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CarlHoliday

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About CarlHoliday

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    Manic Poster

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    Male
  • Sexuality
    Gay
  • Favorite Genres
    Drama
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    A little ways past the hundred acre wood.
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    Maps, games, music, reading and writing fiction.

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  1. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 7

    Hey, it was gold and big! Anything for the boy!
  2. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 7

    On Stevie’s seventeenth day at the university medical center, he and I were escorted in to a small conference room where there were three medical doctors and two scientific PhD’s. We sat down and one of the medical doctors stood. “Hello, I am Dr. Felix Hammerman,” he said. “I’ve been directing Stephen’s tests here at the hospital and I am very happy to say that Stephen does not have HIV. We’ve done every test possible and they’ve all come back negative. In other words, that test you had done at your clinic came back as a false positive. Those results occur on occasion for reasons we’re still not sure of. So, Stephen, you are free to go home and live a happy life.” Stevie turned to me and practically jumped out of his chair and gave me the biggest hug of his life. “I love you, Dad, and I promise from this day never to be naughty, again,” he said. “I love you, too, kiddo, but you being good for the rest of our time together is a big promise.” “No, I was sure I was going to die, but now I’m okay and I’m going to be good. You just watch.” “Okay, son, let’s go get your clothes and go home,” I said as he released me from his hug. “Doctors, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me back my son.” “It was our pleasure,” Dr. Hammerman said. “We always try for happy endings.” On the way home, Stevie wanted to stop at Pietro’s so he could have some antipasto and that pizza Pietro gave him every time we went there. I told him it was a little early in the day and they might only be open for lunch, but he insisted we at least stop and see. When we got there the sign on the door said they were serving lunch from 11:30 to 2:30. Stevie looked at me and asked, “What time is it?” “11:15.” “Phooey! Well, let’s walk around the block and window shop. I’ve been in the hospital for two weeks and I need to stretch my legs a bit.” “Sure thing, but I think you’ll find most of the stores are empty.” “Why is that?” “Well, the big box stores out on the state highway have drawn most of the people away from the stores downtown. Plus, the big box stores can sell their merchandise cheaper than stores on Main Street.” “That’s not right.” “Oh, you can be assured the city fathers had it all figured out when they added up the property taxes and B&O taxes they get from the big box stores compared to these little stores down here.” “Sounds like a conspiracy to me. Hey, what are B&O taxes?” “Business and occupation. You have a business, you pay B&O taxes. You’re an independent carpenter working out of your home, you better be paying the occupation portion of your B&O taxes or the tax man is going to come knocking on your door.” “Hey, this store is open,” Stevie said as he pushed open a door. “Let’s go inside and see what they’re selling.” “Kiddo, you didn’t even look at their sign, did you?” “May I help you?” a young woman at the counter asked. “Maybe. My dad is showing me around town until Pietro’s opens for lunch and what do you sell in here?” “Didn’t you see our sign?” “No, was I supposed to?” “We do tattoos and piercings.” “Oh, well I don’t really want a tattoo, but what kind of piercings do you do?” “On whatever part of your body you want?” “Oh, anywhere?” “Yes, anywhere, even on your most private parts.” “Eew! I definitely wouldn’t want something pierced down there. Hey, Dad, you remember that story in Nifty about that fourteen-year-old boy? He got an earring. Can I have one?” “Sure, why not. Miss, do you do earrings?” “Oh, yes, we have a fine selection. Eric! A young man out here wants an earring. Can you help him?” An extremely skinny young man came out from behind a curtain in the back of the store. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that disappeared down his back. Acne had severely scarred his face and there were still red splotches where it was still active. He was wearing a very tight red satin shirt, tight black jeans that left little to the imagination, and Converse high-tops. “Hello,” he said. “And, who’s getting the earring?” “Me,” Stevie said. “Do you have a note from one of your parents?” “I’m his father,” I said. “Oh, well, I guess that settles that little requirement. And, what kind of earring do you want, little boy?” “I’m not a little boy,” Stevie said sternly. “I’ll have you know I am fourteen-years-old. And, what kind of earrings do you have?” “Come to my little corner, the spider said to the fly,” Eric said. We followed Eric back behind the curtain where there was a stool and a table that had display racks of various items that could be inserted in one’s body. Stevie just stared as if unable to comprehend what was about to happen. “Sit on the stool, boy,” Eric said. Then he held a rack in front of Stevie and said, “On the top two rows are rings we insert into the lobe of your ear, much like those natives in warmer climates of this planet. I don’t know why kids these days insist on creating permanent holes in their ears that only get bigger, but if they’re willing to pay the price and have big enough lobes, I’m happy to punch the hole in them. But, you can’t have one of these because you’re too young and your lobes aren’t big enough. Come back when you’re eighteen or older.” “Don’t you have just regular earrings? You know, like pirates have, but not so big. Maybe, something in gold. I can have gold, right Dad?” “You can have gold if Eric has some to choose from,” I said. “Ah, my kind of man, just a minute,” Eric said. He took the one rack and put it back on the table; and, then brought over another rack that had silver and gold earrings of varying diameters and thicknesses. “Well, Stevie, what do you think?” I asked. “That one right there is the thickest and it’s not too big around,” he said pointing at one of the earrings. “You know, Tim had a thick earring.” “Yes, I believe he did,” I said. “After all, David’s initials were etched on the ring.” “Sir, do you want your initials engraved on the ring?” Eric asked. “I can do that for only twenty dollars extra.” “Well, Stevie, do you want my initials on your earring?” I asked. “Yeah, that’d be cool,” Stevie said. “His initials are “AH.” “So, Stevie, you read Nifty, do you?” Eric asked as he took the earring over to a bench along the wall. “I used to, but Dad helped me get signed onto gayauthors.org. They have some stories that are mainly aimed at kids my age.” “Yeah, I know, I went there when I was your age, but after college I’ve concentrated on publishing graphic novels.” “Wow! You’re a real author?” Stevie asked. “Well, as real as graphic novels go. Okay, I need to sterilize the ring and then we’ll get it put into your ear. Oh, what ear do you want pierced?” “Doesn’t one ear tell other gays you’re gay, too?” “Not anymore. Once the straights started piercing their ears, that rule went out the door.” “Oh, what do you think, Dad?” “It’s your ears, Stevie, you choose,” I said. “Just remember once it goes in you can’t change your mind.” “Well, since I’m left-handed, I want it in my left ear,” Stevie said. “I guess that makes sense,” Eric said. “Now, this is a rather thick ring and I’m going to have to make a bigger hole than usual. I don’t know what your pain threshold is, but DO NOT MOVE! Ready?” “Just do it!” Stevie exclaimed. I chuckled to myself knowing that Stevie’s cock was probably hard as a rock right now. I watched Eric press in a rather thick needle until I’m sure it went all the way through Stevie’s ear. Then he inserted the ring turned it around and used some small pliers to press the ends together. “Here are the instructions for preventing infection and ensuring the ring can rotate freely through the ear,” Eric said, handing me a sheet of paper. “Rubbing alcohol is sufficient.” “How you doing, kiddo?” I asked. “That was so hot,” Stevie whispered. “I nearly came in my pants.” “I figured you were enjoying it,” I said. “I know what I said at the hospital, but you’re definitely going to have to cane me when we get home.” “Gentlemen, if you’ll join me at the counter,” Eric called out to us. I hadn’t even noticed he had gone. “Will this be cash, check, or card?” “I’ll put it on a card,” I said after I walked out to the counter with Stevie. “What’s the total?” “Ah, let’s see, that was a Model 335E in 18 carat gold with engraving. That, plus tax, comes to $915.32.” “Wow! That much?” Stevie said. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo, you’re worth every penny,” I said. “Dad, I am going to have to be extra nice, now,” Stevie said. “First, I find out I’m not going to die of AIDS and, now, my dad buys me a really expensive piece of jewelry.” “Were you HIV positive?” Eric asked. “Yeah, some jerk fucked me without a condom and then I had a positive result on an HIV test at our clinic. I’ve been down at the university hospital in Seattle for over two weeks until they determined that it was a false positive. So, now, I’m okay.” “Congratulations, I wish it could be that way for a lot of guys I know.” “Yeah, Dad’s partner died of AIDS because although they were in a supposedly close relationship, he kept going to the bathhouses in Seattle.” “I’m sorry to hear that, sir, I truly am,” Eric said. “That’s alright, it’s been a while ago and I’ve already had my cry,” I said. “You said that some of your friends are positive?” “Yeah, I volunteer at a hospice over in Gardner. It really is a sad place to go to.” “Would you know if they need financial help?” I asked. “Yeah, I suppose so,” Eric said pulling out a rather thick wallet from the front pocket of his jeans. What I’d taken for a fat cock turned out to be that wallet, but there was still something in those tight jeans that begged investigation. It was a pity Stevie was with me. “Let me check my wallet,” Eric said. “Yeah, here’s their card. Ask for Louise, she runs the office.” “I’ll do that.” * * * We eventually made it back to Pietro’s, but it was after the lunch hour. We went in anyway and I saw Pietro spreading clean tablecloths on the tables. He looked up at the sound of the bell on the door. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed until dinner time,” he said. “Oh! It’s you, my friends, Arturo and Tre. Come in, come in. Are you hungry?” “I’m sorry we’re late, but Stevie wanted a bauble down at the tattoo shop,” I said. “Stevie? Who is Stevie?” Pietro asked. “I am,” Stevie said. “Mr. Hedlund adopted me and I’m no longer Tre. You can call me Stevie or Stephen.” “Or, Stefano, yes?” “Mr. Pietro? Can I ask you if that is your real name?” Stevie asked. “Ah, Arthur has been telling you tales, again,” Pietro said. “For you and only for you and please do not spread this around town. My Christian name is Peter Giordano and I lived in Ballard as a child.” “I have an aunt or rather I used to have an aunt who lived in Ballard,” Stevie said. “I think she lived in a condominium on Market Street.” “There are a lot of old ladies who live in condominiums in Ballard,” Pietro said. “So, how did you come to be here in Twin Forks?” Stevie asked. “After I graduated from high school I went to Seattle Culinary Academy at Seattle Central Community College. After graduating, I moved to New York City and worked in a variety of Italian restaurants until I met a customer who said I would be probably good working as an investment banker. Well, I made a bundle doing that and met my wife Gina, too, who was also an investment banker at the same establishment. When we had a combined investment account in the millions, we came out here and opened this restaurant. Now, you know the secret life of Pietro Giordano. Come, let me set up a table. What would you two like to eat?” “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like the pizza you always make for me,” Stevie said. “And, I’m sure Dad would like some kind of pasta with some kind of sauce on it. And, could we have a small plate of antipasto?” “It will be my pleasure to fix you something to eat. Arthur, we have some leftover lasagna. Huh?” “You know my weakness in Italian food,” I said. “And, I’d like my usual red, if you have it.” “Yes, you’d be surprised the number of people who don’t know about that wine. Stefano, Seven-up?” “Yes, thank you.” Soon we heard the beautiful voice of Luciano Pavarotti fill the restaurant. I looked at Stevie and he was turning his head as that unique voice sang those wonderful arias. “Who’s that?” Stevie asked. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.” “That’s Pavarotti, he was a famous Italian tenor who sang in many operas,” I said. “My gram played records of him when I stayed at their house,” he said. “That was before Gramps got prostate cancer and my real dad wouldn’t let us go to their house anymore. Do you think my real dad was a bad man?” “He tried very hard to kill me, you can’t get badder than that,” I said. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” “Does it bother you that he was bad to you and me?” “Yeah, kinda, I don’t know, but maybe I should talk to Dr. Fairchild about my feelings toward my real family.” “I think that is a very good idea. Oh, here comes our drinks and antipasto.” As usual, our meal was superb and filling. I figured once we got home Stevie was going to head to bed and I wouldn’t see him until morning. It’s surprising how suppositions often turn out totally wrong. I stopped at the grocery store in Georges to pick up a few necessaries. As we drove up our road we saw a for sale sign in the front yard of the Nyberg’s house. “I wonder where they went,” Stevie said. “I’ll call Charlie and see if he can find out,” I said. “He seems to know all the right people in this county.” We arrived at the house and Stevie helped me carry the groceries into the house. Then he went away as I put them into the refrigerator, cupboards, and pantry. After I finished, I went into the family room and put on a video about the 20th Century Limited, the premier passenger train of the New York Central Railroad between New York and Chicago. Halfway through the video I heard a crash from somewhere in the house. I paused the video and went to investigate what had happened. Stevie wasn’t in the music room and he wasn’t in his bedroom. I went into my bedroom and saw that the door to the dungeon was slightly ajar. I opened it and saw Stevie hanging by one of the rings around his left wrist and trying to hold himself up with his right arm. I saw the trash can laying on the floor under him. I went up to him and asked, “What do you think you are doing?” “I got my left hand in the ring, but I couldn’t get my right hand fastened to the other ring.” “Those rings are supposed to hook into the D-rings in the cuffs on your wrists. Try to hold yourself up while I free you from the ring on your left wrist.” I freed him and lowered him down to the floor. He looked down keeping his eyes from looking at me. I went over to a shelf and took down a box. “These were Carly’s cuffs and collar. Do you understand the meaning of these items?” “The cuffs would go on my wrists and ankles and the collar goes around my neck.” “Stevie, you are my son, not my slave. You will never be my slave. You will always be my son. But, you desire pain. I still do not understand why, but I am willing to give you what you desire as long as we do not progress into a full SM relationship. Do you understand what I said?” “I think so,” he said. “Then assume the position of punishment.” He bent over, extended his arms toward the cross’s post, and grasp it with his hands. “Move back a few steps,” I said. “Your muscles are not taut enough.” He did as I asked and I ran my hand down across his back and down his buttocks. I slapped them as hard as I could. He sharply moaned and I saw his cock stiffen. I went to the cane rack and selected the thinnest one. I stood beside him and I saw a tear fall from his left eye and splatter on the floor. “Ready?” I asked. “Yes, sir,” he said. I struck him six times as quick as I could. I heard him gasp. I looked at his buttocks and saw that one of my strikes had landed on another. There was a slight seepage of blood along that stripe. This was the first time I had drawn blood when caning him. For some reason I didn’t quite understand, I didn’t feel sorry for him. In fact, it felt quite exhilarating that I had made him bleed. Maybe, I was more than a sadist than I thought. I put the cane away and went to him. As I had done previously, I picked him up and carried him to my bed where I laid him face down on the quilt. I went over to the other side, got up on the bed, scooted over to him, and kissed his shoulder. “Are you okay?” I asked. “You hit me more times that ever before,” he said. “Do you have any complaints?” “No, the pain felt, I don’t know how to explain it, it felt warm. I felt it in my cock and I think I came.” “You didn’t.” “I didn’t?” “No, not this time,” I said. “Now, go to sleep, my child. You’ll feel better in the morning.” “Dad, please don’t leave me.” “Never, ever, you are mine forever.” “I love you.” “I love you, too, kiddo.” * * * During the night, I spread a thin layer of medicated salve across Stevie’s bloody stripe. Then I covered him with the quilt and, after undressing, I pulled it over us. I draped my arm over his back and went to sleep. Sometime in the night I felt him lying over me and his cock pulsing as a nocturnal emission overwhelmed him. I cleaned him and cleaned the bed and myself, before returning his body next to me and draping my arm across his back. In the morning, he awakened before me and positioned his young body over mine. When I awakened I felt his erection pressed against my stomach and his head lying on my shoulder. He was slowly rubbing his hard-on against me while holding himself against my upper body. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Oh, you’re awake,” he said. “What are you doing?” I asked, again. “Do you mind what I’m doing?” he asked. “As a matter of fact, I do,” I said. “Oh, I guess I should stop, then,” he said. “I would appreciate that,” I said. He stopped pressing his hard cock against me and asked, “Is that better?” “Yes, I appreciate that you stopped,” I said. “Last night when you caned me, you drew blood,” he said. “Yes, and later I put medicine on that stripe to stop the bleeding,” I said. “Am I to expect that in the future you might cane me to the point where I bleed?” he asked. “I suppose so, but it was not my intent to do that this time,” I said. “What am I to do with my bloody butt?” he asked. “Well, for the time being I will medicate it until you heal; and, then when you are sufficiently healed, I may punish you, again.” “You enjoy caning my butt,” he said accusatorially. “Frankly, I do not, but I am willing to cane you because you seem to desire the pain that I give you,” I said. “Do you think that that is wrong?” he asked. “No, but I do think you should talk to Dr. Fairchild about your desire for pain and my willingness to accede to your request,” I said. “I’ll have to think about that,” he said. “Now, get out of my bed, go to your bathroom and give yourself an enema, and then take a shower, washing every part of your body,” I said. “Today, you may remain naked because of the bloody stripe on your butt. I’ll have to medicate it until it heals.” “Are you going to cane me like that, again?” he asked. “No, not intentionally, but I believed you wanted what I gave you,” I said. “Yeah, I think you’re right on that,” he said. “Go, I need to clean up, myself,” I said. “Do you want me to suck your cock?” he asked. “No, never, I am not a pederast,” I said. “I do not get off on the idea of having sex with teenagers.” “But, maybe, you could think of me as your slave and have sex with me like in that Nifty story,” he said. “Never going to happen,” I said. “You’re just going to have to accept that I’m never going to have sex with you until you’re of age.” “Sixteen, right?” he asked. “Maybe, but probably later,” I said. “But if we wait too long, you won’t be able to fuck me because you might not be able to get a hard-on,” he said. “That’s something you’ll just have to accept,” I said. “Now, go get yourself cleaned inside and out.” “Okay, Dad, if you want,” he said as he slipped out of the bed. I watched him walk out of my bedroom, but noticed that I was watching his butt and I was getting hard at the thought of entering him, maybe, not today, but sometime in the near future. His desire for sex with me was so definite that he would certainly accept my cock pushing into him, but did I have sufficient desire to have a sexual relationship with him. After all, he was, technically, my son and sex with him would certainly be considered to be incest. But, as I watched him walk out of my bedroom, I had to admit he had a sexy ass. God, I thought to myself, was I so much of a pederast that I could desire to have sex with a fourteen-year-old boy? Or, was I so much of a sadist that I desired to see him hanging from the cross while I whipped him? Maybe, I needed to get an appointment with Dr. Fairchild, too.
  3. Well, it certainly took a while to do it, but I've finally embraced one more facet of social media by adding Twitter to my Facebook account. The only difference is my presence on Twitter will be solely via my nom de plume Carl Holiday. I don't know if it matters, but my username is @CarlHoliday1. I haven't created a hashtag yet, but I'm certainly on a roll.

