The whole day has been seamlessly flawless. Perfect!
The night before had been much more than the word "memorable" could possibly convey and the formal business meetings had gone promisingly as well although it was over too soon and far too early when the sun beginning to pour in. The taxi driver turned out to be from one of my favorite places in the world and thus the time to the airport passed quickly with horrific traffic all coming into that town as we flew out of it all in what turned out to be a third of the predicted time at that hour to catch that 9 a. m. flight. Checking in, same. Perfect! Breakfast at 32,000 feet superior. Next flight on time exactly 40 minutes after landing and even LAX never looked better (sure, still under construction, but "better" than it was a couple of months ago). Even the car rental van was there waiting (something that NEVER happens) as I hit the curb with my suitcase. Even the ride to the pick up line was fun in it's own unique way - "Don't worry, drive happy . . .!" the recorded music sang out Hollywood style. The line was disappointingly like them all at these LA places. Kids crying, a very unhappy woman screaming her car wasn't in the space marked on her rental jacket (and this woman gave new meaning to the term "screaming"), still everything else had been great and, after all, this is LA. The Rental Agent from an undeterminable part of the world on his own upgraded me to a convertible and what more could I ask for? Even traffic was light as I breezed over to the Palisades and swung into the drive, the happy bachelor with the top down returning from the questionable safety of the East Coast as the Palms winged welcome.
To put it briefly, it had been a perfect trip capping a more than perfect and potentially profitable several days. I was up and ready to conquer the world!
I honked "HI" but no one came out, not even the dogs, as I applied the slightly squeaking breaks and flipped open the door. No problem, I used my key and let myself in the front door as I have often done in the past. Maybe they're all out? That's wouldn't be unusually given it was just mid-afternoon.
"I'm here!" I yelled out politely, "Anybody home?"
SLAM! BANG. A door cracked somewhere in the house against it's hinges, though it sounded more like a gun shot, and feet could be heard coming my way sure in a more theatrical greeting not unknown in those hills, but I didn't have time to think much about it.
Instead I sat down my suitcase and set my briefcase with Laptop on the nearest arm chair and started to hear for the water cooler even though it was a bit cool that particular mid-afternoon.
"Don't you EVER pull something that DUMB AGAIN!"
CRACK! Very loud, very sharp, and very startling!
"Ouuuuuuh! OK, OK!" came unmistakable words from down the one hall to my right.
I looked over to see Bruce coming toward me fast, his shoulder length blond hair flowing very freely; but his facial expression wasn't yet focused on me and certainly didn't convey a greeting. Completely bare appearing, aside from his only flopping long-sleeved green plaid shirt tails, his nudity was up front, flopping as he was half walking, half running, half jumping to get away from the strap in his Dad right hand that had just cracked his bare ass! His Dad was right behind him with the strap. Bruce somewhat stumbled as he tried to look over his shoulder at Dad and what he got for it was that strap cracked him again.
"Eiiiiiiii. . . ."
They were both entering the living room now where my presence could hardly go unnoticed for long. His Dad, my long time friend, grabbed Bruce's shoulder and shoved his boy not too gently toward the other side of the house off toward the left. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see what his Dad had in mind and what was coming next.
"You get in there NOW!" Dad said loud enough to announce it to the whole LA basin.
But the boy had seen me and jumped behind me. That left me directly between them and in anything but a comfortable position or situation. His Dad had, of course, seen me too!
"You're early!" his father exclaimed. His face was red as he tried to change emotions, but it was hard to hide his anger at Bruce.
"Yep," I admitted, "but I honked the horn and yelled before I let myself in."
He actually burst out laughing but said, "Well you're always welcome anyway, how the hell are you?"
Maybe one might conclude he'd calmed a bit? Then again "a bit" is a relative concept under conditions like I stood in the middle of.
"I'm fine, but don't let me interrupt. I'll get out of here for awhile."
But Bruce was handing on to my shoulders, the bare flesh of his thighs and legs pressing hard against the back of my own body as he looked over my shoulder and around my own head to his father who held that strap.
"I told you to get in there." Dad yelled, looking right through me to his boy.
The boy's fingers dug into my shoulders uncomfortably, as things continued to move fast.
Shaking his hand with that strap toward the boy and me, Dad wasn't giving any ground at all.
"I told you to do something. You DO IT! You're going to get this, this time like you should have got it last night. DO IT!"
His face was flaring with anger at his boy.
"NO, GOD, NO, pleeeeeeeese. . . ." Bruce dug his fingers into me more sharply and though I tried to jerk myself out of the middle of it all, I wasn't succeeding!
