Brad's Diary
Saturday
I was still postponing considerations to satisfy Han's yearnings to my future leisure. He had given me no real cause to hand him even a small dose of my hand's influence. Except one: his finicky diet.
Of course, we masters had no need of a cause to spank our boys. But Han was not my boy and any spanking I meted on him must be punishment for a serious rule or attitude infraction. It must have justification.
But I was aware that it mustn't be good for him to go without a man's attention for so long. Spanking for a boy was an emollient as food for the hungry stomach and wine for the parched throat.
The poor child. I saw the ramification developing in his restless and eroding spirit.
Alternately, the problem could also have stemmed from his difficult diet. For consider this: the boy would eat no dairy products, as far as possible, nor legumes, grains, beans and nuts because he got gastritis from them. Neither did he consume any red meat ("It's a religious issue," he'd explained), fast food ("Bryce forbids it"), anything fried ("It's my upbringing"), nor anything green ("It's a pet peeve"). And I'd also seen him baying cookies, biscuits and most sweets ("It's a guy thing").
But he loved chocolate. In any form. That and rabbit, ostrich and crabmeat. And potatoes, also in any form.
"Why don't we go to that new Asian diner in town and pick up dinner there," Jeff suggested in the morning.
I told him it was a great idea. So did Han, whose spirit seemed to perk up in the instant of his suggestion.
Alas, it had rained on our way to the city. We arrived at the diner, a self-service axiom of Urban Design, a little late for the cutthroat traffic worming through the lancing rain.
"This is what happens when a society pushes the envelope too far," I told Han as an apology.
The boy nodded with a bashful smile. It then became apparent that my synecdoche was finding favor with him for he went on to reply: "I'll have your sprawls any time. Beats living in a cultural capsule."
I considered his repartee with a sobering sense of surprise: could one this pretty have an opinion?
"There!" Jeff exclaimed. He'd spotted a vacant bay a short distance from the diner.
"Perfect," I remarked, complimenting him, "good man."
Gratefully I parked my car. Thereafter the three of us braved the slippery rainstruck asphalt with a 10-yard dash through the arcaded parking lot.
Other people were also streaming into the diner, come in from the lashing deluge. I told the boys to find us a table while I took care of the orders. As Jeff turned away, I gave Han the command to look after him.
"Though his coeval, you're still some years older," I explained, "so that's expected."
The endless lines at every counter were letting me down. I was always rather impatient at queues and I was one of those people who always picked the wrong ones in which to wait. You know those: they never seemed to move, always seemed to be filled with people who could never make up their minds what they wanted, were frequently served by someone incompetent in front.
As the minutes passed on the face of the wall clock, I became conscious of a disturbance – undoubtedly, a discrete but distant mishap. I let my eyes follow the commotion. There was a gathering at the booths.
My curiosity roused, I abandoned my hard-earned second place in the line and proceeded to the gathering. Murmuring of disgust smote the air: "What a flake." "What's wrong with him?" "Is he okay?"
I shook my head free of the murmuring and jostled through the melee.
I found Jeff on the tiled floor, on his palms and knees. His face was downturned, deprived of detail by dimness and distance. His limbs seemed to have taken root, immobile as if gripped by the horrors of vertigo. Two trays lay on the floor around him – food and iced lemon tea scattered.
And then I remembered Han. Where was he?
And what was wrong with Jeff?
Brad, he cried, eyes affixed on the black and white tiles. Brad, he cried again softly. I slapped my head. Of course! He had to be remembering something! I forged ahead of the crowd.
"Let me through. I'm a doctor," I lied.
I reached him and attempted to restore him to the present context.
"Jeff," I whispered, my hands going out to his shoulders, "I'm here. We're in a diner, remember?"
"You left again," he chided, "why did you leave me again?"
Leave him again? I pondered. Could this be it, the long-awaited metamorphosis into his completely realized form? But, the diner wasn't the place for such an important occasion.
"I didn't leave you, Jeff," I said, "I was in the queue."
I picked him up and looked around for Han. I forced us out of the curious gathering; the crowd's dispersing, I observed, had coincided with a dissipating interest in the concluded drama.
My unerring eyes finally found Han at the order counter.
"Han," I said, reaching him. I gripped his arm and pursued, "Thank God, you're safe. Where were you?"