  4. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 6

    Yes, I have to agree this one ended on a slightly sad note.
  5. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 6

    Life around the house settled into a commonality I wasn’t used to. Stevie worked on his online school lessons, which I was glad Mrs. Regan had signed him up for. I worked on relearning how to play the guitar, which wasn’t hard because there was a professional jazz guitarist down the road who came out to help me along. The Mexican-American yard maintenance guy I had a contract with came by every Wednesday at one o’clock and, unless his crew had to do my acre of turf, they were gone by two. I took Stevie into Twin Forks every three weeks on Thursday morning to see his psychiatrist. The most important event in our lives came on a rainy day in March. Stevie and I were in our Sunday best when we met Ms. Theodora Pendergrast, our family law attorney, at the county courthouse. We were ushered into a courtroom where we sat at a table in front of the judge’s dais. The bailiff told everyone to stand and the judge came in at sat down and we followed suit. She asked in a general way if there was anyone present who wanted to give evidence why I shouldn’t adopt Stevie. When no one spoke up, she asked Stevie if he wanted to keep his last name or change it to mine. He said he wanted to be my son and to have my name. She signed the necessary documents, stood up, we stood, and she exited the courtroom. Stevie wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “I love you.” The other important thing that occurred concerned Stevie’s sister. As I suspected she tried to liquidate her parents’ estate and turn the money into stocks and bonds. Unfortunately, when the probate court got wind of what she was attempting, she was hauled into court to answer for her actions. I guess she put up a fight and was found in contempt of court. The judge sentenced her to thirty days in jail. In the interim, Charlie Regan maneuvered the court to examine the estate as it stood before her actions and at present. The discrepancies were flagrant and glaring to the point where she was brought before the judge, again, and made to explain what she had done. Charlie said she gave the judge the finger and was sent back to jail for an additional sixty days. In the end, Stevie ended up with a trust fund worth just over five million. It was going to pay his college expenses up to the doctorate level, if he wished to go that far, and he would be able to draw on the dividends after he finished college or achieved the age of twenty-five. Plus, he would gain access to the full amount at age thirty-five or when he married and had children. As expected, he was confused about all the legalese, but I tried to assure him he got a good deal. Around the house, Stevie usually wore only his underpants. I was able to find him some low-rise briefs, which he thought were really cool. Of course, there was still his tendency to come into the family room at night—where I was usually watching a video or something on PBS—buck naked with a hard-on, a towel over his left shoulder, and some tissues in his right hand. He’d place the tissues on the sofa cushion away from me and spread out the towel right next to me. Then he would lean across me, generally poking his hard-on into my bare arm, and press the mute button on the TV controller. Then he stood straight and looked down at me until I acknowledged his presence. “May I sit next to you and beat-off?” he would ask. “Sure, go ahead,” I would say. After he sat and leaned tight against me, I usually tousled his hair and draped my arm across his shoulders, holding him against me with my hand. Then he would start to slowly masturbate. I asked his psychiatrist about this behavior and he said he discussed it with Stevie on a regular basis. As far as he could figure, it was Stevie’s way of dealing with all the shit he was put through during his previous life. I asked if there was some medicinal remedy to this and he said he wanted to wait until Stevie was a little older, maybe at fifteen he would prescribe a mood stabilizer or an antipsychotic. But, for now I was to go along with Stevie’s singular sex act and never, ever, give into anything else. I assured him I had no intent to having sex with my son. When Stevie had his come, he would clean himself, stand, pick up the towel, and say, “Thank you.” Usually, he’d come back wearing his briefs and sit next to me. Often, he would say, “You’re the best.” “Thank you, you’re the best son I could ever wish for,” I usually said. I bought him a bike, but surprisingly he didn’t know how to ride one. He said that his parents said bikes were sinful because they excited the nether regions of boys and girls. He said they never explained what the nether regions were, but he supposed since you sat on the seat it must have something to do with your butt. Since I had a paved drive around that one acre of turf, it didn’t take him long before he was riding without me huffing and puffing along behind him so he didn’t fall off. After that, I let him go outside the gate and ride around the neighborhood. Not unexpectedly, one day he brought another boy back with him. “Hey, Dad! Where are you?” he called out. “In the kitchen, fixing your lunch.” He walked in with the other boy who was, maybe, a couple inches taller than Stevie and had a more muscular build. I suspected he was older. He had straight blond hair that just touched his shoulders, a round face, steel blue eyes, a small nose, full lips that seemed to smile on their own, and freckles across his cheeks. “And, who’s this?” I asked. “Oh, this is Carl Nyberg,” Stevie said. “He’s from Sweden. His father works at the consulate in Seattle.” “God dag, Carl,” I said in my best attempt at Swedish. “Vill du gå med oss till lunch?” “Du talar Svenska,” Carl said. “Bara lite,” I said, admitting my limited ability. “Hey, now, you’re leaving me out of the conversation,” Stevie complained. “Your father asked me if I’d like to stay for lunch,” Carl said. “Sir, may I ask how you came to know Swedish?” “My parents were Swedish. They were professors at one of the colleges in Seattle. Swedish was spoken in the home. I still have cousins back in Sweden who I visit on occasion. Now, to my question, would you like to stay for lunch?” “Yes, but I must tell you I’m mostly vegan, but my parents do insist I eat fish or chicken now and then.” “I think I can do vegan. It might take a while, but I’m sure you boys can figure out something to do in the meantime.” “Do I have to eat vegan?” Stevie asked. “I’m not a cow or a horse.” “Nor a goose or a duck,” I said. “You’re just my boy, aren’t you?” “Yes, and I love you, too,” he said as he came up to me and gave me a hug. “Come on, Carl, I’ll show you my bedroom,” Stevie said. “We can go to a porn site I know of.” “Stevie?” I said. “Yes?” “What do you know about Carl?” “Oh, you mean, like do I know he’s gay like me?” “Just remember he’s your guest in this house. I don’t want his father or mother coming up here and demanding I keep you away from their offspring.” “Oh, sir, you don’t have to worry about my parents,” Carl said. “They know I’m gay and if I remember correctly, I think my father said that you’re gay, too.” “Carl, how old are you?” “He’s fifteen,” Stevie said. “He just turned last month.” “I was asking Carl.” “Yes, sir; sorry, sir,” Stevie whispered. “Go on both of you, I’ve got lunch to prepare,” I said. As they were going down the hall I heard Carl ask, “Does your father punish you if you’re bad?” “Only if I’m very bad,” Stevie said matter-of-factly. “I think sometimes he just saves up my infractions, so he can punish me.” “He doesn’t hit you, does he?” Carl asked with a sense of horror. “Do you know what a cane is?” Stevie asked. “Yes, does he hit with one of those?” Carl asked sounding very concerned. “Not very many times; just enough so that I know I went too far. It’s not as bad as you might think. He doesn’t do it out of meanness. He just wants me to know I was bad and must be punished. Now, don’t go calling CPS on us because I know