Date: Mon, 18 Oct 1999 17:23:38 PDT
From: Chip Dyp <chipdyp@hotmail.com>
Subject: Call Boy 3

        The following program contains material suited for a mature
audience.  If you are not over 18 you should be leaving now.  Of course I
can't control you and neither can anyone else really.  This story is
entirely false except for the true parts.  And now for our feature
presentation.  Viewer Discretion is advised...

        My web site is located at http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Atrium/2898.

Call Boy 3
by:  Chip Dyp  (chipdyp@hotmail.com)

        After Ryan had walked out on me in anger, I spent the week staying
busy.  I thoroughly cleaned my condo, and my car.  I studied ahead in my
law classes.  I finished projects ahead of time.  I watched videos that I
had been meaning to watch for a while.  It didn't matter though.  Ryan was
still front and centre in my thoughts, my dreams, and my fantasies.

        I'd dream of him and me together.  Making love in our bed, in our
house, trying to stay quiet while our sons slept.  I'd fantasize about
marrying Ryan in a big ceremony.  About growing old together.  About having
someone to love, someone to talk to other than my cat.

        I even went to the bar one night, but that was a futile gesture.
There was no one around that could even start to compare with Ryan.  The
three guys I talked to were too vain, too stupid, and too unhappy to even
bother getting to know.

        The week dragged and dragged and dragged.  When Saturday rolled
around, I was feeling a little better.  Ryan was still something I thought
about, but he wasn't always foremost on my mind.  I was sitting at my desk,
my nose buried in a book of case law looking up a precedent when a page
came in for me.  I glanced down at the number, half hoping it was Ryan, and
half hoping it wasn't.  It wasn't.  It was Hugh.  I had a client.  I looked
at the number and then got up and grabbed my coat.  The client wanted
something special.  I walked down to the payphone at the 7-11 and dialled
in Hughie's cell number.

        "Hi beautiful," I said as Hugh answered the phone.

        "Hi yourself, gorgeous.  The client is looking for a son.  There's
an extra $200 in it for you if you play the part."

        "Age?"

        "17 or 18."

        I thought about it for a while.  Guys looking to fuck their sons
always bothered me a bit.  It was really, really kinky.  But, for two
hundred bucks extra...I'd do it.  "'Kay.  I'll do it.  What time and where
does he want me?"

        "4:00, room 934, Hotel Fort Garry."  I mentally deducted 3 from the
three room numbers.  Room 601 was where the job was.

        Biting my lip, I thought about the job for a second longer.  "All
right, I'll be there.  Have a good night."

        "You too."

        I walked back to my car and looked at the time.  It was just after
two, and I needed about half an hour to get to the Hotel.  I had just
enough time to have a shower, get dressed in a t-shirt, my old high school
jacket, and a pair of jeans.  I debated shaving a little bit of my pubic
hair, but decided against it.  I used to shave regularly but I always hated
when the stubble grew back.  I was continually scratching myself because it
itched like mad.

        When I got home, Mac meowed loudly at me.  I smiled at my cat.
"Don't worry, Mac.  I'll be okay."  I picked him up, and scratched him
behind the ears.  He rubbed the top of his head against my chin, and then
struggled to get free.  I let Mac drop to the floor and walked over to the
storage closet.  In the closet was my old high school jacket.  I had
removed anything that might lead a trick back to me personally, but it
still looked good.  The tricks seemed to like it anyway.  Made me look
young and virginal--something I haven't been for a while.

        I could still remember my first time like it was just yesterday.
Michael was two years older than me, and is the man most responsible for
making me who I am today.  When I met him, I was decidedly shy.  Now I can
stand up, and defend myself verbally.  I had had few friends.  Basically I
was an outcast.  I didn't go in for sports, I didn't do guy things like the
rest of the guys in my school.  I just sat in the library, reading books.
Not to say I was a teacher's pet.  Everyone knows, teachers like jocks and
brains.  Everyone else just falls through the cracks.  My ascerbic nature
didn't make me any friends among the faculty or the student body either.

        Michael was a nice guy.  That's the only way that I can describe
him to this day.  He was smart, but not overly so.  He was athletic, but
not athletic enough to play on the school teams.  He got along with
everyone, no matter what clique you were in.  I despised him.  I despised
his popularity, his suave nature.  When he walked down the hallways, girls
would always look at him and smile.  And for some reason, no matter how
short I was with him, he always said hi to me when he saw me walking in the
halls.