"I wanted to see what was taking so long," he replied, obviously ignorant about the bit of adventure involving Jeff. "I thought perhaps you were having trouble with the language and I went to help you. On the way, I needed to use the john. But there was such a long queue. Sorry."
I sighed and, grasping the nape of his neck, I pulled him to my chest. I kissed the top of his head.
"I thought I told you to look after Jeff no matter what," I scolded nevertheless. "Come on, let's get out of here."
I got us home, heated up some frozen TV dinners and served them as a late, if unsavory, meal.
But I hadn't forgotten that something awesome had happened to my boy and he needed to tell me. We finished our meal and, after kissing Han goodnight, we sequestered in the living room.
"Sir," he whispered almost breathless, fingers digging into my flesh, "I can remember everything. Everything!"
I sat us down on the settee and looked into his deep blue eyes. I looked around us as though searching inside a constellation. Then _c_o_c_k_ed up my head with an expectant eye for the divine environment to embrace me. But I found only a static orbicular void.
There were none of the mythical sparks of cosmic satori and drama often portrayed in films about people who recovered their memories. Instead, there were only him, slightly weepy, and the all-encompassing sense of relief that the nightmare was truly over at last.
I embraced and kissed him.
When we finally pulled apart after a very long time, I persuaded him to talk about it.
"That night," he began, "we had arranged for me to be picked up at half past seven outside the library. I was on my way out of the locker room and then I saw a shadow behind me. I thought someone was following me.
"I ran back to the building to get help. All the doors were locked. I had lost the shadow, so I went to find a pay phone at the parking lot where I was to wait for you. I was talking to you from a booth but had barely said two sentences when I saw a car, a Chevy, hurling in my direction. It was driven by a youth. I ran out of the booth as he hit it. I fell against a kerb, hitting my head but not knocking myself out. The car drove right through the booth and ripped it off the ground.
"I was watching the entire episode in a daze. My head hurt so much. I got up and panicked. Brad, even then, I was already unable to recognize where I was and why I was there. I started to walk away, tottering sideways at every few steps, seeing the world at a slant as I did. I was walking into traffic as vehicles started tooting at me, their headlights blinding me. I felt my head about to explode. That was when everything blackened out. I must have lost consciousness.
"When I came to, I found myself in a house. I found a man who said he was my father. And I had lost 3 weeks."
"You were drawn into their plot," I added. "Stoner and Coutts were plying the streets for boys that night. They followed you till you fainted and took you to their house."
"But where were you, Brad?" he asked. "Why didn't you come for me as promised? I thought you ...."
"You thought I abandoned you," I said, noting the accusing vulnerability of his face.
He nodded.
"Forgive me, sweet cakes," I said. "I should have started out early enough to accommodate a margin of accidents. I'm guilty as charged. But I did get caught in a horrific jam. I was only 5 minutes from where you were. When I heard that terrible explosion at the end of your line, just before the line got cut off, I abandoned the car and tried to reach you on foot."
"Well, I told you, didn't I, sir?" he scolded boyishly. "I said it wasn't safe to wait there so many hours after closing time. You didn't listen to me. I told you I was scared and you didn't listen to me. And when you didn't show at the appointed time, it just seemed like you were planning to .... to leave me."
I nodded, shuddering at the reminder of what had been. I quietly pulled him into my chest – it was all I could do to keep him warm and safe.
And this was when those sparks of cosmic revelation I had been anticipating crackled above my head. Something meaningful started to gel while I concentrated on hugging my boy.
Then, feeling gripped by an all-empowering and unshakable sense of teleology concerning his experiences, I held his shoulders tenderly and eyeballed him squarely.
"I know I should have listened to you, precious," I said solemnly. "I know I hurt you terribly that night and I'm sorry. But now I want you to listen to me. It's not your fault – the insecurities you've always felt about us. You were still a baby when all the ones you loved and counted on left you, one after another. But I'm not your father, Dawson. I'm not your mother, Felicity. And I'm not your brother, Jan-Michael. I've made you this promise before and I'm making it again. I have no desire whatsoever to leave you. None at all."
"Are you trying to make me cry, sir?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I'd rather make you laugh," I replied. "No, darling, but if I had to make you cry for any reason, it'll be from spanking your impish bottom."
He smiled; and then his face whitened.
"My stomach doesn't feel too good," he groaned, thrusting his face into the bend of my arm. "It's getting kinda tight," he added, complaining about his pants.