he loves me and I know sometimes I get on his nerves, but sometimes, you see, I’m bad and I have to be punished.” “Wow! You must love your father a bunch.” “Yes, I do.” “Can I suck your cock?” And, then I stepped back into the kitchen and let them be. I made a vegetarian chili with garlic toast. As expected, the boys dove into it like they hadn’t eaten in days. After lunch, Carl said he had to go home and Stevie asked if he could go with him. Strangely, Carl said no. Needless to say, Stevie was rather put out about this. After Carl left, Stevie put his bike in the garage and came into the house. “Well, what was that all about?” I asked. “Did you reciprocate?” “What do you mean?” “Did you suck him after he sucked you?” “No, but I let him fuck me. Do you think I shouldn’t have done that?” “Maybe, he would’ve preferred only a blow job. Did he use a condom?” “Yes, he wasn’t going to, but I insisted. Dad?” “Yes?” “Will you cane me, please.” “I shouldn’t because you’ve been a very good boy, since your last caning. I have no complaints, no reasons, to cane you.” “Please,” he begged. I could see tears in his eyes. Something down deep inside him wanted this and I could not refuse his request. I don’t know what occurred between him and Carl, but I felt it must have been devastating to Stevie. “Okay, just this once,” I said. “Go to your bedroom and take off your clothes. Then go into your bathroom and give yourself an enema; then take a good hot shower. When you are finished, come back here and formally ask to be punished. Okay?” “Yes, sir,” he whispered. I sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of herbal tea and nibbling on an almond chocolate chip cookie. I got up from the table, went over to the counter by the refrigerator, and turned on the house stereo system to a selection of Vangelis albums. Immediately the sound of “The Long March” filled the house. I looked up at the ceiling and thought of my first sexual experience so many years ago in the bedroom of a boy I thought was my best friend. I couldn’t quite remember what exactly led us to compare erections, but that’s what we were doing; and, then for some inexplicable reason my mouth was over the head of his cock and he was telling me what to do. That I distinctly remember. He knew exactly what he wanted me to do with his cock in my mouth; and, then he came in my mouth. I couldn’t believe I’d actually blew another boy and, as he told me to, I swallowed his come; and, then I was standing on his front porch staring at the closed door. He never spoke to me ever again. Thankfully, he didn’t share what occurred with the rest of the student body at our high school. “Sir? I’m ready,” Stevie said, breaking my reverie. “Ready for what?” “Sir, please give me four whacks with the cane on my bare buttocks,” he said quite forthrightly. “As you wish, but I want you to understand that I am only doing this at your request. You have not committed any infractions that would require punishment of this sort, but I will accede to your request. Come with me.” “Yes, sir.” We went back to the dungeon where I had him assume the position of punishment, bent over grasping the post of the cross with his arms extended and the muscles across his butt taut. I don’t know why, but I softly stroked his butt. Then I selected a medium sized cane and stood to his side. He looked over at me and asked, “Aren’t you going to do the runup?” “No, not this time because this is not for punishment. You only want this for the pain and I can give you sufficient pain by standing right here. Now, turn your head and look at the floor.” I struck him five times in quick succession, put the cane back in its holder, and came back to Stevie who was now weeping. I took his arms and stood him up. He grimaced when his sore skin was forced to move. I leaned down and kissed him full on his lips. He wrapped his arms around me. “I love you,” he whispered. “Love you, too, kiddo. Now, go lay down on your bed. I’ll get you an ice pack.” “No, not that,” he cried. “Not this time.” I bent down, put an arm behind his knees and the other across his back, and picked him up. I carried him to my bed and laid him face down. I went to the other side, got up on the bed, and scooted over to be next to him. His was looking at me and I kissed his cheek. “Go to sleep, kiddo, go to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake.” “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded. “Never in a million years, my love.” * * * The following day the buzzer from the front gate went off and Stevie answered. He came into the music room where I was trying to practice a rather difficult G Major blues chord progression. I looked up and stopped playing. “Yes?” I asked. “It’s Carl and his parents at the gate,” Stevie said. “They want to talk to us.” “Well, let them in and go put something more on,” I said. The last thing they needed to see was my son walking around in only his briefs. I went to the front door, opened it, and stood on the porch. Their Volvo (what else?) came up and Carl and his parents got out. I welcomed them (not in Swedish) and invited them into the living room, which was the most formal room in the house. All three of them spread out on the sofa by the front window. Across the room were three landscapes I commissioned from the Dutch painter Thijme Termaat. Then Stevie came in wearing a grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants. He looked around the room and then sat cross-legged at my feet. “So, how can I help you?” I asked, unsure what this was all about. “My name is Frederick,” Carl’s father said. He was perhaps in his fifties. It was a guess considering the amount of grey in his hair and the amount it had receded from his forehead. He looked quite fit. “Yesterday, my son visited here and I believe an incident occurred between your son and mine. By the way, your son appears quite young. May I ask his age?” “He turned fourteen two months ago,” I said. “Then he is approximately one year younger than my son,” Frederick said. “According to Carl’s mother, your son committed a sex act upon my son, but since your son is junior to mine, I am at a loss as what to do about it.” Surprisingly, Carl’s mother remained unnamed. She was a mousy woman with a permanent frown, blue tinted wire frame glasses, and hair that had been dyed a garish red. “According to my son, Stevie, Carl performed oral sex on him; and, then when Stevie went to reciprocate, your son refused, but accepted intercourse. My son had to insist that your son use a condom, not knowing your son’s experience in the gay community here or in Europe.” “Carl, that is not what you told your mother,” Frederick said. “Which is it? Did you fuck this boy? Did you use a condom? Well?” “Yes, pappa, but I took it off before I ejaculated.” “I see, so this visit was for naught. You were warned when you came here, but I see that you haven’t learned your manners. I am sorry, Mr. Hedlund, that we came today when it was not necessary. Come, Lisa and Carl, we will go home.” “Mr. Nyberg, I hope you’re not going to be too rough with Carl,” I said. “Mr. Hedlund, this matter is of no concern to you. Let’s just say that Carl was here in the U.S. on probation due to incidents that previously occurred in Sweden and, also, Norway, where we have family. You can rest assured that he and his mother will be on the next plane to Sweden.” “Sir, you know, I don’t have any friends around here because I’m being homeschooled,” Stevie said. “And, well, Carl was nice to me and I thought he liked me. Can’t you give him another chance? I don’t want to lose him just because he took advantage of me. Maybe, he just doesn’t know how to react around other boys.” “Well, Carl, do you think you can behave yourself around this boy?” Frederick asked. “Yes, pappa,” Carl said. “Okay, one more chance, but only one more,” Frederick said holding up his forefinger. “Come, we will go home, now.” They all stood up and started to walk toward the door. I got to my feet, nearly falling over Stevie. “Feel free to come by anytime,” I said. “Mr. Nyberg? Thank you,” Stevie said. “Mr. Hedlund, I had my doubts about you when you moved up here,” Frederick said. “I knew your parents after you left home and was extremely saddened when I heard the news of the car accident back in Sweden. I’m sure we’ll see each other, again.” They went out the front door, got into their car, drove around the circle, and out the gate. Stevie poked me in the arm and said, “What accident?” “My parents were killed in a car accident in Sweden when a drunk driver forced them off the road,” I said as we walked back into the house. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t worry about it. It happened ages ago.” “Can I go down to Carl’s house?” “Not today, maybe tomorrow.” “Why?” “Well, maybe, they’re not too certain about their son having sex with a younger boy.” “Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Stevie said as he pushed down his sweatpants. “Do you want to cane me, again?” “No! What gave you that idea?” “Well, if I can’t see Carl, maybe, you’d like to see my butt.” “I see your butt often enough. Wasn’t it last night that you had your little sex act next to me on the sofa in the family room.” “Well, yeah, but I’m not supposed to do that, according to Dr. Fairchild,” he said as he pulled off his sweatshirt. “I know, we’ve talked about your need to beat off in my presence.” “Then, maybe, you should cane me more often.” “I think if I did that you’d turn it into another sex act and we’d be in the shits with your Dr. Fairchild. Have you told him that I cane you?” “Yes, but then he asked if I felt I deserved it. I told him that sometimes I was bad and then you’d punish me by caning my butt. He asked how many times you hit me and I said no more than four or five times, sometimes only three whacks. He told me to try to be a good boy and then I wouldn’t get any whacks. He actually said that word, too.” “Well, there you go. Be good and you don’t get any whacks.” “But, sometimes I feel like I need them.” “You need to talk to Dr. Fairchild about your desire to get whacks. I’m sure he’ll have something to say about that.” “When are you going to hang me from the cross?” he asked out of the blue. Where had that come from? “Maybe, when you’re older.” “How much older?” “Stevie, son, hanging someone from a cross and whipping them is an adult thing. You have a long way to go before you’re an adult.” “Phooey! I was reading a story on Nifty about a fourteen-year-old boy who entered into an SM relationship with an older man and they lived happily ever after.” “What are you doing on Nifty?” “Reading stories. Some of them are really trashy, but some are kinda nice, you know?” “Yes, I know.” “Did you read that one about that boy?” “Yes, it’s one of my favorite stories.” “But, I’m fourteen, now, so, why can’t we do that kinda stuff?” “Because that story took place in an imaginary time in England where laws might have been a little different. And, remember, someone always finds out what we’re doing.” “But, we’re not doing anything.” “Anything?” “Well, that, but that’s nothing, isn’t it?” “It’s something. You have to admit that.” “Maybe, you should give me a few whacks for reading Nifty.” “Will that stop you from going there?” “Probably not.” “Tell you what, if you want to read teen rated gay stories, go to gayauthors.org.” “Oh, okay, I’ll do that. Let’s see, gayauthors.org. If I forget, will you remind me?” “Yes, I will and I’ll help you create a user ID and find you an avatar.” “Okay, I’m going to go work on my school stuff. When’s lunch?” “Let’s see, you got two hours to go. If you’re hungry, go get an apple.” “Okay, Dad.” “That’s the second time this week you’ve called me ‘Dad.’ What’s up with that?” “I don’t know; maybe, calling you Artie doesn’t work. Do you mind?” “Not at all, kiddo.” * * * When Carl said that he took the condom off that got me to thinking about Stevie’s possible exposure to HIV. I called my doctor’s office and asked when it would be appropriate to bring Stevie in for a blood test. The nurse said we couldn’t possibly get a positive result for at least two weeks and even then, it was likely he’d get a false negative. She said to come in after three weeks for an initial test and if it was negative, we should come back every three weeks up to twelve weeks. Then she said that it was highly unlikely a single exposure would cause an infection. I’m sure she said that only to calm my nerves. I told Stevie that because Carl had taken the condom off and had come inside him that he wasn’t to allow Carl to have sex with him until we were positive he hadn’t become infected with HIV. Stevie looked at me with the strangest expression. “Well, he can fuck himself as far as I’m concerned,” Stevie said. “I’m going to find a new friend.” And, I suppose that took care of that, but in a few days Stevie came home with Carl. They went to Stevie’s room and after about an hour, Carl left. I went to Stevie’s door and knocked. “What?” Stevie yelled. “Can I come in?” I asked. “Yeah, I suppose you better.” I opened the door and saw him sitting on the floor fully dressed, but he was looking down at the floor. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He looked up at me and I could see the familiar puffiness around his left eye. “Did he hit you?” I asked. “Yeah, when I told him we couldn’t have sex anymore,” he said. “Can I have an ice pack, please.” “Go on, lay down on your bed. I’ll go get it ready.” When I got back, he was lying on his bed buck naked slowly massaging his cock with his thumb and forefinger. I put the ice pack over his eye and put the kitchen timer on his nightstand. “I set the timer,” I said. “When it goes off, bring the ice pack to the kitchen and put it in the freezer. Okay?” “Sure, Dad. Do you want to rub my cock?” “Not really.” “Please.” “Son, I promised Dr. Fairchild we wouldn’t do anything beyond what you do at night in the family room.” “He wouldn’t even kiss me. He said kissing was only for boys and girls, not boys and boys.” “I don’t think Carl is as gay as he says. I suspect when he gets older he’ll find a girl and they’ll make babies.” “Yeah, that sounds about right. Will you suck my cock?” “Stephen Alexander Hedlund, your adopted father will not have sex with you.” “Phooey! You’re no fun at all. I bet you won’t even cane me today.” “I’d rather not.” “But, you might.” “Maybe.” “Maybe! How am I supposed to come with only a maybe?” “I think you’re just mad because Carl wouldn’t kiss you and then hit you.” “Father, will you please cane me?” I stared at his cock. He was close to an orgasm. I looked up at the ceiling and then down at his one visible eye. He knew me so well. He knew I was going to give in just to keep him happy. “You need to keep ice on that eye on a regular basis today, but tonight after dinner I’ll give you a few whacks.” “Yes!” he exclaimed and then come spurted out of his cock. Well, I suppose it had to be. He had turned the reception of pain into a sensual feeling. I suppose he was turning into a true masochist, but was I enough of a sadist to satisfy his need for pain? And, more importantly, he was still too young for this. I was going to have to talk to his psychiatrist. Stevie’s third HIV test came back positive and we were sent to the university medical center in Seattle for further tests and discussions on what treatments were available, especially because of Stevie’s age. One doctor told us there was a hospital in New York that had a special ward dedicated to HIV positive pediatric patients. That got me thinking about the long-term prospect of having to move there to be with Stevie. While Stevie was in the hospital, I went down to the Swedish consulate and asked to see Frederick Nyberg. When I was shown into his office, I told him Stevie was in the hospital because he was HIV positive. Plus, I told him that Carl was the first boy to have sex with Stevie. I suggested he have Carl tested ASAP. He yelled at me to get out of his office. When I went back to the hospital to see Stevie, he told me someone asked who he thought gave him HIV and he said it was Carl Nyberg and Carl’s father worked at the Swedish consulate.
  6. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 5