"_s_h_i_t_," Bruce's Dad exclaimed suddenly. "You handle him," he said to me, "I've had it with the kid!"
His face was streaking more red and sweat from anger had begun to appear. I've never seen him so angry. He threw down the strap on the chair beside my brief case.
"I've got work to do. Unbelievable. A kid like him today . . . I owe you an apology." He seemed to be trying to pull himself back under control. "You know this is not like me. You know that, I know that; but we can talk later. I'm too angry to talk rationally about anything right now. What a screw up! Maybe he'll talk to you, but get him out of my sight. _d_a_m_n_ it!"
I've never seen my friend and colleague that angry though I've known him for years and years; but more importantly I had never been caught between the two of them, him and Bruce, before (or between any other two for that matter anywhere!). He had obviously been about to strap Bruce, or was maybe even in the middle of it given the redness of Bruce's eyes, when I had walked in. This wasn't my idea of "Hi, Glad you could come. Welcome to LA."
He was furious at something. Even the veins in his forehead were showing prominently, more like bulging! He shook his head, looking at his boy hiding behind my back and still digging his fingers into my shoulders but then just up and walked right out the front door slamming it not too gently to announce his departure to the whole neighborhood.
A moment or two later, his car could be heard pulling out fast as he headed back to his office, I supposed, which was not all that far away. He'd be OK. I knew that.
Still, the next thing I knew I had tall, lanky but still beautiful Bruce, now almost naked except for that long tailed plaid shirt covering him barely front and back, jumping immediately around and hugging me while very emotionally welcoming me and carrying on. Bruce wasn't standing on any formalities as hugged me and twisted his arms all over me but mostly around my waist and then buried his young fair head on my shoulders. He was very emotional for sure, but not really crying or anything like that. He seemed more a combination of a very happy but also very, very scared teenage boy.
Though I was more than just a little surprised, Bruce is a young man I've known for years. I'd tanned up his boy's own little teenage bare fanny on many occasions over that time. No way he could be considering me to be an "easy touch" to get him out of a bad place with his father's strap.
With him holding me tightly, I didn't hesitate to let my own hands wander down then under the back tails of his plaid shirt and began cupping his own bare bottom, then patting it tenderly. For sure he felt good, firm, tight; but he always did. Still his buns didn't seem to be hot in any way that I could sense that way, certainly not in the way they would be if his Dad had just strapped his boy's bare fanny with that strap he'd just tossed by my briefcase on his way out. I supposed then his boy was just about to really get that strap applied to his fanny in the rooms over in the direction his Dad had been propelling him when I'd walked into the house and interrupted, or at least postponed, things? That spanking has been right in progress but couldn't have really gotten much started.
"Please," Bruce started to talk quietly, "you've GOT to promise to stay tonight. Please! I can't handle this whole thing anymore. I hate him, I just hate him. He's got no right to strap me like that!"
Bruce was sobbing now. His whole body shook in my arms.
"I can talk to you, but I can't take it anymore."
He was trying to choke back tears and emotions now. His hand came up and after pushing his long hair away from his face, he wiped his eyes in what seemed a vain attempt to wipe those tears away.
Boy, am I soooo glad you came just then. You got to help me, pleeeeeeseeeeee............" Bruce whined. "He was going to kill me for sure with that belt this time! It's too much! Too much! _d_a_m_n_ him. I can't take it anymore!"
I've never heard Bruce talk like that about anyone, especially his father.
I held him in my arms as he began to get it out. My palm resting on his bottom, assuring him I was there. After all I had just come in, remember? Still had my airline tickets in my upper jacket pocket that I still had on; but within moment of my coming in the place, I suddenly had this teenage boy, half naked in my arms and crying his young heart out. Surely something must have really happened this time. Neither Bruce nor his Father had ever seemed this way.
Bruce, though, still had his arms around my back, holding me more tightly than I'd been held in years by a boy in personal pain and discomfort, but his head with that nice shoulder length blond hair still flopping over my shoulder and his whole body moving against mine made it clear that he was still very, very upset and almost as if he was about to start crying. His body was still shaking and it was real clear his emotions were at the surface and coming out strongly again. What I didn't know is why is it the boy was so upset?
My hands traveled down his back as I slipped them under those tails of that plaid long sleeved shirt. As he clenched me tightly, my palms felt his bare buns, cupping them, holding them, feeling them, patting them. Bruce made no movement as my hands felt him in ways that make it impossible for a boy to hold his secrets. But still those buns were certainly just not hot in the way they would have been had his Dad just strapped him or spanked him or anything else in any significant way, so why was he so emotional?