I helped him to remove them.
While he stood bare-bottomed, I sprawled lengthwise across the settee. He came down heavily on top of me. I wrapped my arms around his waist and started to caress his backside gently.
"You remembered all this because you thought I'd deserted you tonight?" I asked.
"You were so long," he replied. "I couldn't see you. Then I had this fear that you were leaving me again. Like that night. I started to look for you and ran into people. The food trays, when they dropped them and they made that explosive noise on the tiles, something in my mind just clicked. I saw the booth nearly crashing down on top of me all over again."
"My precious one," I whispered, squeezing him in my arms. Then added: "Never mind that now, it's all over. But do you know who you are?"
He nodded. "I'm Jeff O'Keefe, sir."
"And you're certain you remember everything now?"
"Yes, sir, I'm certain."
Sunday
At 10 o'clock, Jeff and I returned from attending worship services at the Episcopalian Church. It was only our third week back since Jeff went missing. Some time in the pastoral message, I realized I'd been wrong to neglect this aspect of our lives for as long as I did. In hindsight, I also realized that Jeff's amnesia didn't take away from him the worth that the gracious Father had conclusively bestowed upon him. How wrong of me to have thought that God would enjoy Jeff's company less because he didn't remember Him.
Why was it that in times of need I tended to stay away from Him?
I took Jeff into my arms and made my apology to him. "I shouldn't have stopped taking us to worship God," I said. "When things were flagging as they did, I should have all the more found strength in God's neutral but gracious turf."
We locked lips. I suddenly remembered the first time that I had taken him to the church. It had seemed natural that after we became lovers he would follow me there. It was something I had wanted and told him so. That the church had a large gay and lesbian community in its fold was only a small detail in Jeff's pre-baptism decision to take up membership in the diocese. Jeff had felt instant acceptance there. And so a few months later, he was baptized into the family as I had been.
"I remember now that Tristan and Sean were married in this same church," he said, pulling away. He commenced changing out of his clothes. I did the same.
"Anyway, it's so cool to be able to remember everyone again," he added, chuckling, "and to be able to call my friends by their own names."
Very soon naked as a baby, he disappeared into the bathroom. I told him I was going to look for Han and as soon as he was dressed, he should wait for me in the kitchen.
I found Han in the guestroom, gazing out of the window.
"You miss Bryce, don't you?" I asked him.
He nodded.
"Just 2 more days," I reminded him, "and you'll be in his arms again."
He nodded once more. He was forlorn but as ineffaceably pretty as any day that had been touched by the artistic hand of summer.
Such a pity, I thought ....
And then before his beauty could compel a weakening of my resolve, I quickly gave him my command.
"It's time, Han," I said simply, arresting any further friendly overtures with the boy. Then continued: "When you're ready, meet me and Jeff in the kitchen. Don't take too long, though."
He gave a knowing nod, and I retreated from the threshold.
For sure he must suspect something to be amiss. I had assumed that Spartan tone of voice I always used just before I spanked a boy. Any boy who had been trained by a loving but firm master was able to recognize that tone.
He didn't disappoint me.
Just as he'd been commanded, he had looked for Jeff and me in the kitchen. I finished my hot chocolate, took his hand and told Jeff to follow. I led the way to the drawing room.
"Han," I began, "I gave you distinct instructions to remain with Jeff and look after him last night. Did you carry them out?"
He shook his head. He was sitting on the sofa beside Jeff.
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I left him alone," he replied.
I nodded, and continued: "While I appreciate you were trying to help, I cannot ignore the fact that you had disobeyed me. What if something had happened to you? I thought I'd lost you. You put me in a fearful position and this I did not appreciate at all. How would I be expected to explain myself to Bryce if something terrible did happen to you? He had put you in my care. He had placed his faith in me.
"What you did was irresponsible and inconsiderate, Han, and such behavior needs redress. Now, stand up, please, and start removing your clothes. You're getting a spanking. At this time, I want you to take everything off except your underwear."
It didn't take him long to disarrange the practiced neatness of his clothes. His overalls and Keds removed, his penis was tenting up his crotch, visible through the thin white fabric of his underwear.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, standing half-naked in front of me.
I accepted his apology but told him he was still getting his spanking. I gripped his waistband and towed him toward me. In one fell swoop, I brought him down on my lap.