    Thank you for your comment. I don't know what to say to your problem with this story other than there is a clear warning in my intro blurb of the nature of my stories. I'd like to say this story is going to become gentler, but unfortunately I can't.
  7. Once again, disaster has been diverted. The VA actually did mail the refill for my mood stabilizer and I have filled the daily dosage cups with the required number of pills. Now, all I have to do is convince myself that I have a chance to reestablish some sense of sanity to my crazed mind. You see, at this moment in time I'm not all that certain I can catch the upswing when it comes along. And, worse, I'm not all that certain I want to. Life is the shits right now and I can't see it getting any better.

  8. It's surprising how being mentally ill and still being able to see out from inside your mind. You'd think if you were off a bit, you wouldn't be able to have a sane thought, but it's not true because your outer mind tries to keep everything sane and normal while your other mind, the one that's diseased, still thinks it's in control when it can't be because that isn't how the rules were written. The bad part about all of this was I could see it coming when I knew I didn't have enough pills to last me until I went totally off the deep end. I know it's not your fault and honest I don't blame you in the least for not being able to care, but you see things aren't turning out as they should and I may have to take drastic action to keep the keel in the water while the wind buffets my main sail.

  9. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 5

    The psychiatrist stopped by one day to discuss my current relationship with Stevie. She said he was no longer forthcoming about our sexual activities. I didn’t say anything to that, since I wasn’t in any position to have any kind of sex with the boy. Then she pointedly asked me if I was having sex with him. I said it should be more than obvious that I was in a semi-public medical facility and it would be next to impossible for me to have sex with Stevie, even if I wanted to, which I stressed I didn’t. Then she said since I had quite a bit of money, I could easily bribe the patients and staff to give me and him a little private time when he came to visit. I asked where she was going with these suppositions and she said she was obligated by the court to ensure Stevie was not adopted by a known child molester. Then I asked her who said I was a child molester. She said she could not answer that question due to patient/doctor confidentiality. I told her I would see her in court. After she left, I called Charlie and laid out her accusations. He told me not to worry because she was already being investigated by the state medical board for fraudulent medical practices. He said she was actually a chiropractor posing as a psychiatrist. Her use of the M.D. initials was completely bogus. Just before lunch the doctor I usually saw at the facility came into my room. He listened to my left lung, checked the movement in my left shoulder, and checked the feeling I had in my legs. He had me get out of bed and walk across the room without my walker. Then he said I was free to go. He signed my discharge papers and I asked him about having a masseuse come in to massage my legs. He pointedly asked me where I got that idea and I said that I thought I heard some of the staff saying that would have to occur. He told me I definitely didn’t need a masseuse, unless I wanted a massage for my own pleasure. I took the tone of his voice to me that he didn’t like me because I was gay. Oh, well, at least I was getting out. I called Charlie and he said he’d have his assistant come by to take me home; and, stopping at his house to pick up Stevie. By the time I had dressed and gathered what clothes I had into an overnight bag, a thirtyish black woman walked into my room. “Hello, Mr. Hedlund, I’m Charlotte Hennessey, Mr. Regan’s assistant,” she said with a very slight French accent. “Oh, hello, are you French?” I asked. “No, no, ma mère was from Haiti. I barely speak the mother tongue, now, but people still ask if I’m from France. Are you ready to go?” “Yes. How is Stevie?” “Well, I feel you should be prepared. That phony psychiatrist he was seeing prescribed Oxycodone and Adderall. From my experience with addicts our firm has defended, I think he is severely addicted to both medications. Personally, I would recommend admitting him to a psychiatric hospital.” “When am I to go before the family court judge concerning my adoption of Stevie?” “Next Tuesday.” “Won’t me putting him in a psych hospital jeopardize the adoption?” “It shouldn’t if we submit the paperwork explaining the boy’s situation. If anything, it’ll be one more nail in that woman’s coffin.” “If I had my choice, I’d have you stop by her office so I could strangle her.” “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She’s skipped town. Nobody knows where she’s gotten off to.” I put my bag in the trunk of her blue Ford Taurus and came around the car to the backseat’s door. “Oh, Mr. Hedlund, you can sit up front with me if you want,” Charlotte said. “I was just thinking of Stevie.” “Then you can sit with him when we pick him up, okay?” “Sure, maybe that’s best,” I said defeatedly. The Regan’s house in the north end of Gardner was a turn of the century Queen Anne style pile of excess lumber, but they had maintained it to perfection. It had a turret in the right front corner and a broad porch extending from the turret around the left corner. It appeared to have three stories above ground level, plus a few windows along the foundation to give the hint of some sort of basement. We took the circular drive and stopped at the front steps. There was a pathetic looking boy sitting on the top step with his chin resting on his knuckles. He seemed to be staring out at nothing. I almost could’ve believed it wasn’t Stevie, but clearly it was. I got out, walked up the steps, and sat beside him. I draped my arm across his shoulders and drew him against me. “I missed you,” Stevie whispered softly. “Want to go home?” I asked. “My psychiatrist says I can’t live with you.” “She’s not a psychiatrist. She’s not even a real doctor.” “You mean she lied to me?” he almost screamed. “Yes. Come on, let’s get your stuff and get back to Georges.” “I’ll have to ask permission from Mrs. Regan. She’s taking care of me, now.” “No, Stevie, I am your guardian and you will live with me.” “Can I take off my clothes?” he whispered. “Anytime you want.” * * * Once we arrived at my home in Georges and after Charlotte left, I took Stevie’s luggage into his bedroom and told him to put his stuff away. I took my bag into my bedroom and did the same. Then I went out into the house and looked around at the dust on the furniture and the cobwebs hanging in the corners of the rooms. There weren’t any signs of spiders which I was severely afraid of, but I suspected they were hiding everywhere I couldn’t see. Stevie came out of his bedroom and walked up to me. He was as naked as I’d seen him before, but he was older, too. He’d grown a bit in height and his cock hung a bit more over his ball sack than I remembered. He stared at me as if asking if I was going to tell him to go back into his bedroom. “The house needs vacuuming, it’s in the utility room,” I said. “Since you’re junior in the house, it will be your job to do the cleaning. Vacuum the floors, use the wand to take down the cobwebs, and then get a dusting rag to clean the furniture.” “And, if I don’t want to do that?” he asked. “Then you will be punished. I will not allow you to live in my house without contributing to its upkeep. If need be, I have no qualms about calling CPS and having you put into a foster home.” “How many times will you cane me?” “Oh, let’s see, for gross insubordination I think five strikes of the cane on your bare buttocks should be sufficient.” “Will you hang me from that cross thing in your closet?” I walked over to him and put my thumb and forefinger on his chin, which I raised to where I could stare into his eyes. He looked back at me as if suspecting something was coming that would change him for the rest of his life. “No, you’re not old enough to enter into that sort of relationship with