Bruce was continuing, shaking in my arms and then now sobbing.
"Why? Why does he do this to me? I can't take it. I can't, Cal; I can't! I hate him! I just hate him!"
I'd known him for years and years, as I've said. His folks and I had done business but were also solid friends. There were no secrets between us. I'd baby-sat him when he was much younger and his folks had needed a break for some personal time to get away to Palm Springs or the likes to be on their own sometimes, sometimes for as much as a week when my own schedule on business permitted me to stay. I knew him well and there were no secrets between us. I'd had his bare bottom up over my own knees many, many times in the past and given him his spankings when he needed them. I'd paddled him (thought never strapped him) on a few occasions as well. He knew me and I knew him and his body very well. Sometimes I'd just needed a bit more to reach him and focus him on my point. The paddle his folks usually used on him growing up was just down the hall where I knew where it was kept and when I'd wanted to use it on this teenager I'd, at times, have him walk down there in just his briefs and bring it back to me and set it right there while I took his briefs down myself, freeing his legs to flail wildly as they always did when I needed to paddle him. Usually I'd uses a smaller paddle I sometime carried with me, though. Still, over my knees his bare bottom was often warmed up nicely, when he needed some attention. I knew how he responded. It often took a long time to make those young bare buns of his solidly rosy. Still, once he'd been spanked and he let loose, his emotions would pour our and he'd ultimately get a hold of himself, realize his errors, and bounce back predictably solidly but dependably. But his buns stayed very hot and for a long time too. My palm and fingers felt him out. He wasn't hot at all now, but he was still emotional and maybe even still dealing with watery eyes as his head remained hidden on my shoulder.
I prodded him a bit. He wiggled his legs and spread them as he remain in my arms. Bruce showed no signs of embarrassment or any hesitation or objection at all as my hand's fingers separated his buns and felt him out, delving between his legs and upper thighs. Nothing.
I even felt up under his shirt on his back though I knew his Dad would never strap him there. This is a boy, strictly a boy. He gets spanked on his bare bottom and believe me, that's where he needs it and more than adequately so to get the job done. But today, his skin was not hot anywhere to the touch.
The more closely I felt him, the more snuggly his body came all over mine while he continued to hold me snuggly with an almost iron-like clenching grasp.
He seemed to be getting himself back under control, maybe?
"I'm so glad you got here when you did." The words slipped out very, very softly, almost in a whisper, flowing out from under his flopping hair now all over my shoulder. When all was said and done, he was a good boy, someone I had often had reason to be proud of. So surfing had always been his first love, not more academic things, but never the mind, he was a super teenage kid.
I reached down and took his head in my hangs, bringing it up slowly where I could look at him.
Bruce's eyes were very red from crying. Water streaked down over his cheeks but he held his eyes tightly shut and contorted his whole face in a steel grip that make it impossible for me to look at those eyes where apparently he may have been still crying.
Still standing there in the living room where I had entered and Bruce and his father had run into me, I maneuvered him over to the couch and gently pulled this teenage boy down beside me. As I did, he never loosened his grip on my body, clinging to me oblivious to the parting of his shirt as we sat and the exposure most boys do their uttermost to prevent came open and freely there. He just didn't care anymore as he held me and continued crying softly, still shaking, sweating. I rested his hand on my shoulder.
The end table nearest me had the fancy remote with all the gadgets of the house controllable from there. That I could reach and I was able to turn on some light music, Spanish Classical guitars, Bruce's favorites, I knew.
"What happened, boy?" I asked when I sensed he'd calmed down just a bit and maybe he could tell me what had happened?
I'd misjudged though. The only answer I got was the stiffening of his body against mine on the couch and more sniffling, coughing and then more tears.
Across the way, just a bit, sat the overstuffed white arm chair on which I had placed my briefcase. Beside it still lay the strap Bruce's Dad had in his hand to finish using on his boy's already very bare bottom before had become so angry and tossed it there and walked out of the whole house. The strap there looked ominous. It was long, too long for my tastes, but it was made of exceptionally fine leather and was very very soft to the feel and extremely flexible. The boy has already felt at least two cracks from that strap on his bare fanny as he'd run through the house on the way to that room down the hall where this family's accustomed to providing discipline and direction to him. He knew where he was going and what was going to happen.
Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on who's point of view we're talking about, I'd interrupted without knowing and he'd found himself now in my arms, not getting that strapping from his Dad down the hall, at least now for the moment. That strap was just waiting to be used on Bruce's bottom. "You handle him," his Dad had said to me, "I've had it with the kid!" Was that why his Dad had tossed it there? For my use? Did his Dad intend to return later and whip him also? Surely Bruce knew it was there and didn't know either.