        One thing I can say about Michael is that he is a very persistent
man.  Everyday, he would sit down in the school library with me, and just
talk about life in general.  He wouldn't say anything about schoolwork, or
our parents, or even other kids in school.  He would talk about something
he had seen in the paper, and ask me for my opinions.  In the beginning, I
hated being put on the spot, but as time wore on, I began to enjoy our
conversations.  Eventually our daily chats were the reason I spent so much
time in the library.  He'd always come down to the library after school and
say hi to me.  He always assumed that I liked doing my homework at school
before going home, but the truth was I didn't want to deal with my parents.
They never let me forget that I was an accident, and that I was a burden to
the family.  Because of me, my mom never finished university.  Because of
me, we never had any money.  Because of me, my parents drank.  Everything
was my fault, and they never let me forget it.

        One afternoon, Michael walked into the library and walked over to
where I was sitting.  I had had an especially bad day, and I didn't want to
talk to anyone.  I wanted to sit and soak in my misery, to revel in my own
self-pity.  Michael wouldn't let me though.  He kept nattering away until I
freaked out.  I went to leave, when he grabbed me and hugged me tight.  I
broke down and started crying in his arms.  Everything came out.  How I
hated my parents.  How they hated me.  Michael took me out to his car and
drove me down to the Forks.  As we walked around the historic heart of
Winnipeg, Michael listened as I talked and talked.  When we got tired, we
sat down on the bank of the Red River and stared at the flowing water.  And
then he kissed me.

        I was stunned to say the least.  It felt so good, so right.  I
kissed him back and rubbed his chest.  He smiled at me and took my hand.
We went back to his house, and he made love to me.  He was so gentle, so
sweet, so caring.  I spent that night in his bed, my head resting on his
chest.  When his parent's woke us the next morning, they were a little
surprised, but they took it well.  They had known that Michael was gay;
they just didn't expect to find me lying naked in his bed.  They were
friendly enough though.  They also told me that they wouldn't tell my
parents, which had been a major concern for me.

        Michael and I stayed together for two years.  The year I graduated
from high school, he got accepted to the Dalhousie School of Dentistry.  I
wanted to go with him, but my parents wouldn't hear of it.  I was going to
the University of Manitoba or nowhere.  So with a heavy heart, Michael and
I broke up.  Neither of us wanted a long distance relationship.  We still
talked though.  Well, we did until I became a whore.  I couldn't bring
myself to tell him that I had sunk so low.

        I sighed and walked into the bathroom.  It was time to get ready.
After a quick shower, I did my hair to make me look younger and shaved so I
could pass for someone under 18.  It wasn't hard.  I grabbed a pair of
Calvin Klein boxer briefs out of the drawer and pulled them on.  Being
young is a state of mind.  Pull the boxers up a little higher, so people
can see the waistband, and let the baggy jeans hang on your hips and voila.
You are a young punk.  I pulled on a white CK One shirt and took a quick
look in the mirror.  I didn't look a day older than Ryan.

        With a sad smile, I turned around and packed my backpack.  I always
hated packing my backpack.  It reminded me that I was about to let some man
drool over me, use me and then when he's done, discard me.  I had to make
sure I had enough condoms, lube, and other necessities.  It would never do
to run out of protection before the client ran out of sex drive.  I left my
wallet in the bedroom and grabbed my keys.  Mac yowled at me once more, and
as I bent to pet him, he ran away.

        The drive to the hotel took about 35 minutes, which was longer than
I was anticipating.  I drove my car into the parking garage, and then
looked in the rear view mirror.  I took a deep breath and hoped out of the
car.  Time to go act like I'm someone's son.

        I paused in front of the elevator and smiled politely at the
businessman who was waiting for the elevator to arrive.  When the doors
opened, we let the family that was in the car out, and took their place.

        "Which floor," The gentleman asked me after he pressed the button
for the eighth floor.

        "The sixth floor please," I replied politely.

        "So where are you from," The man asked to make conversation.

        "I'm from Red Deer.  I'm here to see my dad for the weekend."

        "Your parents are divorced?"

        "Yeah," I lied.  I was in character now.  I wanted to be on my best
behaviour for my daddy.

        "That's too bad.  I don't think I could handle losing my son."

        "Yeah, it's tough."  The elevator doors opened and I got off on the
sixth floor.  "Have a good day," I said with a smile.