me. I will administer the cane with you bent over like last time. Now, are you going to do the cleaning?” He bit his lower lip and then asked, “Will you kiss me?” I lowered my lips to his and he opened his mouth to mine. I felt his tongue on my lips and I pressed mine into his mouth. He pressed his body to mine and I felt his cock press stiffly against my thigh. I brought my hands up to his head to cradle his face. I pulled back and he opened his eyes. I looked down at him stroking his cock. “I’ll be in the music room,” I said. “If you finish doing that, please clean up your mess. If you don’t start vacuuming after that, I’ll cane you, but remember this because it is very important: just because I cane you doesn’t relieve you of the responsibility to do the vacuuming and dusting. Those are some of your chores in the house from which I will determine the amount of your allowance. Do you understand what I said?” “You mean you’ll pay me to do work around here?” “Yes, that’s how it normally works. Do you think you can handle that?” “Yes,” he said firmly. “Very well, as I said I’ll be in the music room. If I don’t hear the vacuum, I will get the cane and punish you. Do you understand?” “Yes.” I looked at him and his cock had visibly softened. Maybe, I had gotten through to him. At least I hoped so. Of course, there were still his addictions to Oxycodone and Adderall, but we could cross those bridges when we came to them. When I got into the music room, I set about dusting my guitars, music stands, amps, the laptop, and whatever else was covered with that slim film of dust that seemed to permeate my house. It had been months since I’d played a guitar and with my injured shoulder I wondered if I was physically able. I picked up my Epi acoustic—my first guitar when I started taking lessons—and strummed a G7 chord. I could tell I’d lost quite a bit of strength in my left hand because the fingers were lethargic as I played that chord down the fretboard. My arm felt stiff as I moved my hand up and down the fretboard. It was clear that the EP I had been working on was going to have to wait until I regained full use of my left arm and hand. I heard the vacuum start and immediately felt relieved Stevie chose the easy way out of his predicament. I heard a knock on my door and turned to see the boy who was wearing light green briefs. “Yes?” I asked. “Do I have to vacuum all the floors?” “If it’s parallel to the ceiling, yes you need to vacuum it.” “Even the bathrooms, closets, and that room in your bedroom?” “Yes, especially that room in my bedroom. We may not use it, but I want it ready if I need to put you in it. There’s an apparatus in pieces in the garage that needs to be put in that room and once you’ve finished vacuuming and dusting, I think we’ll do that then. Now, off you go, I’ve got work to do in here. You can finish your job here.” “You didn’t say anything about me wearing my underwear.” “Thank you for not being naked.” He smiled and then he was gone. I continued working on the guitar until I remembered what Charlotte said about Stevie being addicted to Oxycodone and Adderall. I looked up some facilities in the local area and was surprised there was one in Georges. I called their number and explained Stevie’s situation, but they said they did not treat pediatric cases and suggested I call a facility in Twin Forks. I called them and after I explained Stevie’s situation, they said they would be happy to welcome him for treatment. I told them I would broach the subject with the boy and if he was okay with going into treatment, I probably would be down there this afternoon or tomorrow. They said it would be better to bring him in sooner rather than later. “Stevie! Could you come here?” I called out. I heard the vacuum turn off and soon the boy was at my door. “Yes?” he asked. “Put some clothes on and pack a small bag with about a week’s worth of clothes.” “Where are we going?” “I taking you to a hospital in Twin Forks for an evaluation of your addiction to the pills that phony psychiatrist prescribed.” “You mean I won’t be able to take them anymore?” “No.” “But, they make me feel good,” he blubbered. He came to me and wrapped his arms around me. His crying increased until sobs overwhelmed him. I held him tight against me until he finally calmed. Then I picked him up and carried him to his bed. I lay him there and kissed his forehead. I chose a medium sized bag in his closet and began filling it with clothes. When I finished Stevie was sitting on the edge of his bed. “Put on the clothes you were wearing,” I said. As he did that, I intently watched him. He seemed to be dressing in a very methodical manner as if he had to concentrate extra hard on what he was doing. I suspected it was because of the drugs he was on. After he was finished, he stood up, came over to me, and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m ready,” Stevie whispered. “I love you.” “I love you, too. Come on, it won’t be as bad as you’re imagining.” I drove him into the rehab center in Twin Forks where they welcomed Stevie. I had to fill out a lot of forms and one nurse pointedly asked me why I had allowed Stevie to become addicted to the drugs the phony psychiatrist had prescribed. When I described my medical situation, she seemed to be okay with that, but she still wanted to talk to Charlie Regan’s wife. I gave her Charlie’s phone number and was certain she would call him after I left. I asked when I could visit and she said not for at least three days because Stevie would be on detox medicine in the interim. I drove home in a mild funk. * * * They kept Stevie for ten days and released him simply because he wasn’t an actual addict in the technical sense. He was unusually quiet on the way home, forcing me to ask, “Any problems?” “There were people there who’ve been doing drugs most of their lives. I can’t understand why they do that. It doesn’t make any sense.” “I believe some people are genetically predisposed to addictive substances and the behaviors associated with acquiring those chemicals. So, for the most part they can’t help themselves, but that doesn’t excuse them for what they do. Does that help?” “Yeah, that’s what the psychiatrist told me, but it still doesn’t make sense why they do that.” “That’s just life and some people are dealt a bum hand, but they still have to play the cards they’ve been given or try to find something better.” “Like suicide?” “Where did you hear that?” “When I was talking to the psychiatrist. I told him about my attempt. He said you should make an appointment for me to see him on a regular basis. He has a private practice outside of the rehab center. And, he is a real psychiatrist, not like that woman.” “What’s his name?” “Oh, yeah, I have his card in my bag.” “Good, I’ll call when we get home. Anything else you want to share?” “Well, we talked about me wanting to be naked all the time and, you know, beating off in front of you.” “And …” “He said we, you and I, should discuss me wanting to be naked now and then. You know, at appropriate times during the day and night. But, he said if I wanted to beat off I should do it in private because, well, he said I shouldn’t force my sexuality on you. Honest, you have to believe me, I didn’t tell him you were gay, but I think he guessed. Maybe, it was something I don’t remember saying. I don’t know, sorry.” “That’s alright, kiddo, I’m sure the psychiatrist will ask me if he wants to know.” “Also, he said I shouldn’t sleep with you.” “Smart man, I’d like to meet him someday.” I guess Stevie ran out of words because he didn’t say another word until we walked into the house with me carrying his bag. He squatted down and petted Maddie when she came up to greet him. Then I saw him untie his shoelaces. He stood, used one foot and then the other to slip out of his shoes. Balancing himself on one foot and then the other, he pushed his socks off his feet. After pulling off his t-shirt, he undid his belt, the button on his jeans, and pushed the zipper down. He looked over at me and asked, “Well, do you mind if I continue?” “No.” He pushed his pants and underwear down to the floor and stepped out of them. Then he gathered up his shoes and clothes and walked back to his bedroom where he lay down on the bed. “It’s been ten