I pulled forcefully at the leg openings of his underwear and tucked the cloth into his crack. I heard him whimper at the wedgie I was giving him. I removed the elastic band he tended to wear to approximate his hair's shoulder length. His loose locks cascaded over his head as I lowered his shoulder and raised up his bottom. I flayed apart his legs.
His spanking thus commenced, I smacked the exposed and meaty parts of his bottom, applying swift and hard swats with my hand. In between smacks, I continued to wedge in his underwear until only a tiny white strip was visible inside his crack.
Like many boys, he was wailing by the eighth swat. I went on with his spanking till his tears were showering the carpet.
I paused, raised him up and turned him round facing Jeff. I ordered him to place his hands on top of his head. I pulled out all the wedged cloth from his crack and gripped the top of his underwear. He flinched slightly, aware that the modesty of his personal threshold was under threat. Swiftly, so as to exploit his embarrassment, I yanked down his soiled briefs. I exposed his naked anterior to Jeff while I spread his buns. I finger probed his anus next. While he failed to stifle his moans of pleasure, I delivered the required diatribe about his need to be spanked.
He was soon sniffling again. Nevertheless, my admonition had called forth no unseemly retorts from him. Neither did any remonstration dispose him to be even slightly rash with his tongue.
There was no doubt this boy had been impeccably trained from young. Thus obtaining his avowal to be more responsible, I swung him back round. I put him back over my knees. Henceforth, I heaped on the humbling, this time on his completely bared bottom.
"Sir," Jeff said all of a sudden, boldly crossing what were forbidden bounds, "forgive my trespass, sir. But remember: if not for Han, if he hadn't left me alone, I mean, things might be very different for me now. Like I might still have amnesia."
I stopped to ponder my sweet boy's reminder. "Point noted," I told him. I also noted that his remark hadn't been made out of a sense of compassion for Han so much as envy. Deciding not to capitulate to the sudorific way by which his adolescent emotions seemed to be clinging to a meltdown, I resumed Han's spanking.
By the time I had delivered Han's lovely bottom its final smack, my arm was straining and I was longing for my slipper. But I had given my word to Bryce to use only my hand and had kept it.
The punishment over, I raised Han up for the second and final time. His emotions were livid in my hold, his winces undisguised, and his penis was erect and wet on the slit. I hugged him and felt his body spasms. I sat him down gently on the couch. I soothed him for a very long time, as long as I had spanked him, which I confess was beyond what his offense had necessitated. Simply because I had enjoyed it and knew I wouldn't get another chance again.
All the while I was watching Jeff's mood sour and face redden.
I knew what was on his mind. I could never forget my promise to him to keep our relationship monogamous. I could only hope that he understood my spanking Han was strictly in the context of discipline. Not that I couldn't easily love someone like Han but, in honor of my cousin, no other emotional attachment of significant meaning would follow.
My cousin's boy started calming with a gradual wane. The hour had passed. His penis was no longer hard but languid against my bosom. His juice had dried off. But his bottom was flaming with augmented blazonry.
It was time to attend to Jeff. I had in mind to give him a treat of his own.
I sent Han to take corner time. I parked him, naked and whimpering, his profile to the bay windows, and then turned my attention to Jeff. My boy had been sitting at a low ebb for the past hour.
"Okay, sweetheart," I commanded him, "go upstairs and take all your clothes off. Lie facedown on the bed till I'm ready to come for you. You're getting an enema today, followed by a spanking and afterward a rectal. I want to see you completely naked when I come for you. Otherwise it's three enemas instead of the two I intend to give you, and double the spanking and the length of your rectal as well. Now go!"
His jaw dropped. Just the same, he had risen without a word. He had remembered his old training very well, and his crotch was noticeably tenting up. My boy was really home – at last.
I smiled, already imaging his backside, spanked, and, him, sobbing on my lap.
"Oh, and place your paddle on the bed next to you," I reminded him, diligently issuing my command loudly and clearly.
Of course, I had deliberately given all my commands loudly and clearly and explicitly. It was done for both his and Han's benefit.
This was so they both understood that Jeff alone was my boy – in my perfect past, present and future.
Brad Hunt, 1998.
© 1998, 2001, JRK & BWK. © 1997, 1998, 1999, BH, et. al. All original manuscripts are copyright to the authors.