, so I had to suffer because of
some crap written in the bible.

I discovered after a few weeks that I could make more money at the Club,
though: I've told you that most of the valets were the sons or nephews of
members, and, frankly, they were there because their families wanted them
to be seen to be working.  They didn't give a fuck about the job, and got
me to do most of it for them.  And there were offhand and casual to the
guests, just thrusting the numbered valet slips at the driver, and
immediately turning away to carry on with their conversations with the
other guys.  I wasn't in those conversations much, so I had a bit more
time, and mom and dad had always told me that politeness costs nothing.  So
when I handed a driver a slip, I said "Have a good evening, sir".  And when
I brought a vehicle around, I kept control of the slave until he had
stopped properly as near to the waiting passengers as possible, then opened
the doors for them and said "Safe journey!".

Well politeness may cost nothing, but it certainly pays!  I started to get
tips - a couple of cents usually, but sometimes five or even ten cents.  It
mounted up over the course of the night, although it was pretty sickening
sometimes to hear the comments like "He's such a nice polite boy - what a
pity he's the wrong colour!  If he was a nigga I'd invite him around and
get him interested in Shekwanda...." - I may have that name wrong as I
never understood why the niggers all wanted to use this strange shit from
Africa, It was supposed to be in honour of their ancestors or some crap,
but, frankly, their ancestors were slaves and who'd want to honour that?
Well, they were slaves except for the ones who were selling their fellows
to the slavers, that is.

Brad and I never really did a whole lot more than I've told you about.
There was no way I was going to fuck him or let him fuck me, and I was not
going to put his dick in my mouth: I knew that there were limits, and
having him jerk me off or suck me off was OK, and I could just about square
m conscience to jerk him off in return, but that was it: I wasn't gay, and
I rationalised that as far as we went was just kind of normal, the sort of
things that any two horny guys might do together.  Well, the bits I did
were - I wasn't so sure about Brad, who kept kissing me and playing with my
body and stuff. Although I knew I was lying to myself a bit, I suppose:
although I thought it was "normal", I never even suggested any of it to the
guys at school, or told them about what I got up to with Brad!  And in the
showers after gym and practice I was always a bit worried - would anyone
think that the finger marks on my back and the "hickeys" on my neck were
not from a bitch?  I had to endure a lot of comments about "Steve the stud
having been at the bitches again" from my class mates, and all the time
inside I knew it was different.

End Of Part Five