days since I’ve been able to beat off and I want to do that now,” Stevie said as he pulled at his stiffening cock. “I’ll unpack when I’m done. You can watch if you want or leave and shut the door.” I shut the door and went into my bedroom, leaving the door open. I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling as empty thoughts filled my mind. I must have dozed because the next thing I was aware of was a skinny arm draped over my chest. I turned my head and stared into Stevie’s brown eyes. “Hi, you were asleep,” he said. “Yeah, I’m getting old and have to practice dying.” “You’re not that old!” he exclaimed. “I may be closer to death than you are to your birth.” “No! Don’t talk like that! You can’t die, I love you.” “Love you, too, kiddo.” “Can I suck your cock?” “No!” “Well, then can I rub you to give you a come?” “No! And, where did you hear language like that?” “At Mr. Regan’s house. One of his grandsons made me suck him or rub him. It was my choice, but if I chose to rub him he’d make me suck him next time.” “Well, the little shit! Which one was it?” “I’m not saying. I promised. Besides, he’d just say I offered to do it; and, then Mr. Regan wouldn’t be your lawyer anymore. Do you want to suck me?” “No!” “Would you like to give me a couple whacks with the cane?” he asked with a sensuous smile. “For talking the way you are, maybe, I should give you four; if it would mean anything to you, that is.” “Four would hurt, wouldn’t they?” “Yes, and five would hurt even more, especially on your bare butt. Now, do you apologize for suggesting we have sex or do I have to punish you?” “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. He quickly got off my bed and hurried out. I remained there and thought of how I could’ve done that whole situation better. Well, of course, I knew next to nothing about being a parent and I had to admit I was basically treating Stevie as a young, albeit very young, adult who was very much still a child and thought with a childish mind. Threatening to severely cane him was probably over the limit, but what else could I do about his seemingly insatiable desire for sex between us. Could I possibly be more persuasive without the threat of using the cane to enforce the rules of the house? I felt the bed move slightly and I turned my head. Stevie was on his hands and knees, but more importantly he was wearing a pair of blue boxer briefs. “Hey, where’d you get those?” I asked. “Mrs. Regan bought them for me,” he said. “Do you like them?” “As a matter-of-fact, yes.” “Do you think they make me look sexy?” “I told you before I’m not a pederast, so my opinion on whether they’re sexy on you is immaterial.” “Did Carly wear these?” “No, he wore bikini briefs.” “Could you get some of those for me?” “I don’t think so, but I’ll check. I might have to order them from overseas, since Americans are so prudish.” “I want you to cane me, now.” “Why?” “I don’t know; just ’cause.” “I think you need to discuss that need with your psychiatrist. The need for pain isn’t particularly normal for children your age.” “That’s what my psychiatrist said.” “I’m beginning to think I need to meet this man.” “I think you’d like him. I think he’s gay.” “What gave you that idea?” “He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, but he has a ring on his right middle finger. It had three diamonds on it. He looks at me like you did when we first met, but he does it all the time. I think he fantasizes him and me having sex.” “Are you sure you want to continue seeing him?” “Yeah, why shouldn’t I? It’s not like he’s going to do anything. He could get in big trouble trying to have sex with me, even if it’s just me letting him beat me off.” “Okay, I’ll make the call. Go get his card.” “I have it right here,” he said as he reached into his underpants and pulled out the card. “I should cane you for doing that.” “Please, just a couple. I’ve been naughty since I got home and you should punish me.” I knew I shouldn’t have given in, but I did. We both got off the bed at the same time and met at the door to the dungeon. I opened the door and he slipped off his underpants. I turned on the light and stared at the cross. No, he was still too young for that, but maybe we could adapt for this situation. “Okay, as we did the first time, I want you to go up to the cross, bend over, and hold the post with your hands,” I said. He did as I said and I continued, “Move back a little so that your arms are stretched out more. Yes, like that. Lower them a bit more. A little bit more. Yes, right there. Do you feel your muscles stretching a bit in your arms and legs?” “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “Good, now I going to cane you, but this time I don’t want you to say anything. No whimpers, no crying, no exclamations, nothing. I want you to take this like the big boy you think you are.” I picked out a cane slightly bigger than the one I previously used. This was definitely going to hurt him and, for some inexplicable, and probably equally despicable, reason I knew I was going to enjoy this. I stepped off the distance away from his butt, turned, and in three quick steps I ran up to his butt and brought the cane down and abruptly striking his tender skin. Not a word, not a whimper, nothing escaped his mouth. I stepped back again, turned, and practically marched right up to his butt where the cane struck him slightly below the first stripe. Still, not a word, not a whimper, nothing escaped his mouth, though I did hear a sudden exhalation. Although I believe we might have agreed on only two strikes, I stepped back once again, turned, and quickly advanced to the spot where I swung the cane onto to his taut butt slightly above the first stripe. He remained quiet and I went up to him, pulling him away from the cross, and up into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around me and I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh. I leaned back and kissed his forehead. “If you want to beat off in here, I’ll leave and close the door,” I said. “I thought you were only going to give me two,” he said. “You wanted two, I thought you needed more. I think one more was sufficient, right?” “Yes, I suppose.” “Just remember I’m the adult here and I’m the one who determines what you get and what you don’t get. Understand?” “Yes.” “Okay. Do you want me to leave?” “I don’t feel like beating off right now; my butt hurts.” “Go to your bedroom and lay down for a while.” “Will you put an ice pack on it?” “Nope.” “But, last time you did.” “That was for show. This time was for punishment. There’s a difference.” On the way out, he tried to bend down to pick up his underpants, but his butt hurt too much for that movement and he asked me to do it for him. I smiled and did as he asked. As he walked away, I saw that his stripes were practically glowing. He was going to remember this. At least, I hoped he was going to remember how it felt afterward. After he left, I called the psychiatrist’s office and made an appointment for the following week.
  10. It's official and please don't spread it around, but I've fallen into an overpowering, blinding melancholic haze because somebody forgot to reorder his medication. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

  11. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 8 - God's Day

    Thank you for your comment. Okay, I'll give you this synonym.
  12. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 6 - Trouble on the Horizon

    Thank you for your comment. Having been married to a girl from the darkest jungles of Arkansas, though she hated chitlins and her mama toasted their peanuts in the oven.
  13. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 5 - A New Life

    Thank you for your interesting comment. It's a shame I didn't come across that, too.
  14. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 4 - A Clean Slate

    Thank you for your comment. In actuality it was: "I'll let everyone know you go by Benny."
  15. CarlHoliday

    Chapter 2 - Troy Fucks Up

    Thank you for your comment. I wouldn't worry about getting the confused about which character is speaking at what time. They'll do their part ensuring everybody knows who's speaking.
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