God, was life a bitch! Being the boss of a hundred people at work, flat tires, family, and being gay especially. Even thought I was a senior editor of fiction at a prominent publishing house, I always received snickers and laughs. I thought adults were supposed to be mature!
I am a forty two year old man with lean muscle. Work never allowed me to get fat and interviews never allowed me to be scrawny. I am six feet, two inches, dark eyes, dark, crew cut hair, perfect tan, and an eight inch penis to top it all off. Except for a few gray hairs, I looked rather hot.
The CEO of the company looked at me and said I needed some time off. A new senior editor as to come in in a few days anyway. I told him I wish I could have a whole season off and he surprisingly replied "your wish has been granted." My mouth gaped and he said closed your mouth and get out of here. I was too shocked to laugh, but I left. What was even more shocking was that I still got paid.
I chose to spend May through September (my boss is generous or he does not know his seasons) at my secluded cabin in Montana. A perfect getaway I bought for five hundred thousand dollars.
I left work at 2 p.m. that day and arrived at my four hundred thousand dollar home in twenty minutes. I expected my trash to be gone by now since they guarantee to arrive before 2 p.m., but it wasn't. A perfect day gone wrong, typical. I especially expected them to keep their guarantee in an upper class neighborhood. Then I noticed that I was the only house to not have their trash taken out. This intrigued me as I did not know people could be so idiotic.
I rolled my fancy sedan into the garage and entered my magnificent home. It was four floors, 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, 3 living rooms, one fireplace, large and remodeled kitchen, and a huge, finished basement.
I stomped my black leather shoes on the cherry wood floor over to my black, cordless phone and dialed the trash collector.
"Hello?" a male inquired.
"This is Brad," I stated my problem and address.
"I am so sorry, sir. The person responsible is on their way to collect the trash and give you $50,"
"Thank you," I said and hung up the phone. Ten minutes later the large trash vehicle arrived. The person responsible was a male and from the distance from my window to the curb, he was a stud.
He looked pretty muscular and tan with absolutely no fat. He did not have as big as muscles as I did though. He stood may be five feet ten inches and had dirty blonde hair.
After he collected the trash he came to my wooden double doors in white muscle shirt, knee length silk shorts, and black & white sneakers.
I went to the door and he rang the doorbell. I opened the wooden door and greeted him.
The young man probably just graduated high school. He handed me fifty dollars.
He said, "Here is your fifty dollars, sir. Even though from the looks of this house, you do not need it," he chuckled. His voice sounded like a dumb jock.
I took the money and laughed. He was a very cute boy. I looked into his bright green eyes and my hear raced.
He did not rush a good bye and waited for me to say something.
"Thanks. How did you skip my house?" I asked, but not angrily.
I looked over at the trash truck and noticed that engine was not running. Why didn't he just leave it running, this was not going to take forever, I thought.
I waited for his answer patiently, which was unusual. I usually pound people for answers at my work. I was not a nice boss some would say.
"Because I want to meet you," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I am gay," he said.
It took me awhile to respond. "And you think I am gay?"
"Yes," he said and his expression was filled with fear.
"Why would you think that?" I asked.
He waited. It seemed he did not want to hurt me with his next statement.
"Well...um...I see you looking at me through your window," he said and lowered his face. He then looked at me when I spoke.
"Damn, I spent so much money on those windows and they were supposed to be tinted," I sighed and continued. "So we're both gay and you want to meet me,"
He nodded. "Yes,"
"Well, I'm Brad Shire, and you are?" I stuck my hand out for him to shake it.
He shook it with his black glove still on. "My name is Kevin Wolfe,"
"You look like you could be my son, but we can give it a go anyway,"
The young man smiled and said, "I get off at five o'clock. Dinner tonight?"
"My house. Seven," I said.
"Okay," he smiled and left.
I watched him leave through my window.
Seven in the evening
Kevin showed up wearing a pair of vintage cargo shorts, a navy long sleeved shirt, and leather flip flops. I wore a more sophisticated version, but he looked tasty anyway.
We ate crab, asparagus, Caesar salad, raspberry sorbet and breadsticks. The dinner was delicious, but Kevin looked more delicious than anything. After dinner we sat in my living room adjacent to the kitchen. We sat across from each other in large, black leather chairs with a roaring fire next to us. We sipped wine. I knew Kevin was probably too young to drink alcohol, but I did not care. We talked about many things and somehow entered a conversation about sexual desires.
This was a conversation I was uncomfortable with because I always had dreams of being a whip holding Master. Why? Maybe because I held so much anger, I held a powerful position? I don't know. Kevin was about to confess his, but stopped.
I urged him. "What is it? Come on, mine's probably more embarassing,"
"Ever since I saw you I wanted to be at your feet. I want to submit to you," Kevin lowered his head.
My penis became excited and I cheered him up.
"Ever since I saw you, I dreamed about you at my mercy, obeying my every command,"
Kevin looked at me with his boyish face. His eyes sparkled. He did not know what to do next. I think he wanted me to command him.
"Get on your knees slave and take off my shoes and socks," I ordered.
He replied, "Yes, Master,"
Kevin crawled over and undid my shoelaces with his hands, and then pulled away my socks. He delved his nose into my feet, and whiffed my nasty, masculine odor, which he enjoyed.
"Clean my feet slaveboy," I said.