Certainly also the boy had already earned a solid session with that strap and I'm sure he knew it. I'd have no hesitation in applying it to him either. Bruce had already been stripped of all his clothing except that long sleeve shirt as he huddled beside me. His Dad would have never permitted him to have anything on for his getting his strapping. Probably his Dad had just made him strip to get a good one too when I arrived. Maybe he'd been giving the boy some quality corner time, forcing him to stand in the corner thinking with his bottom already bare to get a strapping? Maybe the boy had come out with a few choice words, as boys occasionally and with some regularity do at his age, as he's stood in that corner and instead of just a good spanking in his folk's bedroom, his Dad had decided this young man's attitude was such that he needed more than just a spanking and needed a taste of that strap applied down the other hall in the room where he had more space to swing?
Bruce knew, his Dad knew, heck everyone knows, I'd be the last one to object to any of that! Nothing at all wrong with a Father applying the strap to his son's bare bottom. Happens all the time.
But choice words like the boy had just been using about his Dad could not be tolerated further. He had to learn a lesson. It would be easy to flip him over right now and spank him at least. It's always best to apply the punishment as soon as the words are uttered anyway. And if that wasn't good enough, I knew where Bruce's punishment paddle was kept down the hall. It would take but a moment to have him get it and bring it back or for me to go and get it myself.
I stood up slowly and Bruce, hanging on to me, stood up right along with me too. He was a beautiful boy, almost my height, but now he was holding on to my chest and clutching me tightly as he still shook a bit and was once again on the verge of crying. I reached over and grabbed my briefcase. Bruce noticed I had also grabbed the strap. He said nothing. He was already too emotionally upset. We walked down the hall in the directly his Dad had been propelling him when I'd entered. Dad's strap had cracked him a couple of times to force him in that direction then. Now, I just walked him down toward that far side of the house overlooking the Pacific where the room they would all refer to as "Cal's Room" was. I'd slept there for years.
Once inside with the boy, I nudged the door shut and hear the click as the door shut behind us. We were very alone now.
Reaching over, I began to unbutton Bruce's shirt down the front. He looked at me with those wet almost puppy eyes now, but he made no objection. With the barrier of the buttons now no longer a factor, I pushed his shirt over his shoulders and soon it fell off his shoulders completely and landed on a pile beside him on the bet. He sat there naked now. No secrets, no protection. My briefcase and his strap were on the floor beside the bed now. Now that I had finished stripping him, he eyed that strap. Regardless of what was really behind all of this or what his Dad had been about to give him a strapping across his bare ass when I walked in, even a teenage boy like Bruce knows he's gone too far in talking about his Dad like that and his whole body and emotions are aching for a good spanking to help him get it out, to get over it now. Dad's spank boys sometimes, they just do. He was about to have gotten the strap. Nevertheless, he cannot talk about his Dad the was he had those moments ago --"Why? Why does he do this to me? I can't take it. I can't, Cal; I can't! I hate him! I just hate him!" . . . "I hate him, I just hate him. He's got no right to strap me like that!"
I stood him up first, and turned him around. There were no marks of any kind on his fair skinned back and his firm buns were also pure like snow though there did appear to be signs of faint rosy stripes where that strap had probably connected with his bare fanny as I was walking in.
He looked at me and again put his arms around me, "I'm soooooo glad you're here. Sooooo glad and I got soooo much I want to tell you."
Briefly he seemed to smile, but as I held him tightly in my own arms, he started crying again.
I turned him around and around again, looking over his completely nude teenage body. The pecs and stomach muscles showing promise but not overly developed, still on the slight side. His _c_o_c_k_ was shriveled of course nestled there, his legs held tightly together, even more tightly that his bowed head and flopping hair hid his very red face from sobbing so much and those eyes still clenched again shut tight. He didn't try to protect himself from me though. I'd taught this one long ago to stand straight and be proud of himself and he wouldn't regress back to making that mistake again and certainly not right now. My hand checked him out, feeling him and that skin, then with my hand then on his shoulder, moved him gently around, looking him over. His bare bottom and those tight buns came seductively into focus. I brought my left leg up and put my foot on the bed, moving him so he remained in my arms but had to bend slightly over that thigh I'd made horizontally in front of him. He grasp my left hand in his and brought it close on his chest, coming as close to me as he could. My right hand, though, was applying just enough pressure to have his part his legs further causing his tight buns to as my middle finger found it's was under that cheek, applying just a little pressure to the base of his small balls still resting there. He grabbed my hand in his hands more tightly, clutching it to him. His head resting on my left shoulder now while his whole body in my hands began responding. Any boy who's been spanked by his man knows immediately this is a classic position in which to spank or paddle his bare bottom, forcing him closer and closer to you, his face and eyes easily raised as he reacts and responds to being spanked. Bruce knew that, for sure. In fact he once had said to me quietly that if he had to be spanked and then the paddle to follow on his bottom thereafter, this is how he hoped he'd be getting it. He too by now after all those years knew the feeling of being spanked in my arms and able to resp oes. He seemed quietly submissive, open to whatever would be as my hand and palm on his bottom remained on the boy for comfort and, if I choose, to spank him.