        As I walked down the hall, I paused to look at myself in the
mirror.  I rearranged my hair a bit, and smiled.  I sighed and pulled the
tazer out of my coat pocket.  If daddy tried anything dumb, he'd regret it.

        When I got to the door, I knocked three times and glanced around
the hallway.  It was empty, save for the elegant furniture.  I always loved
the Hotel Fort Garry. It was old, elegant, and full of class.  I heard
someone approach the oak door and watched as the peephole darkened.  My
trick was waiting.

        "Who is it?"

        "It's your son, daddy," I replied as I tried to look young.  "Are
you going to let me in?"

        "Just a second, son."  I heard the door lock click and the door was
pulled open.  Standing at the side of the door, was an older man, maybe
forty years old.  His hair was thinning, but he still looked like he was in
good physical condition.  I walked into the room, and past the trick.
Without thinking, I had violated one of my rules.  As I passed the trick,
he pushed the door shut and clubbed me on the back of the head.  I crumpled
into a heap in the hallway of the room.

        When I came to, I was tied naked to the bed, a rubber ball gag in
mouth.  I could feel a ball stretcher tied tightly around my balls, while
my cock was kept erect by a cock ring.  I moaned and tried to focus my
eyes.  When the haze finally cleared, I saw the man who had met me at the
door.  He was sitting in an armchair, masturbating.  He was sniffing my
underwear as he stroked his cock.  I tried to move my hands but the ropes
he was using to keep me were tied tightly.  I was in deep shit.

        My trick looked over at me and frowned as he saw me struggling with
my bonds.  "What have I told you about disobeying me, son?  I lay down some
simple rules and you don't abide by them.  Now you need to be punished."

        I struggled against my bonds and tried to say something through the
gag, but it was all for naught.  My 'daddy' stood up, and walked over to
the bed, his leather belt in hand.  He placed the heavy metal buckle in his
palm and wrapped the thick brown leather around his hand.  I watched in
abject terror as he raised his hand, and flinched as his arm came down.
The leather whistled through the air, and with a loud crack, came down on
my thigh.

        My body acted reflexively and I tried my damndest to scream.  It
was no use though.  No one would hear me through the gag and above the din
of the television.  His arm went up again, and again, and again.  My heart
was racing, my chest and thighs were ablaze, and tears were rolling down my
face.  In a moment of weakness, I lost control of my bladder and pissed all
over the bed and my 'daddy'.  My attacker became furious, not caring that I
hadn't done it on purpose.  He wound up one last time, and the belt came
screaming down.  To this day, I swear that I heard the crack before I felt
the pain, but I don't think that's possible.  Not that it matters though.
The pain of my balls being whipped was what caused me to nearly dislocate
my shoulders as my body tried in vain to stop the pain.

        'Daddy' let the belt fall from his hand, and grabbed my chin.  He
wanted to look me right in the eyes as he exercised his power over me.
"You dirty little bastard!" He screamed in anger, "Look at what you've done
to the bed!  What do you have to say for yourself?"

        I struggled to say something through the gag, but it wasn't any
good.  I don't think that he really cared about what I had to say.

        "What do you have to say for yourself?" He screamed once again.  He
waited several seconds while I talked through the gag.  "So you have
nothing to say for yourself.  I guess you'll have to be punished."

        I shook my head as I tried to plead with the man.  He smiled at me
maniacally and grabbed a bag off the other bed.  He grabbed my left foot
and undid the rope.  I tried to kick free, but it didn't do any good.  He
just pulled the rope so that my leg was tied up by my left hand.  I knew
what was coming.  'Daddy' untied my right foot and re-tied it by my right
hand.  He began fingering my hole, and then he looked up at me.  "Just who
have you been sleeping with?"

        I shook my head and started crying.  I didn't know where this
lunatic was going, but I was sure I didn't want to go for the ride.

        "We're going to have to clean this out," 'Daddy' said as he forced
my hole open.  I watched as he grabbed one of the bottles he had taken out
of his bag.  He squirted a handful of a green liquid into his hand then
rubbed his hands together.  He spread the thick liquid over his entire hand
and then smiled at me.  "Let's get you cleaned out."

        He pushed four fingers into my hole, and twisted them around.  As
he rubbed my bowels, I could feel as things tearing.  'Daddy' had a ring on
and it was cutting the thin membrane that lined the intestines.  There was
a horrid burning feeling it itched so badly.  The lunatic looked me right
in the eye and grinned a horrid little grin.  "You've been getting fucked a
lot, you little whore.  My son the whore.  Maybe if we had you fixed like
we fixed the dog, you wouldn't fuck around so much."  I broke down and
started crying.  I lost it.  The tears were pouring down my cheeks.