My thoughts were elsewhere. What could possibly be an excuse for those words about his father? "Why?" he had cried out in anger, "Why does he do this to me? . . . I hate him! I just hate him!" The only possibly reaction at a point like that is to send him for his paddle! Then he'd repeated it, "I hate him, I just hate him. He's got no right to strap me like that!" Really, "no right" none at all? Boy, you've got a real attitude adjustment come here. That tension and these emotions you're expressing and feeling right down here are going to get just more than just a good spanking down here. You're asking me to get out that old hickory stick and whip that bare fanny you're so proud of, so good for you that those words will never again appear in your young vocabulary. His body wiggled at that point in my own thoughts. That boy's asking for it. He knows he need a good spanking and screwed it up but he's having trouble asking for it or maybe even admitting it to himself. Needs help getting it all out. Cut the thought. Spank those buns a real good one for him and do it now!
I reached around and pulled his face to me. He remained emotional, but as I moved him, he again climbed as close to me as he's ever been. He's needing it. Let him off for those vindictive about his Dad, even though he just mad them to me? Time to spank the lad?
He brought his face to my cheek and hugged me. "Please, Cal. Please stay with me. Please, Oh, Pleeeeese, don't let him spank me again, Pleeeeeese. . . ."
He became weak in my arms now as he began sobbing again.
I eased him gently down on the bed on his back and he immediately clutched me again when I sat down beside him. He was crying again, shaking, and in soft tears. Something must have really been serious to cause this kind of a blow up between the boy and his Dad!
Sure the boy needs a spanking for those words and he needs it now. That's my duty. But the boy also needs time to regain his self respect and recover from what it is he's so upset and emotional about. It can't possibly be two simply swats of that silly strap!
I lay down beside him to hold him for a moment and as he lay there his head against my chest I realized he was simply falling asleep. It didn't take long. He was out cold, still clutching my hands. Bruce is a beautiful kid.
Once I was sure he was asleep, I carefully I eased myself up off the bed and took the pillows and put them around him. He began to clutch one tightly to his chest. His eyes were shut. His face was still streaked from his tears. His bare body lay there openly on my bed. His _c_o_c_k_ flopping to one side across his stomach. Nothing to hide, no embarrassments. Nothing but a teenage boy who'd managed to get himself stuck in a major something with his Dad and came extremely close to get that beautiful bare ass of his strapped for it. His bare bottom had been turned over and spanked before. Seems clear he is probably going to get it turned up and over so he can move it up nice and high for one of us where he's going to get it spanked, probably strapped once again. Any boy like Bruce, who's grown up in a family that still practices that "Spencer Spanking Plan" knows what it feels like and knows he's surely going to feel it yet again. From his father who lays it on solidly for sure, or maybe from his "Uncle" as he calls me often who's sure to be just as effective but more personal in handling him?
There was an old comforter on the food of my bed in that room. I spread it over him and went through an adjoining door into the next small room that overlooked the Pacific. That was the room I often worked in. And that's what I began to do. I could work there uninterruptedly, as had been my intend in coming in about a hour or so ago before I got interrupted; but I could also keep an eye on him.
Now and then I looked his way through that open door as I worked on e-mail, including typing this up a bit for a friend. Bruce was sound asleep, naked under the covers.
Eventually the comforter began to slip off his young body as he moved in his sleep. His long legs were extended out open, but soon he moved again and his waist, _c_o_c_k_ and balls were also openly exposed as the cover began to slip of ever his chest. I got up and recovered him.
Whatever was bothering him, what he needed right now was some time to sleep. I'd have plenty of time later.
He'd get spanked later. He needed it, but not now. Now he lay there hugging that pillow, the comforter still over his naked body as he slept in what was to be "my" bed! He was sleeping soundly now. Whatever's wrong, he needs time.
And then there's the obvious fact in the midst of this whole screwy afternoon: His Dad will be back at the end of his day, maybe soon.