        "Shhh, don't worry son," 'Daddy' said as he wiped away my
tears. "Mother wouldn't like it if I destroyed her chances for a
grandchild."  With that, he shoved his fist into my ass.  I gasped as the
pain radiated outward from my bodies centre.  As he began fisting me, I
passed out.

        When I woke again, my ass was on fire.  I needed to relieve the
itch that was tormenting me.  When I opened my eyes, I couldn't see
anything in the dark room.  I was naked and my entire body ached.  As I
slid my hand down my chest, I could feel the welts that crisscrossed my
body.  When I reached my cock and balls, I felt around, hoping that
everything was intact.  I was incredibly lucky; everything was still where
it should be.

        I struggled to my feet, hoping that my attacker had left.  I looked
around the room, and decided that I was alone.  I stumbled over to the
bathroom, desperate to clean up a bit.  When I looked in the mirror, I
started crying.  My body was one giant bruise.  The only thing left
unblemished was my face.  I sat down on the toilet and bit down on my arm
as I emptied my bowels.  The pain was horrendous.  I screamed through my
arm the entire time.  When I stood up, I turned around and glanced in the
bowl.  The water was coloured red with my blood.

        I wadded up a roll of toilet paper and placed it carefully against
my hole.  It burnt so terribly.  When I looked around the room, I couldn't
find my underwear, just my pants, jacket and shirt.  Gingerly, I pulled my
remaining clothes on, trying not to cry.  When I finished dressing, I
walked to the door and peered out through the peephole.  There was no one
visible in the hall, so I pulled open the door.  As quickly and quietly as
I could, I walked down the hallway to the elevator.  If 'Daddy' was still
around, I didn't want to run into him.

        As the elevator descended to the parking garage, I fidgeted.  I
could feel something moist running down my left leg.  When the elevator
finally stopped, I ran over to my car and locked myself within the steel
and glass cocoon.  I was shaking badly as I started the car.  The ride home
was so hard.  My eyes kept closing as my body began shutting down.  The
only thing that saved me was all of the potholes.  Every time I drove
through one, a dagger of pain tore through my body.  I could still feel
more liquid as it seeped out of my ass.  By the time I got home, breathing
was getting harder and harder.  I carelessly careened through the parking
lot and into my stall.  After I shut off the car, I pulled myself out of
the driver's seat.  As I slammed the door shut, I noticed the big wet blood
spot left on the seat.  I trembled and tried not to puke.

        I staggered the forty or so steps to my condo, and unlocked the
door.  Mac was sitting just inside the door, cleaning himself.  I took two
steps into the apartment and fell to the ground.  I was so tired, so sore,
so sorry.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  Mac lay down beside me, and purred
quietly.  As I lay there, bleeding on my carpet, I thought about my
life--my soul-destroying life.  I was going to die alone, just like Ryan
said I would.

        I sobbed quietly, trying to breathe through my pain.  I drifted in
and out of consciousness as my phone rang and rang.  I wanted to answer it,
but I couldn't build up the strength to get over to it.  I closed my eyes
as the phone went silent, and drifted back to sleep.

        In my dreams Michael was holding me.  He'd rub my chest and tell me
everything was going to be all right.  I wanted to talk to him, but every
time I opened my mouth, nothing would come out.  Michael would put a finger
to his lips and shush me if I was making too much noise.

        I wanted to tell him I was sorry.  Sorry that I no longer wrote
him.  Sorry that we didn't work out.  Sorry that I had become emotional
when he told me that he had a new boyfriend.  I knew that I'd never get the
chance to tell him how I felt; that I was happy he was happy.  That I
missed him and talking with him.

        I awoke in pain, as Ryan rolled me over to see if I was all right.
I wanted to talk to Michael.  I needed to talk to Michael.  I kept asking
for Michael, but he didn't come.  All the while, Ryan was talking to me,
saying words that I couldn't comprehend.  I didn't want him.  I didn't want
to talk to him.  No matter how hard I tried to push him away, he stayed by
my side until the paramedics arrived to take me to the hospital.  As I was
being wheeled out of the condo, I told Ryan I loved him and then fell
unconscious.

To Be Concluded.